Chapter Twelve

L eo paced the length of his office in a black temper. After greeting his guests and sending them off to their rooms to prepare for the afternoon's activities, he had searched the estate for Saffron and come up empty. She'd agreed to aid him in his search, but she had said nothing about reporting her efforts. He should have made her promise to keep him informed of what she had planned.

Instead, the woman was traipsing all over his property.

What he wouldn't admit was that he longed for her company. She was a breath of fresh air in a world too dark and stifled for his liking. When she was around, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

A mental image of Saffron falling down a rickety set of stairs flashed into his mind, and he shuddered. If something happened to her because he had failed to keep the house in good repair, he would never forgive himself.

He took a swallow of courage—brandy—and stormed out of his office. As he passed, his staff moved out of the way, pressing themselves against the wall.

Lady Allen stood at the top of the main stairway, examining a painting hung on the wall. He wanted to rush past her, but that would have been considered intolerably rude. Olivia was willing to forgive some transgressions, but rudeness was not one of them. Since she was among the least likely of his guests to be his thief, it was in his best interests to stay in her good graces.

"How are you finding your accommodations?" he asked.

"Exquisite, as always," Olivia said. "I wondered when you would come to me." Then she smiled at him. He recognized that smile from when he had engaged the beautiful woman as his mistress.

"You have other things on your mind, my lord, do you not?" Olivia asked with a wink. "Such as the location of a certain raven-haired lady?"

How does she know?

Gooseflesh pimpled his arms. "I am indeed looking for Miss Summersby. We have unresolved matters to address."

Olivia giggled. "‘Unresolved matters.' I am certain I do not know what you are talking about, my lord."

He shuffled his feet. The woman always made him feel like a schoolboy begging for favors from a teacher. Rather than face her wiles, he turned to the painting she had been examining. It was one of the few he'd selected for the auction, an old piece from Italy depicting a group of peasants crowding around a woman holding a swaddled baby. A maid kneeled on the floor, holding out a cloth to the child. The painting was tinged with deep red, giving the scene a sense of morbidity, which was only aided by small cracks in the fresco.

"Enough with the games, Olivia," Leo said. "Have you seen Miss Summersby or not?"

Lady Allen touched her fingers to his shoulder. "Such passion. How I long for my days of adventure. Alas, they are long past. I wish you the best, Leopold."

With that, she swished her skirts and set off down the hallway.

Ambiguous, as always, and entirely unhelpful.

Frustrated, he glared at the painting in front of him. His eye was drawn to the maid, holding out a cloth to the child while being spurned and kicked by the uncaring people surrounding her.

Maybe that was the key. Saffron was incapable of stopping herself from barging into the lives of others, as she'd done when she'd inserted herself into his household. Somewhere, he was certain, she was engaged in solving a problem.

The kitchen.

Mrs. Banting and Sinclair had previously reported that the cook had complained about the state of the larder. It was as good a guess as any.

Rather than take the grand staircase and risk running into more of his guests, Leo slipped into a servants' hallway and ran into his housekeeper, approaching from the opposite end.

"Milord!" She fluttered her hands. "Whatever is wrong?"

He ground his teeth. The woman filled the hallway such that it was impossible to pass.

"Have you seen Miss Summersby?" he asked.

The housekeeper beamed. "Oh, yes. She sorted out a disaster in the stable. I think I may have even seen Mr. Sinclair smile. It was quite a sight. The woman is a marvel. I am terribly glad she is here to assist us. I wouldn't know what to do without her. Just this morning—"

Leo groaned. "Mrs. Banting, we can discuss Miss Summersby's charms later. You said you saw her in the stables. When was this?"

He had no hope of catching her if she had taken off on horseback for whatever foolish reason. The thought of her on a horse after he had chased her in the storm made his palms sweat. The trails were still slick with mud. She could easily break her neck.

"Only a few moments ago, milord," Mrs. Banting said. "Then a footman came and summoned her to the laundry. I am on my way there myself. Not as quick as I once was. Miss Summersby went ahead. I am sure she—"

He spun around, leaving Mrs. Banting to sputter behind him. He would apologize when he wasn't filled with a foreboding sense of dread and worry.

By the time he made it to the laundry, to the shock of his servants, who squealed and grabbed at the washing, Saffron was gone.

"Let me guess," he said to a stuttering laundry maid. "Miss Summersby. A footman summoned her elsewhere?"

The maid shook her head. "No, my lord. It was Mr. Sinclair who came and fetched the lady. He was in a right fuss about something."

It was as if the woman remained one step ahead of him on purpose.

He shoved his hand in his hair. He had known his house was a mess, but he never would have realized how bad the situation was without Saffron's ruthless efficiency. Any emergency would have her coming at once. He paused mid-stride before a window that overlooked the grounds and gardens.

That was the answer. If he could not find her, he would fabricate a situation to make her come to him.

A smile tugged at his lips.

That will solve the problem quite well.