Cloaked in Danger by Jeannie Ruesch Page B

Wade’s feelings for you are abundantly clear. Even when he travels for business, he returns to your side the minute he sets foot in London.” The characteristic pinched lips and a brow furrowed with disapproval appeared upon Emily’s sweet face. Aria was forever disappointing her stepmother. “Think about letting him help.”
    “Aria? Is there something you need my help in?” Patrick stood in the doorway, a glass with a modicum of whiskey in his hand.
    “Why do you ask?”
    He quirked an amused smile. “When you answer questions with questions, I know something is amiss. What has you so concerned? If there is some way I may resolve it, you know I will.”
    His hand landed on her arm, offering a firm, almost hard squeeze. She felt affection for him—they were companionable, comfortable. But trust him with her father’s life?
    That wasn’t quite so simple. She wasn’t sure she had the ability to trust anyone so completely, much less when it concerned something so important.
    “Aria, let me help you,” he urged. He took a final step and loomed a little too close.
    She stepped back. “Nothing is amiss.”
    A tic jumped in his jaw, but it quickly disappeared. “Very well. Shall we go?”
    As he escorted her to their carriage, irritation emanated from his solid steps, his strident gait. Aria knew he was disappointed.
    And she hated lying, though had anyone observed her at a society affair of late, they’d find that impossible to believe. All she was doing was lying—to Patrick, to every person she complimented. Every time she acted as if she cared about the latest gossip.
    She was used to frank honesty. Her father was a blunt man, and he had raised her to value the truth above all. It was the foundation of their existence; it was how you knew who you could trust in any environment. Now, to be thrust into a world that thrived on deceit and games felt like walking on a floor of glass—one that cracked with every step and threatened to shatter beneath her.
    She settled into the carriage. She’d expected an uncomfortable ride into Lambeth, but as they crossed the Westminster Bridge toward Bridge Street, the lack of small talk hung in the air.
    Lady Beasley had fallen asleep only moments after the carriage left, lulled by the bumps on the road and the rhythmic clops of the horse hooves. Little whistle snores erupted from her every so often.
    And Patrick, who had proven on every other occasion to be nothing but charming and gracious company, was uncharacteristically silent.
    He’s brooding, she thought. And Emily was correct—Aria had to be clear with him.
    The fact that she remained focused on leaving London was all the answer she needed to know how she felt about him. She didn’t want to hurt him. But this wasn’t the time to be honest.
    And finding her father was something she had to do alone.
    The carriage began to slow and she peered out the window. The entrance to Vauxhall Gardens was up ahead, teeming with carriages and patrons walking down the street toward the crush of people at the gates.
    They had missed the ritualistic lighting of the lamps, and by the time they made it to the entrance, strains of music could already be heard.
    Despite how uninspiring the Gardens looked during the daylight, at night they became a place far removed from London. Exotic in ways that made her recall warm desert nights lit only by candles and lamps when one could step out of the tent and see nothing but the haloed lamps and stars. She’d read in a gossip rag that there were thousands of lamps lit in Vauxhall. They hung from trees, from posts, and turned every speck of ordinary dirt and rock into shimmering walkways. Plants and trees destined to be nothing but a common green by day shone with shadows and highlights, the reflections of the light dancing between the leaves.
    Ironic that one of the few places in London she could relax was a fenced-in garden.
    “Our box is over there,” Patrick said brusquely after they had