Chapter Seven
The ticking of the clock seemed inordinately loud. Georgiana fiddled with her teacup. Several hours after her son had gone missing, her brother had managed to fetch the magistrate. Simon had used their influence, and several Bow Street runners had arrived with him to Meadowbrook Park, although they had no obligation to assist anyone in need outside of the greater London area.
Somehow, she had taken a bath and dressed in an icy-blue gown and had allowed her lady’s maid to arrange her hair in a loose chignon, with a few tendrils escaping to brush against her cheek and neck. There was no doubt she appeared calm and serene to the magistrate, so very different from the creature who had roamed the lawns and hidden crevices of the vast estate, screaming her son’s name.
She fought the suffocating dread of utter hopelessness. Oh, Nicolas, my darling. I’ll find you… Somehow, I’ll find you.
A throat cleared, and she lifted her eyes from her tea.
“Your Grace,” Sir Edward Blaine, the magistrate began. “Is it possible your son…ran away?”
She blinked. “He is a child of six years.”
He flushed. “These are standard questions, Your Grace.”
“My son…my son has not run away. He is not hiding on the estate. Even as we speak, almost all the servants are out searching for him, here and in the nearby villages. He is not in the house. He…he…he must have been taken,” she said, gripping her teacup so tightly it was a miracle it did not shatter.
Compassion warmed his eyes. “Let me assure you, Your Grace, dozens of volunteers from the village are working with the servants to locate him.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Do you have any enemies?”
Simon stirred from where he had stood frozen in front of the windows facing the great lawns of the estates. “She has no enemies,” he said.
The magistrate nodded, but still pinned her with a stare that demanded an answer.
“I do not.”
He scribbled in his book, and she wanted to snatch it from his hands and read what he thought was noteworthy in her answer.
“Have you made any recent acquaintances? Anyone suspicious?”
She stilled, a prickle of doubt and disbelief scything though her heart. “I’ve made several recent connections, but none were suspicious.”
“Are you able to provide me a list?”
She set the teacup and saucer down with a rattle. “I can. Most are lords and ladies from London society and have had no contact with Nicolas. I cannot see how they would benefit from taking him.”
“And do you know of someone who would benefit?”
Simon strolled over to rest a hand on her shoulder. She desperately wanted to lean into his comforting presence, but forced herself to sit spine stiff and straight.
Simon replied, “The late duke had a younger brother, Lord James Rutherford. He is Nicolas’s uncle…and the man with the most to gain if something ill befalls—”
She surged to her feet, dislodging herself from Simon’s arm, and whirled to face him. “Do not say it!”
Regret gleamed in his gaze, but there was also knowledge in his eyes she hated to see. It filled her with fear and rage. “What do you know?” she breathed.
His lips flattened. “Little of value. When I know more, I will inform you.”
“Don’t you dare, Simon. If this is in relation to Nicolas, I demand to know,” she insisted.
The magistrate stood, his beady eyes bouncing between them. “I believe whatever knowledge you may have will be of aid in my investigation, as well.”
“I doubt it,” Simon said coolly. “You do your part, and I will do mine. If our paths collide, then so be it.”
She laced her fingers tightly together in front of her. “Tell Sir Edward what you have learned, Simon.”
A few seconds ticked by before he spoke. “Lord James is in enormous debt.”
Sir Edward reopened his leather notebook. “And you discovered this when?”
“Just a couple hours past. When I got word of my nephew’s disappearance, I immediately reached out to…certain connections to glean some information.”
Rhys. Her heart lurched. If the information had come from his quarter, there could not be any doubt of Lord James’s precarious financial state. Her late husband’s brother had always been amiable, if a bit too cheerful. The few times he’d visited, he’d always brought a present for Nicolas, but otherwise had seemed disinterested in his nephew. The very idea that he would orchestrate her son’s disappearance was outrageous.
“And who did you turn to that could uncover such information in such a short time?” the magistrate demanded, his voice rife with suspicion.
