Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Edward gritted his teeth as he locked eyes with the man he considered to be the most annoying in all of London, perhaps in all of England as well. He wanted to tell him that he had no time for his nonsense, but a small voice inside of him reminded him that Lord Kinsington had friends in all layers of London society, and as such, he was privy to certain information that Edward might not be.

“Kinsington,” he greeted him instead with a polite nod.

“Lord Russell,” Lord Kinsington turned to Jonathon as well, who also offered a cordial greeting in his usual manner. Then, the man leaned closer to Edward, continuing their conversation. “Have you heard?”

“I’ve heard many things lately, Kinsington.” Edward frowned. “Which are you referring to?” It was impossible to hide his annoyance with the man, no matter how hard he tried.

“Why, about Lady Vivianne.” Lord Kinsington’s voice was low, but the curiosity in it was unmistakable.

“What about her?” Edward pretended, giving a silent, barely noticeable signal to Jonathon to play along.

Lord Kinsington frowned, but a moment later, the desire to share gossip clearly won over. “I didn’t think there was a man in all of London who didn’t know what she had done.”

“The lady has gone missing, Kinsington,” Edward said calmly, deciding in turn to provoke the man into perhaps revealing more than he initially intended to. “How could she have done anything?”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Chesterfield,” the man urged, his hands lifting to the level of his chest as he spoke. He was obviously completely taken over by the story.

“You’re not making any sense.” Edward sighed heavily. “Either make your point or let us get back on our way. We don’t have time for dilly-dallying on the street, you know.”

Lord Kinsington seemed slightly offended at that remark, as it hinted that he was a man without obligations, quite an insult for a man of his kind. Still, the desire to share what he knew won out.

“It would seem we were both betting on the wrong horse,” the man said, using rather crude terms.

Edward’s fingers curled into a fist, which he kept under control by the side of his body. “Horse?” he echoed, understanding the reference but wanting to see what Kinsington knew.

“Oh, you really are a dense one, aren’t you?” Lord Kinsington rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I meant to say, it is obvious now why I had no luck with Lady Vivianne. And you as well, for that matter.”

“No luck?” Edward shook his head. “I am the one courting her. How is that no luck?”

Lord Kinsington got even closer to him now, almost whispering into his ear. “Lady Vivianne has eloped. With none other than Reginald Cavendish, the son of—”

“I know who Reginald Cavendish is,” Edward interrupted him. “And I’ve heard the gossip. Don’t tell me you really believe it?”

That was the point where Edward knew that Lord Kinsington would take offence. His judgment was being put into question, something he refused to allow, especially to someone like Edward. A moment later, it was visible on the man’s face, which had grown red and slightly puffy, his eyebrows lifting, almost merging at the bridge of his nose.

“It all makes sense now,” Lord Kinsington said, much more calmly than Edward expected him to. The tension around them could have been cut with a knife, a taut string ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

“She refused my advances,” the man continued, wearing a smug smile that curled at the corners of his lips. “And at first, I couldn’t tell why. After all, any woman would consider herself fortunate to be courted by me. And yet, she kept refusing me. I see now that providence has saved me from making the mistake of marrying such a harlot!”

That was when Edward had stopped thinking. Without a word, his fist connected with Lord Kinsington’s jaw. The sound of the impact was sharp and startling, cutting through the silence like a crack of thunder. Lord Kinsington staggered back, his expression morphing from smug satisfaction to shock as he raised a hand to his face, where the sting of the blow was already beginning to set in.

Edward’s fist clenched again, his knuckles aching from the force of the initial punch. He was ready to strike again, to assure Lord Kinsington that such insults would not be tolerated. But just as he raised his arm, a firm hand grasped his shoulder, halting him in mid-motion.

“Edward, that’s enough,” Jonathon’s voice commanded.

He turned to look at his friend, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, his fist still hovering in the air. For a moment, the world around him seemed to freeze, the two men locked in a silent battle. He could see the plea in Jonathon’s eyes, a plea for reason, for restraint.

“You’ve made your point,” Jonathon said, more gently this time. “Any more and it will be beneath you. Do not let him drag you down to his level.”

Edward’s arm trembled, the weight of Jonathon’s words seeping through the haze of his fury. Slowly, he lowered his fist, the tension in his muscles easing as he let out a long, shaky breath. He cast one last withering look at Lord Kinsington, who was now leaning heavily against the nearby wall, still too stunned to react.

Jonathon’s hand remained a steady presence on Edward’s shoulder, preventing him from slipping back into the rage that had consumed him moments before.

