Page 51 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Please, please sit down,” Priscilla said. “We are eager to hear all the gossip of London.”

They sat down to chat, their conversation light and airy, focused on gossip about the ton and the people in the area whom Sloane and Annabeth had known in the past.

Annabeth was struck by how different Sloane was here with his friends. The cynical air, the sardonic smile, the biting words—all dropped away. He was more like the old Sloane, the one who had smiled and been kind, letting Sprague’s much younger brother tag around after them. The one who had teased her with laughter in his eyes and told her all his hopes and dreams. The one Annabeth had loved.

“I hope you will not mind. I invited the Todds and Mr. Feringham for dinner tonight,” Priscilla said. “They all wanted to see you, and I wasn’t sure how long you would be here or, um, what you wanted to do.”

Annabeth thought Priscilla was too polite to ask outright why Sloane and Annabeth had rushed down to visit them, but she was clearly edging around the topic. Annabeth looked toward Sloane. Let him be the one to lie to their friends.

“We will not impose on your good nature for long,” Sloane told Priscilla, smiling. “Annabeth told me how much she wished she could look over her family’s old estate. She would like to see if her father’s workshop still exists.”

Annabeth thought it seemed the flimsiest of excuses, but Priscilla and Timothy showed no disbelief in it. Which only served to heighten the guilt Annabeth felt.

She hastened to add, “Yes, of course. We would enjoy seeing them. The Todds are a lovely couple, and I am very fond of Uncle Russell.”

“We had planned to call on Mr. Feringham while we were here anyway,” Sloane added. “Annabeth was interested in seeing some of the boxes her father made for him.”

Timothy smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Those boxes! Mr. Winfield used to give them to me when I was sick—to occupy my mind while I was unable to do anything. He was such a kind man.”

“Yes, he was,” Annabeth agreed.

“Do you still have any of them, Timothy?” Sloane asked.

“I saved them all in a trunk. Would you like to see?”

Annabeth nodded, and Priscilla arranged for it to be brought down.

Two footmen carried in the trunk, and Priscilla opened it, revealing stacks of boxes. She removed them one by one, and they passed them around.

“It took me a while to figure out some, but I managed to get all of them in the end,” Timothy replied. He showed them the solutions to all the containers, his pale cheeks flushed with pleasure, looking almost like the young boy he had been. It brought tears to Annabeth’s eyes to see the trouble her father had gone to in order to help the boy through his illnesses.

But the search revealed no documents. Nerves danced in Annabeth’s stomach. What if after the problems this trip had caused—the painful rift with Nathan, the tension with Sloane, her guilt at lying to old friends—they didn’t find anything at all?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IN SLOANE’S OPINION, dinner that evening should have been a thoroughly boring event, but Annabeth wore a blue dress with a wide neckline that distracted him so much even keeping tabs on the pedestrian conversation of Russell Feringham was difficult.

Sloane’s eyes went back to her again and again throughout dinner as she chatted pleasantly with the Todds and their hosts. All he could think about was kissing her shoulder, then working his way across her collarbone to her neck. He could almost taste her skin; he remembered quite well kissing that tender flesh, so soft and delicate.

He told himself he was far too old and experienced to be so undone by the sight of a woman’s bare shoulders, but he found that the only thing age and experience did was make him aware that he could not act on his desire.

Still, he wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else. Even the effort of chatting with Feringham was one he would make ten times over to be in Annabeth’s presence.

Sloane didn’t care much for the man—he had been too close a friend to Annabeth’s father for Sloane to like him. But Annabeth was happy to see Feringham, and her happiness shone in her eyes, making her even more beautiful.

Whenever Sloane managed to tear his eyes away from Annabeth and glance over at Russell, he saw that the other man was watching him, frowning. After dinner, over port, Russell said to him in a low voice, “Don’t hurt my girl again.”

“I have no intention of hurting Annabeth,” Sloane replied.

“You were never a good match for her. Hunter didn’t like it.”

“I am well aware of Mr. Winfield’s opinion of me.” That opinion had not been improved by Sloane forcing the man to resign from his government position. And, oddly, the fact that Sloane had saved him from scandal and ruin seemed to make him dislike Sloane even more.

“Obviously he turned out to be right. It took Annabeth years to get over you, but she’s happy now and marrying a good man.”

“I know.” Sloane kept his voice even.

“Then stop insinuating yourself into her life again.”