To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(63)

“No!” She shook his arm. “No. The puppy wandered into the kitchen alone two hours ago. I thought at first that the children had neglected him, and I was annoyed with them. I went looking to scold them, but I couldn’t find them. Oh, Alistair.” Her voice broke. “I was going to scold Abigail—she’s the eldest. I was thinking of the words, angry words, I was going to say to her, and now I can’t find her!”

Her anguish made him want to pound down walls. If Abigail was merely hiding, he’d have to punish her for the grief she’d caused her mother, whether or not it destroyed any relationship he might have had with the child. Right now, though, he had to do something, anything, to end Helen’s pain. “Where did you last see Abigail and Jamie? How long ago?”

He’d turned to the door, intending to go down and handle the search himself, when one of the maids rounded into sight on the stairs, panting heavily.

“Oh, sir!” she panted. “Oh, Mrs. Halifax. The children…”

“Have you found them?” Helen demanded. “Where are they, Meg? Have you found my babies?”

“No, ma’am. Oh, I’m that sorry, ma’am, but we haven’t found them.”

“Then what is it?” Alistair asked quietly.

“Tom the footman said he remembered seeing Mr. Wiggins in the village last night.”

Alistair scowled. “I thought he’d left the area.”

“That’s what everyone thought, sir,” Meg said. “That’s why Tom was so surprised to see Mr. Wiggins, although he was daft enough not to say so until now.”

“We’ll go to Glenlargo,” Alistair said. “Wiggins is probably somewhere about.”

He didn’t say that if Wiggins had taken off in another direction, their chances of finding him soon were slim. The knowledge that the manservant might have the children sent ice sliding down his spine. What if Wiggins was bent on some kind of revenge?

Alistair strode to a chest of drawers and opened the bottom one. “Tell Tom and the other footman that they’ll be going with me.” He found what he was looking for—a pair of pistols—and turned to the door.

Meg eyed the pistols. “He wasn’t alone, Tom said.”

Alistair stopped. “What?”

“Tom said that he saw Mr. Wiggins talking to another man. The man was very tall and finely dressed, and he carried an ivory cane with a gold—”

Helen gasped and Alistair saw that her face had gone slightly greenish.

“—knob. He wasn’t wearing a wig, Tom said. The man was balding,” Meg finished in a rush, staring at Helen. “Ma’am?”

Helen swayed, and Alistair put his arm about her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Go on ahead, Meg, and tell the footmen to ready themselves.”

“Aye, sir.” Meg curtsied and left.

Alistair closed the door firmly behind the maid and turned to Helen. “Who is he?”

“I… I…”

“Helen.” He took her gently by the shoulders. “I saw your face. You know the man Tom saw last night. Right now we have no way of knowing in which direction Wiggins and his accomplice might’ve taken the children. If you have any idea where they could’ve gone, you need to tell me.”

“London.”

He blinked. He hadn’t expected an answer quite that definite. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She nodded. Her face had regained some of its color, but now it held an expression of resigned fatality.

A wisp of unease uncurled in his belly. “How do you know? Helen, who was the other man?”

“Their father.” She looked up at him, her eyes grief-stricken. “The Duke of Lister.”

Chapter Thirteen

Truth Teller hid the horse he’d bought outside the castle walls. He guarded the monster all that day. In the evening, the sorcerer came as usual, and as usual, Truth Teller answered his question and left. But instead of retreating inside the castle, the soldier hid himself behind the cage of swallows. He watched and waited patiently until the moon had risen, and then he ran swiftly to the sorcerer. The sorcerer turned, startled, and Truth Teller blew the powder into his face. Instantly the sorcerer transformed into a little brown bat and flew away, leaving his robes and ring on the ground behind him. Truth Teller picked up the ring and offered it to the princess through the bars of her cage.

She looked at the ring and then at Truth Teller in astonishment. “Will you not demand a boon from me in exchange for the ring? My father’s wealth or my hand in marriage? Many men would do so in your place.”

Truth Teller shook his head. “I only wish you safe, my lady.…”

—from TRUTH TELLER

Alistair stared at Helen and felt as if the earth shifted and moved beneath him. “The children’s father is a duke?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

She looked at him with tragic harebell-blue eyes and said, “I was the Duke of Lister’s mistress.”

He cocked his head to see her better from his good eye. “Was there ever a Mr. Halifax?”

“No.”

“You were never married.”

It was a statement, but she answered it, anyway. “No.”

“Jesus.” A goddamned duke. His chest was tight, as if held within the grip of a giant, terrible vise. He glanced down at his hands and was almost surprised to see he still held the pistols. He walked to the desk and put them back in the drawer he’d taken them from.