“That is hardly your concern. Just know I trust in his source information, and you should leave no stone unturned as you search for the young duke.”
The magistrate shifted his regard to her. “Have there been any demands for money?”
“No.”
He nodded. “If Your Grace will permit the intrusion, I will leave a few men here in the event a note is delivered. My constable will inform me posthaste. I will return to London and start my investigation. I will begin with Lord James.”
“Yes, and thank you. I will provide a carriage to ensure your speedy return to town.”
He bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
A few seconds later, Simon escorted the men outside. Georgiana’s thoughts tumbled over each other in frantic haste. Was it possible for Lord James to act with such rank disregard of his own nephew? The last time they had seen him was the previous year. He sent the occasional letter inviting her and Nicolas to his estate in Cornwall, but she had always declined.
The door closed and she glanced up. “If Lord James is in debt, why would he not approach me for a loan? How is taking Nicolas a viable plan? I am the one in control of his trust until he is of age.”
Simon faltered, an unknown emotion flaring to life in the depths of his eyes before he lowered his lashes.
“What is it?” she asked, almost afraid for Simon to voice whatever terrible thought he had.
He expelled a soft breath. “His debt is in many thousands, Georgie. Here and abroad.”
“And?”
“Lord James needs to access money only the dukedom can provide.”
She wanted to scream, to cry out her terror as Simon’s meaning became clear. The fear striking at her heart was overwhelming. “You mean…you believe he may have my…my Nicolas killed?” Georgiana asked through bloodless lips.
“It is possible.”
“Rhys gave you this information that Lord James is heavily in debt?”
Her brother frowned at the intimate use of Rhys’s name but wisely refrained from commenting. “The instant I got your message, I prevailed upon him for the information. We haggled, and I got this information within a few hours.”
She closed her eyes. “Did…did you tell him?”
“No. I simply asked for the secrets of Lord James.”
She pressed a closed fist to her stomach. “I need… Take me to him,” she said hoarsely.
Simon frowned. “Who? Lord James would have hired underlings to do his dirty deed to cover—”
“I am speaking of Rhys Tremayne. Take me to him. If Nicolas was taken…taken with such nefarious intention, he could unearth this information, yes?”
“Georgiana, please, let me handle this.”
“No. I need to see him myself.”
“Not bloody likely,” he snapped. “I will find Rhys’s weakness and offer him the right deal for the work he will do.”
“Take me to him, or I will go alone, shouting in the streets of London until I am face-to-face with him.”
“You cannot be seen at Mr. Tremyane’s house. You are the duchess—”
“Do you expect me to worry about propriety when my son is missing?” she snarled, fury filling her. “When my son may be the victim of a covetous murder plot?”
Simon scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, and that is why I am doing the thinking for you. Let me travel to Mr. Tremayne and broker our new arrangement.”
She wanted to cast up her accounts to hear her son’s fate being spoken of so heartlessly, her pain and despair rendered to a simple cold, businesslike transaction. She walked away from him, exiting the drawing room and issuing commands to the few hovering servants. Ignoring Simon’s virulent curses, she ran up the stairs to her chamber. Her lady’s maid entered a few seconds behind and aided Georgiana into her traveling dress, a dark-green redingote, and a matching bonnet.
The door to her chambers was shoved opened, but she ignored her scowling brother and hurried past him. He was on her heels down the stairs.
“I can see you are determined to be reckless. I understand your fear, Georgie—”
At the bottom of the stairs, she rounded on him. “I know you love Nicolas, Simon, but it is impossible for you to know my fear and my torment. I…I am su…supposed to protect him,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ll not sit idly by. So, if you know where Rhys is, take me to him now, and cease worrying about my sensibilities and position in society when my son’s life is threatened.”
Simon nodded and held out a piece of paper he had clutched in his palm. “This is the address of his London townhouse. It is on the very edge of Mayfair.”
She plucked it from his grasp. “Thank you.”
“I believe he is in residence. Do you wish for me to accompany you?”
