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“Why?” His brows met in the middle.

She settled into the chair across from him, set her cane to one side and folded her thin fingers on the table. “I do not want you to use Miss Bradford as if she were a tool to further your cause. I know you still harbor deep resentment towards those nuns at St Catherine’s. I am also aware that the pain of losing Helen remans a burden upon your heart, but this time, see Miss Bradford as a human instead of a vehicle for your fury.”

Dropping his pen, he rubbed his eyes. “I do not wish to lose this chance, Grandmother. For all I know, she might be the only person with the proof I need to get them investigated and shut down.”

“I know, my boy,” her eyes held sympathy. “But Miss Bradford is not the first, and she is unlikely to be the last. I want you to give it time, Frederick.”

His eyes dropped to the folios on his table and to the comparison he had written up; with Miss Bradford’s testimony he would finally be able to get somewhere with his long-standing mission.

Leaning forward, he dropped his elbows on the table, his eyes lodged on the papers. “How long do you suggest that I wait?”

“A month or two,” she replied. “Nothing will return Helen to us, Frederick, but healing this poor girl might assuage some of the hurt in your heart. I know most of the pain comes from the frustration you feel that you were not able to help Helen. This time, you do that with Gemma.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not waiting.”

“Are you that vengeful?”

“Have you forgotten what they did to Helen?”

“Frederick…

“NO!” he boomed, standing now. “Absolutely not. I have a witness, a victim, and I have the necessary power and influence. I will destroy them for destroying her!”

He was furious, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he looked into his grandmother’s wide blue eyes. She was afraid for him. He could also see the hurt and pity that lingered in her unshed tears. Her stern look and folded arms were enough to make him pause and reconsider.

He slumped into his chair and let out a long breath through his nostrils. She was making a valid point. A large part of his pain came from his belief that he had not been able to stop his fatherfrom sending Helen there. If he had known, he would have stepped in—somehow.

“No, Frederick,” his grandmother seemed to sense his thoughts. “Neither you nor poor Peter would have stayed Darius’s hand. He would have sent her there in any event, because he was afraid of the shame that would land on his doorstep, not hers.”

He knew she was right again.

“What youcando is save this girl,” she reached for her cane. “The best revenge you can ever have is to save others from a similar fate.”

Sighing, he closed the two folios and set them aside. It stung his soul that justice for Helen was repeatedly pushed back.

Frederick left the room and strode outside, knowing that, at this time of the day, his dog Remus would be out near the kennels guarding the horses. He would be ready for a run and Frederick was ready to give him one.

He entered the stable yard; a large rectangle corded off by fences that stretched back with enough space to exercise the horses.

A few stable hands were bushing some horses that basked in the sunshine. They bowed to him and he nodded back before walking into the stable and locating his gelding; a massive, thoroughbred grey horse from mane to tail.

“Mason,” he rubbed the horse’s velvety nose. “Are you ready for a run?”

As he mounted, completely at home in the saddle, he promised himself to find out everything he could about St. Catherine’s.

He would once again speak with Miss Bradford and hopefully keep his temper in check during the process.

CHAPTER 6

Gemma sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her tangled hair as the morning sun streamed through the window.

It felt strange to be in a bed so soft, with blankets so warm. The previous night’s events came rushing back—the Duke’s commanding presence, the Dowager Duchess’ keen gaze, and the overwhelming realization that she was once again trapped. She hadn’t escaped the convent only to find herself under the roof of another controlling man, no matter what his title or status.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Dowager Duchess entered the room, moving with an elegance that only age and authority could impart.

“Good morning, my dear,” the Dowager greeted her with a warm smile, though her sharp eyes were scrutinizing. “I trust you slept well?”

Gemma nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, though her voice lacked conviction.