They played cards for nigh on an hour, while Thea nursed her drink in the corner, growing steadily more indignant. She could hear their banter. Not once had Vernon mentioned Daniel. Or Henry Mannington. Instead, he fed them scraps of information about himself—none of it true, from what Thea knew of him—as he steadily lost, hand after hand. Then, he won a hand and, jubilant, he ordered a bottle of gin and four glasses. Thea could not fathom his strategy. Time was wasting. They needed clues. Why did he not just get on with it instead of throwing his money around? If he had experienced the dread of ending up in debtors’ prison, he would not be so careless of his money.

      Then, with the gin bottle half-empty—the level in Vernon’s glass, she noted, had barely dropped—he said, ‘That’s it. I’m done, lads. You’ve cleaned me out. Landlord...what time do you have?’

      ‘Half-past four,’ Perrins called in reply.

      ‘Half-past four, you say!’

      His words slurred a little, but Thea did not believe he was in the slightest bit foxed. Vernon swore an oath that made Thea blush, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

      ‘Have I the wrong place, I wonder? I made sure he said to meet here at four.’

      ‘Who’re you meeting, then? Anyone we know?’

      ‘Friend of mine. Daniel Markham. Business matter, don’t y’know?’

      He tapped one long forefinger against the side of his nose and winked at his companions, who promptly vied with each other to suggest other places Vernon might conceivably have arranged to meet Daniel. Thea found herself revising her opinion of his lordship and a grudging respect crept through her. Even the customers who had not played cards proffered suggestions. It seemed they all knew Daniel, but none of them appeared aware he was missing.

      ‘No, no,’ Vernon said, in response to each suggestion. ‘They do not sound familiar. I’ll know the name when you say it, I am sure. Perhaps...’ He paused, staring at the table, frowning. He shook his head. Looked around at his companions. ‘Maybe it was not in Stourbridge at all? Was it somewhere near Birmingham? Or in Birmingham itself?’

      ‘It could well be,’ Perrins said—the first time he had ventured a suggestion. ‘He hasn’t been in here for the last few nights—I dare say we’m not grand enough for him, now he’s consorting with them nobs at the Royal Hotel.’

      Royal Hotel! R.H!

      Thea gripped the edge of the table to stop herself leaping from her chair, as Vernon pumped Perrins by the hand.

      ‘The Royal! I remember! He did speak of the Royal—that must be the place. Now, how could I have got it so wrong? But he definitely spoke of the Nag’s Head as well—I must have confused the two.’

      ‘He’ll be long gone by the time you get to Birmingham,’ one of the other men said. ‘You might as well play another hand. He might call in on his way home tonight—it’ll save you a long ride.’

      ‘No...how far is it? Ten, twelve miles?’

      ‘Nearer thirteen.’

      ‘We had plans to meet up and spend the evening together. I cannot believe he will give up on me so easily. My horse is fresh. I can cover that in less than two hours. Now, I must make haste...only, before I go, does anyone know a place called Willingdale?’

      His question met with shaking heads.

      ‘A man called Henry Mannington?’

      As further denials rang around the room, Thea became aware she was now the only customer not taking an active role in the discussion. She stood quietly and, when Vernon’s attention was on Perrins, she slipped quickly and quietly from the bar. She did not wish to attract Vernon’s curiosity, convinced she would not pass too close a scrutiny from those astute green eyes of his. She retrieved Star from the yard behind the inn, mounted and then waited around a corner for Vernon to emerge. He strolled into the street, still looking every inch the nobleman, surrounded by his customary aura of assurance and entitlement. The ostler must have been watching, for he soon appeared, leading Warrior, and Vernon mounted with a fluid grace that made Thea’s mouth go dry. He was so very...male. She licked her lips to moisten them, irritated by her involuntary reaction. What was it about this man that touched her in ways no one else had ever done? Even Jasper. The man she had been going to wed, before he had left her standing at the altar.

      She tore her thoughts away from that wretch. It had happened long ago. She was older and wiser now, and Jasper was dead—killed in a fire at a wayside inn—and buried. She would never...never...put her trust in another man, no matter how handsome his face and no matter what feelings he had aroused as he’d wrapped her in his arms and comforted her, his strong embrace reassuring, his heartbeat steady in her ear.

      Thea gave Vernon a head start and then she followed.