Alex hadn’t slept so well since returning to Wiltshire. The strain of his falling out with Marigold was gone, and the last bit of fear for her health and well-being had melted away at her sighs of pleasure as they made love. It was more than the feeling that he’d gotten his wife back that sent languid warmth through every part of his body as the two of them lay tangled up in sleep. It was the feeling that he’d gotten his life back. He could conquer the world.

Marigold stirred as she napped with her back pressed against his chest. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up, not yet. He loved the sensation of sheltering her naked body with his, of the two of them being lazy together. And his cock was already getting ideas about making love to her again, perhaps in the position they lay in now. But he wasn’t in a hurry. They had their whole lives to make love.

He was just falling back to sleep, working out ways to explain that the cottage they hid out in had been Violetta’s home without upsetting Marigold, but a distant shout kept him from drifting off.

Marigold drew in a breath, proving that she wasn’t as asleep as he’d thought. Her body stretched along his, her soft, round backside rubbing against him in the best possible way, as she twisted to face him. “What’s that?” Her voice was groggy and adorable.

“Nothing we need to worry about,” he told her, sliding a hand over her stomach and up. He caught her breast and kneaded it.

Marigold hummed with pleasure, wriggling against him and encouraging him to do more. He nudged his knee between her legs and traced his fingers down from her breast to tease between her legs. Her soft gasp and the way she pressed against his hand, taking her pleasure as he stroked her, was so powerfully erotic that he was hard in no time.

“James? James, where are you?”

His arousal hit a bump, and he lifted his head. His pulse sped up, but he shook his head slightly and reminded himself that James was a common name.

“James? James!”

“Is that Ada?” Marigold asked, her body losing its liquid feel.

“Why would Ada be looking for him here?” Alex asked. “He’s with Ruby and Miss Goode.”

“James!”

The call came from just outside of the cottage. There was no mistaking Ada’s voice. Alex barely had time to frown before the maid pressed her hands and face against the window just above the bed, peering in.

She instantly pulled back with a yelp as Marigold gasped in shock. The bedclothes were bunched around Marigold’s hips, and no doubt Ada had seen much more of her master and mistress than she’d ever cared to see.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry,” Ada’s muffled voice came from the other side of the window.

Alex would have roared with laughter at their unfortunate discovery if not for the panic that edged Ada’s voice.

“Something must be wrong,” Marigold said, slipping out of bed and searching for her clothes.

With a sigh, Alex climbed out of bed himself. But the discomfort of his erection was the least of his problems.

“Have you seen James?” Ada called from the cottage’s front door, sounding upset. “Is he here?”

“He’s not,” Marigold called back. The bedroom door stood half open, though she kept well on the side of the room hidden from view as she dressed.

Alex spotted Ada standing in the main room with her back to the bedroom as he pulled on his drawers and trousers. “He’s with Ruby and Miss Goode,” he told her.

“No, he’s not,” Ada replied. She was facing determinedly away, but he could tell from the stiffness in her back and the set of her shoulders that she was beside herself with worry. “Ruby went to check on Master James after she finished cleaning up tea, but he wasn’t in his bed. Ben never saw him come back into the house. Neither did Mary or Martha.”

“He was with Miss Goode,” Alex repeated, though the more he thought about it the more alarming that prospect was. Miss Goode wasn’t one of their own. He didn’t know her from a hole in the wall.

“Did you check at Mr. Turnbridge’s school?” Marigold asked, frantically hooking her corset.

“Why would she take him there if he was supposed to be having his nap?” Ada asked.

Alex rushed to put himself together enough to step out into the main room, his waistcoat and jacket in hand. “Where have you searched?”

Gingerly, Ada turned to face him. When she saw he was mostly dressed, one kind of embarrassment left her face to be replaced by a far more worrying fear. “We’ve checked all over the house, inside and out, sir. He wasn’t in any of the gardens. Ruby is beside herself. She thinks she should have kept a closer eye on the lad.”