“No. Please guide your efforts elsewhere. It would be a waste of effort to direct our thoughts to the same avenue. Please…do all that you can. There is a possibility he was not taken by Lord James. Maybe…just maybe he is sleeping somewhere, and we will find him soon.”
Simon descended the last step, cupped her cheeks, and wiped at the tears she’d not realized were falling. “We’ll find him,” he promised gruffly.
“I know,” she whispered and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek before fleeing his embrace into the night and the waiting carriage. The note was given to the coachman, who’d equipped the carriage with four of their finest and fastest bays. Georgiana settled herself against the squabs, lacing her fingers together to still their trembling. Now that she was alone, it was easy for the sobs to tear from her throat. Was he hurt and afraid? He would be cold and hungry. Dear lord, please protect him and hold him safe in your arms.
It was a relief when the carriage slowed to a stop a few hours later. Escaping the confinement of the carriage that had hidden her fears and sobs, Georgiana allowed the footman to assist her from the carriage. The looming townhouse was dark, but she squared her shoulders and hurried up the cobbled steps. She grabbed the brass knocker and sounded it several times. A few beats later the door was pulled opened, a short, rotund gentleman peering down at her.
“The Duchess of Hardcastle to see Mr. Tremayne at once.”
The man’s scowl disappeared, and he snapped to attention. He moved back, and she rushed inside, a bit disconcerted at the darkness that greeted her. It seemed as if the household was abed.
“If Her Grace will wait in the parlor, I will get Mr. Tremayne right away.”
She was directed into a drawing room, where a fire burned low in the grate. The butler lit several candelabra before he scurried away. Georgiana paced the room, nervous energy coursing through her body. What if Rhys was unable to help her? What other options were there?
The door was pushed open, and she whirled around.
Dark eyes scanned her body. “What is wrong?”
She tried to speak, but her tongue would not loose. Panic rose and choked her until she could barely breathe. His gaze went flat and hard, and in a few strides, he was before her, standing impossibly close.
“Tell me,” he said softly, resting his hand against her shoulder.
She didn’t even think. Georgiana crumpled into the shelter of his arms, sick with relief that he was there. “My…s-son has been taken.” A shiver seized her, and she trembled violently. Desperate to chase away the fear, she breathed him in deep. “I need…I need your help, please.” A sob tore from her.
His arm slipped beneath her shoulders, and he murmured words that took precious seconds to penetrate her fear. “Whatever you need, I’ll provide.”
He spoke with such absolute assurance her shoulders relaxed. She felt warmth rush through her body. She gave another sob, pressing her face hard against his chest, reassured by the strength and power within him. It appalled her he was the one she was unravelling around, but Georgiana couldn’t control the pain and fear tearing though her heart. Strong arms lifted her, and she shivered uncontrollably as he carried her across the room and placed her on the sofa.
He bent low and lightly kissed her nose, her eyelids salty with tears, and her breath hitched at the intimate, soothing caress.
Whatever you need, I’ll provide.
Some of her tension drained away at that comforting assurance given so promptly, but not all of it. Dipping into her reticule, her trembling fingers held forth a miniature. “Here,” she said through lips that barely moved. “This is my son. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
The rasping words tore from her throat, “No…he was taken. Kidnapped from Meadowbrook Park. He is all I have…he is my world. Please…”
“Tell me everything.”
As quickly as possible, she recounted all from the second she realized her son was missing. Rhys listened keenly, without interruption. He waited until she’d finished before he spoke. “Lord James, he’s the man your brother asked me for information on earlier? Nicolas’s uncle?”
“Yes. Simon…Simon believes the enormous debt would perhaps lead Lord James to act with greed and cruelty.” She wetted her dry lips. “But perhaps…perhaps he is not the one who took my Nicolas.” She despised the pleading note in her voice, but she couldn’t bear the idea of her son in the clutches of a man who intended to take his life. “Lord James’s estate is in Cornwall, and his townhouse is here, only a few minutes away. Should we visit him—”
“No.”
She stiffened, and he placed a finger under her chin and lifted.
