One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(105)

“Just now.” Spencer withdrew a pistol from the desk drawer. With a bit of show, presumably for Bellamy’s benefit, he jammed the gun into the waistband of his trousers.

At the sight of the weapon, Amelia’s joints went weak.

“All right, all right.” Bellamy acquiesced with an impatient tug at his hair. “I’ll go south, toward the Severn and Town. If I find them, you’ll hear of it. But I’ll continue on to London if I don’t.”

“Fair enough. You’ll find her at the Blue Turtle, in Hounslow. You’ll probably need to pay her account.”

Amelia had no idea what that last bit meant, but Bellamy seemed to understand.

“I’ll go north,” Ashworth said. “If they’ve taken a coaching route, someone ought to have seen them on the way to Gloucester.”

Spencer said, “I’ll take east, then, through the forest.”

Bellamy drew a deep breath and riffled his hair. “I’ll be needing proper boots.”

He left the room, and Lily slipped out the door after him.

Ashworth went next, tossing a parting comment over his shoulder: “We’ll meet you at the stable.”

Spencer’s reply was a curt nod.

Amelia stood alone with her husband, hugging her arms across her chest. She watched as he shook open a pouch and counted shot into his palm, then replaced the round balls of lead and cinched the bag tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Save the apologies.” He exhaled roughly, plucking his coat from the back of the chair and shrugging into it. Bracing his hands on the desk, he fixed her with a look of sharp concentration. “Give me the route. Road names, landmarks. Any description you can offer.”

She did her best, though it had been years since she’d traveled straight through the Forest of Dean. And what details she remembered—the primroses and violets, the carpets of ferns dotted with mushrooms, the remarkable sight of ducks nesting in a chestnut tree—weren’t likely to help him tonight. She forced herself to focus and gave him what information she could: stream crossings, steep grades.

Until she was interrupted by a pattering sound.

“Bloody hell,” Spencer muttered, stooping to peer through the window glass. “Now it’s raining.”

Could this get any worse? Amelia hoped it would only be a brief summer shower. The thought of Jack and Claudia on foot in the rain … not to mention, the three gentlemen in pursuit on horseback, riding over slippery, unfamiliar terrain … And all of this in the dark of night, with no moon.

Bloody hell, indeed.

He brushed past her on his way to the door. She caught his arm, swiveling him to face her. “Spencer, wait. Do you blame me for this?”

“I don’t have time to stand here and discuss blame, Amelia. I have to find them and bring Claudia back before she’s lost her reputation. Or worse.”

She cringed, understanding his meaning all too well. Jack might be desperate, but surely her brother wouldn’t defile a fifteen-year-old innocent? She wished she could reject the idea with greater certainty. At this point, she hardly knew what to think. “Is there nothing I can do?”

“Stay here.” Cupping her chin roughly, he tilted her face to his. “Do you hear me? Stay here, in case they come home.”

She swallowed hard and released his sleeve. “What will you do, if you find them?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect Claudia.”

Fear drummed in her chest. He meant he would deal harshly, even violently, with Jack if he felt it necessary. And given the circumstances, she would not have asked him to show mercy … if Claudia’s abductor were any other man.

“Please,” she choked out. “Please don’t kill him. I just couldn’t bear it if—”

“If you lost your brother,” he finished bitterly. With one last wounded glance, he turned to leave. “I know what he means to you, Amelia. Believe me, I know it all too well.”

After two hours of pacing the drawing room, Amelia thought she would go mad with worry. For her brother, for Claudia, for Spencer … even for Lord Ashworth and Mr. Bellamy. The more time that passed, the harder it became to imagine any happy outcome. If Claudia and Jack spent the night together away from home—the girl would be ruined. Whether or not they were found before reaching Scotland, whether or not Jack had actually touched her. Spencer might be forced to let them marry with his blessing, simply to preserve some shred of her reputation. He would not consider that a happy outcome, and neither would Amelia. Jack and Claudia would no doubt live to regret it, too.

Assuming Spencer let Jack live.

Her skin prickled with dread. She’d been desolated by the mere idea of choosing between them. Now the events of this night threatened to make the decision for her. And Spencer might never forgive her if Claudia came to harm.

Lily dozed fitfully in an armchair nearby, but Amelia knew she’d never find sleep. Her mind buzzed, her thoughts flitting from one possibility to the next. None of it made any sense to her, and that was what kept her circling the carpet, trailing her fingers along the mantel, skipping to the windowsill, then tracing the back of the divan. She understood why Jack would wish to elope with Claudia—obviously a duke’s ward would come with a significant dowry. But why on earth would Claudia agree to go with him? Jack was handsome enough, and he could be charming when he wished to be … but he certainly didn’t look his fittest at the moment, and the girl had scarcely spent any time in his company. Claudia obviously resented Amelia and Spencer’s marriage, but was she so thoroughly steeped in adolescent rebellion that she would go so far as to elope out of spite?