Alex wasn’t about to upset Ada even more by agreeing with that statement. “Has anyone called on Rev. Fallon and his wife? James might have wandered down to their house.”

Ada nodded. “Ben was on his way to check there. I thought I’d come here, seeing as it was his mother’s house.”

“What?” Marigold emerged from the bedroom at that moment, her eyes round with concern.

Dread nipped at Alex’s insides, but Marigold seemed more concerned about James than whose bed they had just made love in.

“This was Violetta’s cottage,” Alex admitted. “No one’s lived here for years, but I have the staff clean it quarterly.” There wasn’t time for more. He turned back to Ada. “James hasn’t been here. But he does have a habit of wandering off. He was at the train station when we arrived in July.”

“We should go to Clara and Arthur first,” Marigold said, marching for the door. If she was angry with him for failing to mention the cottage belonged to Violetta, it didn’t show. Her only outward emotion was deep, motherly concern.

“Head back up to the house to see if they’ve found him there,” Alex instructed Ada as he followed Marigold to the door. “Then send someone to Mr. Turnbridge’s school.”

“Yes, sir.” Ada curtsied, then bolted along the river path toward Winterberry Park.

Alex paused only long enough to close and lock the cottage, then to hide the key. “Are you angry with me for not telling you whose house this was?” he asked as he and Marigold rushed down the path toward Lanhill. His hand twitched to grab hers, but he held back.

“You did tell me,” she answered, her expression all business. “You said that you owned the cottage. It’s irrelevant who once lived there.”

The burst of relief Alex felt at her words was quickly swallowed by an even greater fear. James was missing. And while he was the sort to wander off on an adventure, the fact that Miss Goode was very likely involved didn’t sit well with him. Even if she were as innocent as a saint, the distant cry of a train whistle brought to mind a thousand dangers a toddler of James’s age could find himself in. He tried not to think of his son crushed beneath a train or drown in the river or worse.

“We’ll find him,” Marigold said, grasping his hand as they reached a set of stone stairs leading from the valley of the river up to one of the larger streets that lead into the village. “It’s only a matter of time.”

But when they reached the vicarage, Alex’s hopes were dashed.

“I heard James is missing,” Arthur greeted them before they could even set foot in the vicarage’s garden. He was putting on his coat, looking as though he were ready to join the hunt.

“He’s not here?” Alex’s chest squeezed. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to a child, trusting in others to watch out for him. Now, however, he felt as though a part of himself were missing.

Arthur shook his head. “Your footman, Ben, was here not five minutes ago asking if we’d seen him.”

“Did they find him?” Clara came rushing out of the house, an infant in each arm. Her face was drawn with worry, and her cheeks were pink. “Is he home?”

“No,” Marigold answered. “We were hoping he was here.”

“Oh dear.” Clara’s voice shook, and her eyes were round. “We have to find him. He could be anywhere.”

“Who was the last person to see him?” Arthur asked, stepping forward as if to take charge of the situation.

That show of strength inspired Alex to keep a cool head himself. “Miss Goode took him for a run around the house to get him to settle down for his nap.”

“Miss Goode?” Arthur blinked. “Who’s that?”

“Mr. Turnbridge’s new assistant,” Marigold answered.

Both Arthur and Clara looked confused.

“She came up to the house two weeks ago with the children when they performed for us,” Alex explained. “Apparently, she just came from London to help at the school.”

“I haven’t heard of her.” Arthur shook his head. “Although I know Timothy has been desperate for help.”

Anxiety crawled down Alex’s spine. It seemed to be reflected in the uneasy way Marigold glanced to him. All they really knew about Miss Goode was what Ruby had told them. He thought back to the day of the concert, wracking his brain to remember whether he’d seen Mr. Turnbridge speaking to Miss Goode directly. He hadn’t chased the woman off or questioned her presence, but he’d had his hands full.