“You came to me because you trusted that I could locate your son.”
“Yes.”
“If Lord James took him, he would not have done it himself. He would have hired those who are soulless to see the job done.”
A harsh whimper tore from her.
“Shh,” he soothed, pulling her even closer. “I’ll find him. I’ll leave no stone unturned.”
“And if you cannot?” she whispered, driving to the heart of her terror. “What if no one can?”
“There is no information brokered I cannot unearth. If Lord James paid criminals in the underworld, I’ll soon have all information surrounding any deals made. Their names, what they were paid, places and times. Please return to your home.”
“I’ll come with you, I cannot wait idly by for news. My Nicolas…” Her words broke as a surge of fear tore through her. Please God, I can’t lose him.
“No. Travel back to Meadowbrook Park. Rouse the household. Prepare his favorite dish, and have tea and biscuits ready. Be composed so that he will not be frightened.”
“I cannot take comfort in your words.”
He cupped her cheeks and tilted her face to his. “I don’t suffer from moral scruples, duchess. I will employ all necessary means to find your son…for you.”
His words implied that when he did, he would exact a promise from her. Georgiana’s throat went dry. “And what would you need in return?” For she was willing to bargain anything for the safe return of her boy to her arms.
“Nothing,” he said.
“You deflect,” she murmured, searching his face intently. “There is always a price, and I am willing to pay anything for my boy’s safe return to my arms.”
“Wipe the worry from your eyes, duchess. I’ll only ask for a simple acknowledgment of someone dear to me.”
His lips spoke words that filled her with relief, but his eyes lied. He would own her, and she feared it wasn’t a simple matter of an acknowledgment anymore. Instinctively, she knew he wanted her body and her soul if he could claim them. He was the devil. He waited, with seemly patience, but a dangerous predatory charge emanated from him, one that petrified and enticed in equal measure.
“Yes,” she said, understanding as a woman, she was acceding much more to this man.
His gaze remained inscrutable, but she could sense the savage satisfaction emanating from him.
“Tell me, please, where will you start? Where will you look that my brother and his connection and Bow Street would not have considered?”
“We have to go back to the beginning.”
“I already told you everything.”
“We must think about the first missing person on your estate. There is a connection,” he said, frowning, his gaze turning inward.
“What…” Knowledge clicked. “Nicolas’s first nursemaid,” she said hoarsely. “Jane Walker. You believe she has something to do with my son’s disappearance?”
A calculating glint lit his shrewd, dark eyes. “I don’t place much stock in coincidences. You said when she left your estate, she left your son unattended and simply disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“That is not normal, duchess.” Intense intelligence and cunning burned in the depths of his eyes. “She could have been running from something in that very moment, or perhaps she would have taken him with her but was prevented.”
Georgiana pressed her fingers to her lips. “I cannot credit it. Jane had been with my son for years. She loved him…but she just left him alone on the lake.” Oh God. Georgiana had been so relieved to know Jane was safe that she hadn’t paused to recall the foreboding that had filled her and the wall of silence she had encountered.
“I know it is not your way to retreat and allow someone else the reins. But in this…you will step back,” he said, steel underlying his tone. “Return home, and I’ll bring you your son, and if he is lost to you…”
She jerked, a cry of terror spilling from her.
“If he is lost to you, I promise I will deliver you the heads of every man and woman responsible,” he said with ruthless promise.
She was entrapped by the power of his gaze, and she trusted in the icy implacability she saw.
If he’s lost to you.
Dear Lord, please, she couldn’t lose her son. Not now. Her precious boy deserved to grow into a fine young man, to find a wife and to have children of his own. Then die when he was old, in his bed surrounded by his family. No one deserved to have their life snatched cruelly away from them for money. “Thank you,” she whispered.
An undefinable expression crossed his face. “Will you trust me, Georgiana?”
She gave a quick, decisive nod. “I am trusting you with my entire heart…my son. I’ll leave right away.” She was trusting him at the moment, with more than she had ever trusted anyone in her life.