Page 77 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

“No, Aunt Constance. I fear Her Grace will keep them busy well into the night.”

“Oh, well. I have grown rather weary of attending so many society events in a row. I think I will take my book and read in bed all night.”

“I may do the same. I see no point in attending the rout without Laurel or Hannah.”

She smiled. “I’m so glad you and Laurel seemed to have come to an understanding, Anthony. She’s just lovely.”

“She’s more than lovely, Aunt. She is the woman I love,” he said earnestly, his heart twisting, knowing that it was possible he might never see her again.

Her eyes widened at his remark, a radiant smile lighting her face. “Oh, Anthony. I’m so happy for you.” She embraced him for a long moment. “It’s what I’ve always wished for you. To find happiness. Love. You’ll create a family all of your own.”

“You are a part of that family, Aunt,” he said, his voice breaking.

There would be no family—no children—nothing. Unless he got Laurel back.

He left her and returned to Everton. “Aunt Constance won’t be a problem. At least for tonight.”

“We should wait close to the front door.”

“In here,” he said, leading them to a small parlor for visitors just off the foyer.

The men sat in silence for some minutes before Everton spoke.

“You seem a different man in recent weeks,” he noted.

“I am. Now that I have Laurel in my life.”

“I saw you kiss her at the Prattfords’ ball.”

That kiss seemed a lifetime ago.

“I did. Laurel thought a public kiss might start a bit of a scandal.”

Everton smiled. “Kissing your wife in public is exactly the right kind of scandal.” He paused. “Do you love her?”

“Desperately. If I don’t get her back...” He shook his head.

“We will. I know of this Julius Farmon and some of his business dealings. Together, we will see Laurel and Hannah returned and squash him like a bug.”

“I want more than that,” Anthony said fervently. “I want him dead. If he’s touched Laurel—or Hannah—I will see him in Hell.”

They sat again in silence until Merrick arrived, three Bow Street Runners in tow.

“They’ve been informed of the situation and will take up a post outside,” the marquess said. “I’ll summon the others.”

Before Merrick could leave, though, a maid entered. Anthony saw the note in her hand and snatched it. He read it and turned to her.

“When did this come?” he asked, his voice calm though emotion rocked through him.

“Some lad came to the back door and gave it to a scullery maid. She gave it to Cook. Cook gave it to me, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” he said, dismissing her. He knew by now the messenger would be long gone. He read aloud, “Five o’clock in the morning. The day after tomorrow. Twenty thousand pounds. Rotten Row. Come alone on foot. We’ll be watching.”

It struck Anthony that the ducal carriage Laurel and Hannah had departed in had never returned. He wondered what had happened to the servants who accompanied them.

The Runners introduced themselves quickly and then two departed with Merrick. Within minutes, the family members had returned.

Waxby, the Runner in charge, said, “The others will keep watch on the house tonight, both the front and back doors. They will be replaced during the day and another shift will come on tomorrow night. Those will be rotated until we bring home your wife and sister, Your Grace. Lord Merrick shared your suspicions regarding Julius Farmon and I’ve sent two more Runners to keep watch on where he keeps an office. It’s likely he’s holding his hostages nearby. By reputation, Farmon is a careful man. He would not want them far from him.”

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