He’d left three days ago to ride to the coast and meet Geoffrey Randall, afire with impatience for a firsthand report on all his good friend and assistant had learned in the Peninsula. But Geoffrey never arrived. After waiting a day and interrogating every packet captain who made port, he’d found no trace of the man.Deeply troubled, he urged his horse onto the bridge. He needed a hot bath, dry clothes and food before he returned to Horse Guards and tried to untangle the puzzle. Had Geoffrey not received his missive? Stumbled on new information too important to leave without pursuing? Or had something more ominous occurred?Anxious as he was to pursue the problem, with Randall hundreds of miles away the small delay required to refresh himself would make no difference. But as he turned his horse north toward Mayfair, a submerged but ever-present yearning drew him to Emily’s street.He could ride by—’twas a public road. Filthy and bestubbled as he was, he’d not be tempted to stop in.
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