fingers through his hair. At least he would not present himself all neatly barbered at the Nag’s Head and wherever else his enquiries might lead. His hair had needed a trim before he left London, but he had decided to leave it until his return. It was a touch long and unruly, but the less well-groomed his appearance, the less notice he would attract.
He rotated, studying the room: Daniel’s room. Quashing down any guilt—he was trying to help, not snoop—he quickly searched through drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He must hope that someone at the Nag’s Head could either throw some light on the reason Daniel had been riding to Birmingham on a regular basis—if, that is, Pritchard was correct that Daniel had been visiting the city—or that they might solve the mystery of what, or who, Willingdale and R.H. were.
A battered saddlebag had been left on the bed. Inside was a clean shirt and neckcloth, reminding Vernon that this mission might take several days. He slung the bag over one shoulder and, with one last look around, he strode from the room.
In the entrance hall, he waited. The scrunch of hooves on the gravel outside told him that his horse had arrived. He went out to find Bickling holding a dependable-looking bay hunter and sent him running back to the stables to retrieve Vernon’s shaving kit and other personal necessities from his valise in his curricle. When Bickling returned, Vernon stowed the articles in the saddlebag as his groom filled him in on what he’d discovered about Mr Markham’s lost fortune.
‘Seems he raised funds against his business and invested them all in some non-existent scheme through this swindler who befriended the family and then vanished with their money,’ he said. ‘The stress caused Markham senior’s stroke and, although Pritchard clammed up when I tried to get more from him, it seems this fraudster also had something to do with Miss Markham.’
‘In what way?’
Bickling shrugged. ‘The man’s very loyal to Miss Markham. He wouldn’t say more than the bastard took Miss Markham in, too, and that she’s never forgiven herself. Blames herself for her father’s stroke.’
Had he courted her? Had she fallen in love with him? That’s what it sounded like to Vernon. ‘Thank you, Bickling.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you, milord?’
‘There is no need, I can take care of myself and, besides, you’ll be on edge the entire time if you have to leave my blacks in anyone else’s care.’
Bickling was even fussier about Vernon’s horses than he was, if that were possible. And he knew that Bickling would be forever saying ‘milord’, and that would mean no chance of staying discreet.
‘I could always take one of the men from here, but they appear short-staffed already. I will be fine going alone, do not worry.’
‘Very well, milord.’ Bickling’s glum face said it all.
Vernon glanced at the front door. Still no sign of Thea. He did not want to leave without saying goodbye so he went back inside. Immediately he heard hurried footsteps approaching from the nether regions of the house. Thea soon appeared, slightly breathless.
‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘There is something you need to see.’
Thea had to give his lordship credit: he followed her without question to the gunroom. Once inside, he turned a full circle, eyeing the rows of shotguns, rifles and muskets that lined the walls. The windowless room was illuminated by the three lanterns Thea had lit on her earlier visit. Somehow, with Vernon inside, the room seemed to have shrunk and Thea wrapped her arms defensively around her torso and stepped away from him, putting a little more distance between them.
Vernon tilted his head as he met Thea’s gaze and those penetrating green eyes of his glinted as they caught the light. They felt as though they reached deep into her soul. She just prayed he could not read her thoughts.
‘I trust you do not plan to hold me hostage down here, Miss Markham.’
His comment startled a laugh from her. The thought had crossed her mind. Not to hold him hostage, but to force him at gunpoint to take her with him—a crazy thought that she had dismissed the minute her whirling thoughts, desperate to find a way to go with him, had seized upon it. That crazy idea had, though, led to another plan.
Which was why she had ventured down here to the gunroom in the first place.
‘Have no fear, my lord,’ she said. ‘None of these weapons is loaded. You are quite safe.’
‘Then why are we here?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder if Daniel was armed,’ she said.
‘Would he normally go out with a gun?’
‘He had a blunderbuss that was always buckled to his saddle, in case of an attack,’ she said. ‘There have been a few robberies on the roads hereabouts, over the past year or so. Daniel said there has been an increase in vagrants wandering the countryside—former soldiers, he reckoned, although others like to blame the gipsies. But a blunderbuss is not a weapon he could carry in his pocket. Look—’ she pointed to the table in the centre of the room ‘—I found that pistol case in the cabinet. It should have two muff pistols inside, plus the flask and balls. Firearms are Daniel’s passion. He bought this case and pistols at an auction in Birmingham a few weeks ago.’
She tilted the case to show the single remaining pistol to Vernon. He whistled.
‘So...your brother went out expecting trouble. Or even danger.’
‘It would appear so, although I cannot understand why he would take that particular pistol. It is very small.’
Vernon moved closer as he peered at the contents of the case, his sleeve brushing Thea’s arm, sending a tingle of awareness racing through her. She shivered in reaction, fighting the urge to leave the room. Her discomfort was unimportant...she must do this for Daniel.
‘Small but deadly,’ Vernon said. ‘I should imagine he took it precisely because its size means it is easily concealed. I see he has several cases of duelling pistols...’ He selected one case at random and opened it. He whistled again, lifting out one of the guns and sighting along the barrel. ‘Manton’s. A fine piece. But, too big to conceal and...’
‘And what?’
He shot her an apologetic look and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I was thinking out loud.’
‘But, having begun to speak, you must now finish,’ Thea said, irritation at her physical reaction to his proximity making her sharp.
She had no wish to be aware of him as an attractive man. Men were not to be trusted.
‘I told you before,’ she went on, ‘I am not one of your fine ladies who needs mollycoddling. I have dealt with hard reality and survived. Please do not patronise me. Do me the courtesy of dealing with me as an intelligent adult, not a child.’
He sighed. ‘Very well. I was about to say that a duelling pistol is not as handy at close quarters.’
Her stomach churned at his words, but she tamped down her fear. She had asked him and he had replied. She could not now blame him because she did not like what she heard. Besides, that was an interesting point to remember. She had already selected and primed a duelling pistol, ready to pack in her saddlebag along with her spare clothing. Daniel had other small pistols—she would take one of those along as well.
‘I thought you should see this for yourself,’ she said to Vernon. ‘As you said, it suggests Daniel was expecting trouble when he left.’
Just speaking those words made her throat constrict with unshed tears but Thea forced her emotions to lie low, knowing she must keep a cool head if she was not to hinder the search for her brother.
‘It is time to go,’ she said, ‘but