Cloaked in Danger by Jeannie Ruesch Page B

questions? How had their conversations gotten so jumbled up?
    A flood of joy rushed through her. Adam wasn’t involved.
    His mother shuffled her into a bedroom, even as Aria tried not to follow. “You’ll wait here. Blythe will bring your clothes shortly. Then I wish to see you downstairs.” Regret showed in her pinched lips. “Where shall I send a note to your father? He’ll need to be involved in this discussion.”
    Her father. She had failed him.
    Every second that went by without answers could cost him his life, and she’d wasted so much time. Pressure built behind her eyes, for the tears she couldn’t seem to find, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach to hold in the pain. “He’s not available.” Her body screamed; her eyes stung. “He isn’t here. God, what have I done?”
    The phrase was becoming her personal mantra.
    Adam’s mother reached out to place a hand on Aria’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “It isn’t an ideal situation, I understand, but I assure you, my son will do the honorable thing.”
    “Honorable thing?” Aria blinked back tears, as the unending panic stole her breath, made it impossible to breathe.
    Blythe pushed the door open. She held a gown Aria didn’t recognize.
    “I...accidentally stepped on the hem and ripped the gown,” Blythe said, her gaze never leaving Aria’s. “I apologize for that. Here is one of mine.”
    By Blythe’s look of horrified shock, she had assumed the worst. His sister thought Adam had forced himself on her. This situation was getting worse with each passing minute. And Aria had spent enough time thinking the worst of Adam. She wouldn’t allow someone else to do it for even a second.
    Aria took the gown from her. “It’s not what you might think, Lady Ashton. There is an explanation for all of this.”
    “We will hear the explanations,” Adam’s mother said, “but that will have little bearing on the outcome. Please get dressed. We’ll be downstairs.”
    Blythe gave Aria one last measuring glance then followed her mother out the door. Before they closed it, Aria heard, “It looks like we’ll have another wedding to plan.”

Chapter Nine
    A wedding to plan.
    Aria moved into the corridor, dressed in Blythe’s simple gown of green muslin. But the words ran through her mind in circles, over and over again, playing havoc with her nerves.
    She couldn’t marry Lord Merewood. That was absurd.
    She wouldn’t marry Patrick either, but he expected a betrothal, despite her adamant response to the contrary.
    And good God, what would he think of her now? She didn’t want to hurt him. But she’d done nothing but lie to him for weeks, and Patrick would be devastated. Would it have been so terrible to ask for his help? To ask for anyone’s help?
    Aria followed the murmur of voices, turned the corner into the front parlor, and found Adam, his mother and sister conversing softly.
    At her appearance, Adam immediately leapt to his feet. “Aria, why do you believe your father is in danger?”
    Panicked, Aria looked from face to face. She didn’t want this out. “Perhaps I misspoke...”
    “Danger?” his mother said, as if Aria hadn’t spoken. “Aria, come in. Sit down. We’d best start at the beginning.”
    The scene was so domestic, with Blythe pouring tea as if they were having a cozy visit.
    “I can’t do this. If I leave now, no one will be the wiser. A wedding is not necessary.”
    “We can discuss that later.” Adam waved his hand to push the topic aside. “If your father is in danger, let me help.”
    Aria had to physically force her feet to stay put even as every muscle wanted to propel her forward, to run. Escape. The basic survival skills her father taught her at a young age wanted to take over: Fight or flight.
    But how did you fight your way out of a gathering with tea and scones?
    “There is no need.” Aria let her foot inch sideways toward the door. “I’ve managed to keep this quiet, and I think that’s