“Come,” Jonathon urged quietly. “We have work to do.”

Edward wanted to beat this lordling into a bloody pulp, but Jonathon was right. He would be making a spectacle of them, and that was the last thing they all needed. He shouldn’t be wasting his energy on anything other than searching for Vivianne.

With a curt nod, he allowed Jonathon to guide him away from the confrontation, his breathing gradually returning to normal. As they walked toward William’s townhouse, he noticed that some of the passersby had been watching the entire incident, holding their breath, and now they were murmuring among themselves again, the tension easing though not entirely dissipating.

“You did what you had to do,” Jonathon assured him as they crossed the street. “But I’m glad you didn’t let it go any further. You’re better than that, Edward.”

Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair as the remnants of his anger slipped away, leaving more room for concern over Vivianne’s whereabouts. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “But when he insulted Vivianne… I went mad. I couldn’t let him get away with it.”

“And you didn’t,” Jonathon replied. “Trust me, Lord Kinsington will think twice before he speaks ill of Vivianne—or anyone else, for that matter—in your presence again. You’ve made your point.”

Edward nodded, feeling the truth of Jonathon’s words. “Thank you, John. I always appreciate your good judgment. I do believe I might have done something I’d regret if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Jonathon reminded him with a smile. “Now, how about we go and see if William has something new to tell us.”

***

Vivianne could not remain still. The unfamiliar surroundings pressed on her. She paced about the room nervously as panic slowly began to creep in, her gaze darting from one corner of the room to another. Nothing was familiar. No sight, no scent, no name that she had been given. Nothing.

She tried to piece together how she had come to be here, but her mind was a blank, a fog of confusion that refused to lift. The last thing she remembered was… nothing. There was no anchor in her memory, no moment to grasp onto, as if everything before her waking up at the bottom of the stairwell had been erased.

The door creaked open again, this time with a gentler sound, and the same man stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray adorned with a teapot, two delicate porcelain cups, and a small plate of biscuits. The steam from the tea curled upward in soft tendrils, filling the air with the soothing scent of bergamot.

He approached with a disarming smile, the tension from their earlier exchange seemingly forgotten—or perhaps simply ignored. As he set the tray down on the small table by the window, he glanced at her with a playful glint in his eye.

“Promise me you won’t throw it on me again,” he teased lightly, his tone clearly meant to be jocular, though it carried an edge of wariness.

She blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to recall the incident he was referring to. There was a vague, fleeting memory—of anger, of fear, of hot tea splashing against a fine waistcoat—but it slipped away before she could grasp it fully.

She forced a small, tight smile, not wanting to provoke him further. “No,” she replied softly, her voice betraying none of the anxiety churning within her. “I won’t.”

His smile widened, though it remained insincere, more of a mask than an expression of genuine warmth. “Good,” he said, settling into the chair opposite her. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of that unpleasantness.”

He poured the tea with practiced ease, the delicate chime of the teapot against the cups the only sound in the room for a moment. As he handed her a cup, his gaze lingered on her, studying her reaction with unnerving intensity.

She accepted the cup, her fingers trembling slightly as she wrapped them around the warm porcelain. She kept her eyes downcast, focused on the swirling liquid inside, trying to steady her nerves.

“You know, you’ve always been a bit spirited,” he continued, his tone light as though they were sharing a fond memory. “I do hope we can move past what has happened. After all, I am only here to help you.”

The underlying condescension in his voice grated against her already frayed nerves, but she forced herself to nod, taking a small sip of the tea. It was warm, soothing even, but it did little to ease the knot of tension in her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. She wasn’t sorry, not really, but the instinct to appease, to buy herself more time, overrode everything else. “I didn’t mean to. I was just… confused.”

He watched her for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of her apology. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, seeming to accept her words.

“Of course,” he said, his voice smoothing out. “It’s understandable, given your condition. But rest assured, you’re safe here. I’m only looking out for your well-being.”

She nodded again, maintaining the fa?ade of compliance. But inside, her mind was racing, trying to piece together what little she could remember, trying to form a plan. She knew now, more than ever, that she couldn’t trust him. Whatever his reasons for keeping her here, they weren’t for her safety.

He continued to talk, filling the silence with idle chatter as if they were merely old acquaintances catching up over tea. But she barely listened, her thoughts on one singular goal: escape. The tea in her cup grew cold as she pretended to listen, her mind plotting, searching for a way out of the locked room and away from the man who was anything but a friend.