“Has Ruby said anything more about Miss Goode to you?” he asked Marigold.

She shook her head and shrugged. “Only that they’d become fast friends, and that they were from the same neighborhood in Limehouse.”

It didn’t seem right all of a sudden. “We need to go to the school.” He took Marigold’s hand and started off down the path that led deeper into town.

“I’ll come with you,” Arthur said, nodding to his wife.

The three of them marched swiftly across the tiny village of Lanhill to the unassuming schoolhouse bordering a field on the other side. Children ran through the yard, screaming and playing, which may have indicated some sort of recess, or perhaps simply Mr. Turnbridge’s inability to discipline his students. The only supervision for the younger students were a trio of distracted older girls who were making eyes at a young man with a sweat-soaked shirt unloading crates from a wagon across the street.

Mr. Turnbridge himself was inside, attempting to explain what looked like algebraic equations to a group of older boys while a small pack of younger students practiced drawing numbers on slates.

“Heavens, this is a surprise,” he said, glancing up as though he’d been caught handing out candy and firecrackers to the children instead of teaching them.

“Turnbridge.” Alex nodded as he marched up the aisle between school desks to the man. “Have you seen James and Miss Goode?”

Mr. Turnbridge blinked and shook his head. “No. Should I have?”

Marigold squeezed Alex’s hand harder.

“James has gone missing,” Arthur explained while Alex sent Marigold what he hoped was a reassuring look. “Your Miss Goode was the last person he was seen with.”

“My Miss Goode?” Mr. Turnbridge blinked.

Alex’s heart sank. Suddenly, being crushed by a train or drown in the river seemed like a small problem.

“You remember, sir,” one of the older boys piped up. “The pretty lass who helped out at Winterberry Park that time.”

In an instant, Mr. Turnbridge looked as alarmed as Alex felt. “I don’t know who she was,” he said, putting his chalk aside and cutting through the boys to stand closer to Alex. “I didn’t think to question, since she seemed so willing to help out. I needed the help. But that was the first and only time I saw her.” He paused, glancing to Marigold as she drew in a breath and clapped a hand to her chest. “Honestly, sir, I thought she was a new maid at Winterberry Park.”

“She wasn’t.” Alex’s voice had gone cold and hard. He didn’t truly blame the schoolmaster, but too many mistakes had been made.

“We need to find out if anyone saw her,” Arthur said. “I can ask around town to see who she had interactions with.”

“I’ll help,” Mr. Turnbridge said. “I can send the children home for the day. It’s almost time anyhow.”

“Want me to dismiss ’em, sir?” the boy who had spoken up earlier said.

“Yes, please, Ned.”

“You heard Sir,” Ned spoke up to the children left in the room. “Get yerselves gone!”

Alex, Marigold, Arthur, and Mr. Turnbridge headed out of the school house in an avalanche of rushing boys. The chaos of the schoolyard as Ned repeated his announcement did nothing to soothe Alex’s fraying nerves. There was no way to deny that something far more sinister than James simply wandering off was at hand.

“The train station,” Marigold suggested as they made their way back to the street. She’d gone pale, and her voice was wispy and uncertain. “We should check the train station. That’s where he’d wandered on the day I met him.”

Alex nodded, taking her hand and starting off in that direction.

“I’ll check down by the dairy, just in case,” Mr. Turnbridge said. “He also likes to visit the cows.”

“And I’ll start asking around to see who knows anything about Miss Goode,” Arthur said.

“Miss Goode,” Alex muttered as he and Marigold turned onto Station Street. “I’m beginning to wonder if that name wasn’t designed to lull us into complacency.”

“Don’t say it,” Marigold whispered, squeezing his hand tight. “I can’t bear to think about the possibility that….”

She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. Alex had a terrible feeling that they were thinking the same thing.

By the time they reached the station, the only activity they found was a few people wandering the garden as they waited for the evening train and the porters putting away a few pieces of baggage from the last train.

