One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(108)

“My God. That’s why you’re just sitting here, isn’t it? You want to be found. You want Spencer to call you out.”

Again, he said nothing.

Her brother wished to die. It was an admission that should have wrung her heart till it hurt—and it did. But it also angered her beyond belief.

“Have you considered anyone but yourself, with this plan of yours? I know you loved Hugh. We all loved Hugh. His death devastated the entire family. So now you would inflict that devastation on us again, by goading my husband into a duel?” Her voice shook. “I tell you now, that will not happen. Spencer is not a murderer, and I won’t allow you to make him one.”

She smoothed Claudia’s hair. “And this girl is fifteen years old, Jack. I don’t care whose idea it was, or what assumptions you were laboring under when you took her from the house. Nothing excuses this.”

“I know, I know.” Jack hugged his own knees and rocked himself. She thought she heard him weeping.

The sound only frustrated her further. Her brother wasn’t the frightened, ill-used, powerless child in this room. That role was Claudia’s, and in his self-centered myopia he’d done nothing to help the girl. For God’s sake, she was pregnant, terrified, chilled through with rain, and Jack was keeping her huddled in this drafty tower. He hadn’t even offered her his coat.

Strangely enough, Amelia was glad of it. That small example of thoughtlessness might be inconsequential compared to his other misdeeds—but it was this final ounce of selfishness that tipped the scales. For many months, she’d believed she could save her brother if only she loved him hard enough. But she saw her error clearly now. She’d accused Spencer of being insular, but Jack was the one incapable of seeing beyond his own grief. Other men lost brothers, friends, even children and wives—and still avoided abject dissolution. Why Jack had stumbled into the chasm when others managed to skirt it, she would never know. But she finally understood it was beyond her power to pull him out.

She murmured to Claudia, “Do you feel well enough to stand?” At the girl’s nod, Amelia hooked a hand under her elbow. “Come, then. I’ll take you home.”

“What about me, Amelia?” Jack asked weakly. “What becomes of me now? You’re so fond of telling me what to do.”

She shook her head as she helped the girl to her feet. “I don’t know, Jack. I truly don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-two

In the final black hour of night, Spencer crested the ridge of forest and began his descent toward Briarbank. The moon shone brightly now, though a mist still hung over the earth, blanketing the ground with moisture.

The scent of powder clung to his clothing. His boots were spattered with blood. His limbs were boneless with fatigue, and the early morning air was so humid, he felt as though he were swimming through it. Struggling, flailing. Drowning.

He could only pray Ashworth or Bellamy had succeeded where he’d failed.

He passed the stables on his way to the house. He was almost afraid to turn his head as he walked past the small, humble horse barn—but he made himself do so, wondering if he would see either of the other men’s horses returned. He didn’t. But what he did see chilled his blood.

Captain was missing. Amelia’s steady gelding, gone. He’d been tied near the barn entrance, and with the moon so bright, Spencer ought to have been able to glimpse his gray coat from here. Nothing.

His legs—or rather, the numb, wooden stumps currently occupying his boots—quickly pumped to life, propelling him toward the barn. He rushed inside, looking frantically from stall to stall. No Captain to be found. Oh, Christ. She barely knew how to hold the reins. Surely she hadn’t dared to take the horse out herself. With her inexperience and these conditions, to do so would have been an invitation to disaster.

His breath came quick and panicked now, and with every inhalation pain stabbed his side. He pressed an arm to his ribs, wondering if he’d broken just one, as he’d initially thought, or several. Wincing in pain, he half ran, half stumbled out of the barn and toward the cottage. The windows were dark, save a faint light from the library window. He moved toward it, drawn by that warm glow that seemed the embodiment of hope itself. Leaving the paved walk, he headed straight for the window and peered inside.

There she was. Seated in a chair by the wall of bookshelves, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Alone.

Gratitude swept the last bit of strength from his knees. He propped a hand on the wall for support, sucking in a lungful of air and relief. If he’d lost her, he couldn’t have borne it.

Well, she might be lost to him yet, after tonight. And God only knew where Claudia was right now. But he stood there for a moment, gazing through the window glass at her pale, lovely profile and trying to imagine he wouldn’t emerge from this night a complete failure at protecting everyone and everything he’d ever loved.

He went to the door and found it unlatched. Within seconds he stood in the entry of the library. His jaw worked a few times, sliding his thirst-thickened tongue over a tooth that had jarred loose. He couldn’t think of a word to say.

“She’s here.” With shaking fingers, Amelia swept the papers aside. “Sleeping upstairs. She is safe.”

Relief flooded his lungs, until his chest ached with it. Still, he couldn’t find words. So he crossed the room, knelt before his wife, laid his head in her lap, and wept.