Page 54 of My Dark Duke

“This gentleman, did he give his name?” Sebastian pressed, urgent to find out all he could, before he lost Polly to hysteria.

“No.” Polly shook her head. “But he said he was family.”

Lord Bailey.

There was no one else it could be, but just to be certain, Sebastian pressed her to share anything else she knew.

“He called her Miss Hamilton,” Polly whispered. “He was a weedy sort; small, with a big beaver hat on to make him appear taller.”

“I know exactly who he is,” Sebastian scowled. “Thank you, Polly - you’ve been most helpful.”

Sebastian nodded at her encouragingly and left the room. In the hallway, he found Michael waiting for him.

“Is there anything I can do, Your Grace?” the former soldier queried, his posture erect as though he was addressing a higher officer. “I can send some scouts to the Seven Dials, to see if she’s been spotted.”

Sebastian winced; he hoped Lillian would have the sense not to set foot in The Rookery, the insalubrious slums which bordered Covent Garden.

“Very good.” Sebastian nodded his head. “I shall pay a call on an old friend, who might have some contacts we might also utilise. Send word to Thorncastle House, if you have any news.”

With that, Sebastian departed, in search of the only man he could think of who might help.

Despite holding one of the highest titles in the land, the Duke of Falconbridge kept some rather low company. Not that Sebastian was judging him, for it was these friends who aided with the search for Lillian.

He had found Falconbridge in The Bird’s Nest, the famed gaming-hell in Pickering Place. The duke, who had been laying waste to some young bloods at the card table, had abandoned his spot to help Sebastian mount a search party.

“Very little fun to be had, when playing with simpletons.” Falconbridge had shrugged when Sebastian had apologised for ruining his sport.

The duke had led Sebastian from the main gaming room and up a set of rickety steps, to an office which contained Killian Shatter, the prince of London’s underworld.

“Thorncastle has lost his filly,” Falconbridge stated, idly. “He needs help finding her.”

Shatter looked up from the paper and assessed Sebastian from top to toe, unimpressed.

“Does the lady wish to be found?” he grunted. “I’m not in the business of returning unwilling girls to cads.”

Sebastian bristled with indignation; in his life, no one had ever dared speak to him in such a manner.

Beside him, Falconbridge grinned, amused by Shatter’s antics.

“The girl is willing,” he vouched. “She is fleeing a family member, rather than our friend. He is her protector.”

“Must not be a great one, if she thought herself better alone.” Shatter gave a gravelly chuckle.

Sebastian moved forward, filled with an urge to rain punches down upon the man’s head, but Falconbridge placed a warning hand on his shoulder.

“Can you help?” the other man queried, shortly. “If you can’t, I will seek help elsewhere.”

Shatter sighed, pushed the ledgers on his table to one side, and nodded.

“I can help,” he decided. “Tell me all I need to know.”

Sebastian sighed, a mixture of relief and frustration, before divulging an edited version of events.

“She might be anywhere,” he finished. “She might have taken a stagecoach, or been apprehended by her cousin.”

“Time is of the essence, in that case,” Shatter said, as he stood from the table. “Wait here, I will return when I have news.”

He strode from the room, leaving Sebastian and Falconbridge with little to do but wait.

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