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over how the man had treated Arthur during their relationship, but had more than hate and a need to protect prompted his threats?
Had Thorn feared he would go back to Randolph? But he had told Thorn in the carriage that Randolph meant nothing to him& yet less
than twenty-four hours later he had shoved Thorn away.
A tight fist of worry grabbed his gut. He pushed from his desk. The hell with his office. He needed to see Thorn now.
* * *
 What do you mean? Then where is he? And do not tell me again that Mr. Thornton is not at home.
One hand on the knob, poised to close the door, Thorn s butler stared back at Arthur, lips pursed as though fighting the urge to
inform him yet again that Thorn was not at home.  Would you care to leave your card?
 I would care to know Mr. Thornton s whereabouts. It s not even noon. Has he instructed you to turn me away?
 If you would care to leave your card, you are welcome to do so. Otherwise, good day to you, Mr. Barrington.
With that, the servant made to close the door. Arthur lurched forward, about to flatten his hand against the door and demand an
answer yet again, when the butler paused. He tilted his head, as if listening to someone. Beneath the rumble of a passing carriage,
Arthur heard a murmured voice. Not Thorn s. Then the butler stepped back, relinquishing his place to Jones.
 Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington, the footman said, opening the door fully.  May I take your coat?
The abrupt change in hospitality caught him off guard. He gathered his wits and stepped inside. As he shrugged his greatcoat
from his shoulders, he scanned the entrance hall, but it held only himself and Jones, with the dour, tight-lipped butler lurking along the
corridor leading to the back of the town house.  Where is he?
Jones took his coat and folded it over his arm. With his free hand, he motioned toward the left.  If you would come to the
drawing room, sir.
Thorn preferred his study. Arthur always went straight up the stairs to the first door on the right, never to the drawing room. He
studied the servant s face but could detect nothing from his expression.
That fist of worry gave a fierce wrench. He tipped his head, and with his heart slamming against his ribs, he followed Jones into
the drawing room.
He knew before he glanced about the elegantly appointed room with its black and gold Egyptian chairs and white marble
fireplace that he would not find Thorn waiting for him. He turned to face the footman, prepared to start bellowing for Thorn, if that was
what it would take to make the man appear.
 Would you care for a cup of tea? Jones asked as he closed the door.
 Where is he? Arthur repeated through clenched teeth, his nerves near shot.  And if you tell me he is not at home, you will sorely
regret it.
 Mr. Thornton left yesterday morning, Jones replied, ever the composed servant, not at all cowed by Arthur s threat.
That took Arthur aback. He had expected Jones to politely inform him that Thorn refused to see him and to please not call
again, not that the man was in fact not somewhere in the house.  When will he return? What prompted him to leave? Was he called
away on business? he asked, grabbing hold of a possible explanation, but to his knowledge, Thorn did not have any business
interests outside of London except for his country estate in Yorkshire.
 I do not know where he went or why, nor how long he will be gone. He did not receive a note or a visitor that morning. The only
caller who has been by in the past few days has been yourself, Mr. Barrington.
 Then where was he two days ago? The butler informed me he was not at home, but you are telling me he did not leave until
yesterday.
With a glance toward the closed door behind him, Jones stepped farther into the room, coming to a stop a pace from Arthur.
The calm composure vanished, giving way to a concern that practically radiated from him.  Mr. Thornton was abed.
 At half past seven in the evening? Thorn had a dislike of rising early, but seven was considerably beyond any definition of
early.
Brows lowered and mouth grim, Jones nodded.  He returned home late Saturday. I readied his room, then left him for the night.
He remained abed until yesterday morning. I checked on him several times a day, brought him trays, which he barely touched. At first
I thought he was ill, but he did not want me to summon a doctor. That  no was the only word I heard from him for two days. And he
wasn t foxed. He never asked for a bottle of whisky, nor did I find anything in his bedchamber to indicate he had sought one out on his
own. And then abruptly he left. One of the kitchen maids saw him go out the back door carrying a saddle bag. The grooms reported
he saddled a horse and left. No mention from him as to his direction.
Arthur s mind reeled, unable to make sense of what Jones had told him.  He did not leave his bed for two days? he heard
himself ask, as if from a great distance.
 Unfortunately yes, though I suspect he got up at some point during that time. The trays weren t always untouched. A piece of
toast gone, the pile of potatoes disturbed, a half-empty teacup. But he was so silent and still whenever I checked on him.
 Does he know I called? Did anyone give him my card?
 I told him yesterday morning when I delivered breakfast that you had called and left your card. He did not respond, though he
actually ate that breakfast. All of it. Perhaps he was simply unwell and felt better after he ate, but he always takes me when he travels.
He did not even ring for me to pack his bag for him. He simply left. I thought he had gone to see you, but clearly that is not the case.
Arthur could not ignore the sinking feeling his call had somehow prompted Thorn to leave. But why?  Could he have gone to
Yorkshire?
 Perhaps, but the distance and this time of year on horseback? Jones shook his head.  I don t believe so. He has always taken [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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