thought, but he went to the British Museum.” An odd choice, given that he’d never shown the slightest interest in antiquities before, but no doubt he found time hanging heavy on his hands while he waited to take possession of the Arms.
“Hmm, too bad,” Lord Blackthorne said, sounding pleased. Serena felt sure he would head over to the museum the moment he was out the door. At any other time, she would have been amused at her father trying to play Iago to René’s Othello. But the idea lost its piquancy now she knew that, like Iago, her father did not balk at murder.
There would be no apology to make, after all. There was that to be grateful for.
Serena didn’t feel grateful. She took a deep breath, picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, and went to find Solomon.
Chapter 7
Solomon still didn’t have a plan to make Serena let him stay. He was hoping that after last night, she would just give in and save him the trouble. In the meantime, he was packing very slowly. He put on his shirt very slowly and buttoned his waistcoat very slowly.
If he couldn’t make her give in, he’d be back in Cheapside by dinnertime. The thought depressed his spirits unutterably.
Depression felt disturbingly normal, as if feeling alive and interested in the day, as he had for the past few mornings, was some sort of aberration.
Welcome back, blue-devils
.
Slowly shrugging into his coat, he looked out the window and saw Lord Blackthorne getting into his carriage. The old bastard must be delighted at this turn of events. A moment later Solomon felt guilty for his surge of resentment. If he left, the threat of Bedlam would be lifted. It would be a blessed relief for Serena, even if Sacreval remained to be dealt with.
But damn it, Solomon wanted to help her deal with him. He yanked open the wardrobe and started throwing things onto the bed.
A knock came at the door, and Serena walked in. She stopped short when she saw the pile of clothes, and his open valise. “Oh, good, you’re going,” she said flatly.
His heart sank. “What did your father want?”
She frowned. “How did you know—never mind. Nothing important. Be gone by lunchtime or I’ll have you evicted for trespassing.”
“Honestly, Serena, only you could add insult to injury withsuch—” She put up a hand to rub at her temple, and he saw white dents where her nails had bit the palm. He turned sharp eyes on her and saw her face was bloodless. “Good God, Serena, you look—you look
bleached
! What did that bastard say to you? Did he threaten to have you locked up again?”
She looked at her hand and smiled crookedly. “You’re too knowing by half. But—yes.” She took a breath. “He says he’ll let me alone if you just go. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. You may not have seen Bedlam, but I have. One of my protectors was keen on that sort of thing.” She actually shuddered.
A flood of stupid relief washed over him at the regret in her voice. Perhaps she’d meant to ask him to stay after all. That would have to be enough, because thinking of Serena in an asylum made him—actually, he preferred not to think of it. It didn’t matter what he wanted; it mattered that she was safe. “I understand,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I’ll find the earrings another way.” She was already turning to leave, not meeting his eyes, when he said, stumbling over the words now, “I . . . Good-bye, Serena. I—it’s been . . .”
She turned and fixed her gray eyes on him. He straightened his shoulders and tried to look stoic. He must have been failing because she got that annoyed look she always got—Solomon was beginning to realize—when she felt guilty. Now there was something else in it, too: fear. That bastard Blackthorne should be strung up by his thumbs.
Her next words took him by surprise. “Solomon, don’t go down any dark alleys for the next month or so, will you?”
His eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling
“Hmm, too bad,” Lord Blackthorne said, sounding pleased. Serena felt sure he would head over to the museum the moment he was out the door. At any other time, she would have been amused at her father trying to play Iago to René’s Othello. But the idea lost its piquancy now she knew that, like Iago, her father did not balk at murder.
There would be no apology to make, after all. There was that to be grateful for.
Serena didn’t feel grateful. She took a deep breath, picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, and went to find Solomon.
Chapter 7
Solomon still didn’t have a plan to make Serena let him stay. He was hoping that after last night, she would just give in and save him the trouble. In the meantime, he was packing very slowly. He put on his shirt very slowly and buttoned his waistcoat very slowly.
If he couldn’t make her give in, he’d be back in Cheapside by dinnertime. The thought depressed his spirits unutterably.
Depression felt disturbingly normal, as if feeling alive and interested in the day, as he had for the past few mornings, was some sort of aberration.
Welcome back, blue-devils
.
Slowly shrugging into his coat, he looked out the window and saw Lord Blackthorne getting into his carriage. The old bastard must be delighted at this turn of events. A moment later Solomon felt guilty for his surge of resentment. If he left, the threat of Bedlam would be lifted. It would be a blessed relief for Serena, even if Sacreval remained to be dealt with.
But damn it, Solomon wanted to help her deal with him. He yanked open the wardrobe and started throwing things onto the bed.
A knock came at the door, and Serena walked in. She stopped short when she saw the pile of clothes, and his open valise. “Oh, good, you’re going,” she said flatly.
His heart sank. “What did your father want?”
She frowned. “How did you know—never mind. Nothing important. Be gone by lunchtime or I’ll have you evicted for trespassing.”
“Honestly, Serena, only you could add insult to injury withsuch—” She put up a hand to rub at her temple, and he saw white dents where her nails had bit the palm. He turned sharp eyes on her and saw her face was bloodless. “Good God, Serena, you look—you look
bleached
! What did that bastard say to you? Did he threaten to have you locked up again?”
She looked at her hand and smiled crookedly. “You’re too knowing by half. But—yes.” She took a breath. “He says he’ll let me alone if you just go. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. You may not have seen Bedlam, but I have. One of my protectors was keen on that sort of thing.” She actually shuddered.
A flood of stupid relief washed over him at the regret in her voice. Perhaps she’d meant to ask him to stay after all. That would have to be enough, because thinking of Serena in an asylum made him—actually, he preferred not to think of it. It didn’t matter what he wanted; it mattered that she was safe. “I understand,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I’ll find the earrings another way.” She was already turning to leave, not meeting his eyes, when he said, stumbling over the words now, “I . . . Good-bye, Serena. I—it’s been . . .”
She turned and fixed her gray eyes on him. He straightened his shoulders and tried to look stoic. He must have been failing because she got that annoyed look she always got—Solomon was beginning to realize—when she felt guilty. Now there was something else in it, too: fear. That bastard Blackthorne should be strung up by his thumbs.
Her next words took him by surprise. “Solomon, don’t go down any dark alleys for the next month or so, will you?”
His eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling
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