“James?” Marigold called out, heading straight to the spot where they’d first found him. “James?”

“James?” Alex added his call to hers, but the suspicion that it wouldn’t do any good already had him in its grip.

Mr. Bolton, the stationmaster, popped his head out through one of the stationhouse’s windows. Alex spotted him right away and let go of Marigold’s hand to march over to him.

“Bolton, have you seen James?” he asked.

“No,” Mr. Bolton answered, frowning and scratching his head. “But I thought I heard him out here earlier.”

“You did?” Hope surged in Alex’s chest.

Marigold rushed to join him, just as full of hope, but Mr. Bolton’s expression wasn’t at all reassuring.

“It was strange,” he said.

“What was?”

Mr. Bolton gestured for them to walk around to the archway that separated the street from the train platform. Even the tiny delay was maddening, but Alex took Marigold’s hand and rushed to meet Mr. Bolton as he came out of his office.

“There was a strange fuss earlier,” Mr. Bolton began immediately. “I thought I heard James, so I came out to take a look. He hasn’t wandered down to say hello in every so long. I didn’t see the lad anywhere, but before I got a really good look, a stack of luggage was upset on the platform.”

“Luggage?” Marigold blinked.

Mr. Bolton rubbed his neck, looking uneasy. “We have spills now and then. That much wasn’t unusual. What was strange was how long it took to set things to right. This bloke waiting for the train kept trying to help, but he was a clumsy sort. The whole thing took me and both my porters to set to rights. By the time we were done, I felt as though I’d been spun around, turned upside down, and shaken out. The bloke disappeared an instant later.”

“That’s not so strange, is it?” Marigold asked, false hope bright in her eyes.

Mr. Bolton winced. “The strange bit was that I could have sworn I heard James’s voice on the train after that.”

Panic gripped Alex so suddenly that the edges of his vision went black. The pieces were falling together too perfectly. James wasn’t just missing, he’d been kidnapped. Alex was almost certain of it.

“Was there a woman in the vicinity of the train station earlier?” he demanded of Mr. Bolton, perhaps a little too forcefully. “Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height.”

Mr. Bolton flinched, flushing. “I’m sorry to say, sir, but that description could fit a dozen or more women who have passed through the station today.”

Alex could have punched his way through a solid brick wall. Miss Goode was unremarkable looking. Perhaps a bit too much so. He could give out her description in as much detail as he wanted and still come up with nothing. Just like the driver who’d run off with his carriage and caused the wreck.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scruffy young boy asking, “Are you Mr. Croydon?”

Alex blinked and twisted toward the lad. In the process, he noticed that Marigold had gone paler still and was shaking. “I’m he,” he said.

The boy held out an envelope. “She gave me a sixpence for handing this to you when you came by.”

Alex took the envelope, anger and fear roiling in his stomach. Whatever was in the envelope wouldn’t be good.

“Open it,” Marigold implored him, her voice hoarse.

Alex turned to her, ripping through the envelope’s seal. A single page was folded inside. It simply read, “If you want to see your son alive again, put an end to the scandalous rumors immediately.”

Dread gaped in Alex’s gut. He didn’t need to ask who had sent the note or what it was about. It had Turpin’s signature all over it. Worse still, Alex’s first instinct was to do everything Turpin wanted, just to get his son back.

“He can’t get away with this,” Marigold said, her voice shaking. Evidently, she didn’t need to be told what the letter meant either. Her burst of fury turned quickly to tearful panic. “He didn’t even say how or where we could get James back.”

“London,” Alex growled. “If she took James away by train, they’re headed to London. Turpin has more allies there, more places to hide him.”

The horror filling Marigold’s eyes was more painful than any wreck or wound. “What do we do?” she asked, clapping a hand to her mouth.

As far as Alex was concerned, there was only one thing to do. He took Marigold’s hand and marched out of the train station. “We go back to London.”