Page 47 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

E verybody was looking at Charlotte. Everybody. Gazes lingered on her as she walked by, envious stares from women and lustful glances from men.

The lustful glances did not last long, since Isaac was following in Charlotte’s wake, and the men hastily glanced away, red-faced and more than a little terrified.

Good, Isaac thought with a wry smile. She’s mine.

But that wasn’t correct, was it? Charlotte was his in name only.

The Society papers were calling them the Duke and Duchess of Devils—a delightfully catchy name—but they’d already decided to avoid producing heirs.

He’d promised not to fully share her bed, a promise he was constantly on the cusp of breaking.

Closing his eyes, Isaac pushed through the last few people in the crowd, breathing a sigh of relief when he made his way to a corner of free space.

The doors leading onto the terrace stood open, letting in a rush of cool air.

He might have found it relaxing if it weren’t for the fact that Charlotte was there already, heating his blood further.

I want her, he thought in resignation. It was clear now that the feeling was not going to go away. He felt like a fool for ever imagining that it would.

Mary was standing in a corner, anxiety written over her face. Some of the desire clenching in Isaac’s chest faded away at the sight of the worry on her face.

“What is it?” he asked at once, stepping forward alongside Charlotte. Behind him, laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. His heart thumped with some sort of uneasy warning.

“It’s Master Tommy,” Mary whispered, tears glinting in her eyes.

“It was time for him to go to bed, and of course, he didn’t want to go.

He slipped away, and I can’t … I can’t find him!

I’ve searched everywhere. Mrs. Ribb and Perling have scoured the rest of the house, and they’re sure he isn’t there. ”

Charlotte’s gaze slid past her to the open terrace doors. “Might he have gone outside?”

“Perhaps, but he wouldn’t have gone far,” Mary answered firmly. “He’s a clever little boy. While he might run off and hide inside the house, he wouldn’t go outside. Besides, you know how he’s afraid of the dark.”

Isaac tightened his jaw. The sense of unease had solidified in his gut, although he could not have said where it had come from.

“He must be found immediately,” he said firmly.

“Have Perling and Mrs. Ribb search the house again. I understand that they’ve searched already, but he could have run around and gone into a room they have already searched.

Charlotte, I suggest we have the doors closed and locked.

The guests will not be happy, but if he has not already left the house, I don’t want the opportunity to present itself. After that …”

He trailed off as a small figure came pushing through the crowds towards them, blonde hair streaming out behind her. It was Madeline, in a silvery gown and white domino, which she did not wear. He suspected that Madeline did not enjoy the mystery and intrigue of masques.

“Charlotte, there you are,” Madeline gasped. “Where is Tommy?”

Charlotte stiffened at once, and Isaac watched the color drain from her face.

“Not here. We cannot find him. Why? What have you seen?”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I was trying to rest near a window, and I was looking out at the garden. I could hardly see a thing, but I saw that the doors to the terrace—these very doors—were open. I only glimpsed it for a moment, but I saw a man in a black cloak pick up a small boy. He turned and ran into the woods.”

The world seemed to swim in front of Isaac’s eyes. He stared at Madeline until she blurred into a blonde-and-silver smear. Mary began to cry quietly, pressing her apron against her face. Isaac was not sure he could have managed a word.

To his surprise, Charlotte was the one who spoke, her voice firm with only a hint of a tremor.

“What about this man? What did you look like? Did you recognize him? You must think , Madeline. This is important.”

Madeline had gone a funny shade of gray. It was clear that the poor girl was terrified, but it was nothing compared to the stab of nausea in Isaac’s gut.

“I did not recognize him. He seemed to be of average height and moved with a young man’s sprightliness. As I said, he wore a black cloak, black hat, and black domino. He wore gray underneath it all, I think.”

“Did Tommy struggle? Did he scream?”

She shook her head. “He seemed very calm.”

Charlotte let out a shuddering breath. “Very well. Come out onto the terrace and point out exactly which direction the man headed.”

Madeline nodded and led the way out onto the terrace. The laughter and chatter from the ballroom seemed obscene now.

Isaac had expected her to point to the left, where somebody could easily run around the house, under the cover of the trees, to where they had left a carriage or a horse. Instead, she pointed straight forward, right into the depths of the woodland surrounding the house.

“It was only a few moments ago,” Madeline added. “I believe you might catch him if you hurry.”

Charlotte nodded grimly. “Madeline, Mary, listen closely. You’ll need to summon the constables and perhaps begin herding the guests out. Speak to Mrs. Ribb, and …”

Isaac stopped listening. He took several steps towards the edge of the terrace, staring out at the dark trees. There was something familiar about all of this, but he could not put his finger on it.

And then he saw it.

The tower, the old folly that his father had built, rose up above the tops of the trees, silhouetted against the moon. Isaac’s breath caught in his throat. As he watched, the buttery glow of a light warmed the single window of the tower.

“I know where he is,” Isaac breathed. At once, Charlotte was at his side. Behind her, Mary and Madeline scuttled off, having been given their orders.

“What?” she gasped. “What did you say?”

“I know where he is, and I know who’s taken him. Stay here.”

At once, Isaac set off at a run, plunging into the darkness of the forest.

Branches and twigs slapped at his face as he ran blindly through the undergrowth. Gnarled roots and bits of rock threatened to trip him.

He would have to be careful. His father had been obsessed with follies, throwing up old-looking Grecian villas, faux cottages, gazebos, and all sorts of things in the forest. Over time, due to a lack of care, most of them had crumbled, leaving only half-broken walls and lumps of stone ready to trip an unsuspecting passerby.

The tower, however, had remained.

I played in it. We all did.

He could hear the crash and rustle of somebody following him, plowing through the forest in his wake. He knew that it was Charlotte. Of course, it was Charlotte. She would never have stayed behind, not unless he’d chained her to a tree.

If you must follow, he thought grimly, keep up.

He had no intention of risking speaking aloud, not yet. Sound traveled easily in a forest, more easily than people thought.

Abruptly, he stumbled out of the dense undergrowth into a circle of long grasses and tangled weeds, the shrubs and trees long since cleared away. The tower sat in the middle of the circle.

When it was built, it was designed to look old and lopsided, not unlike a tower from a book of fairy stories, the sort of building which might have an imprisoned princess or a wicked witch waiting at the top. Perhaps both.

Charlotte came stumbling out of the undergrowth behind him, out of breath.

“Isaac,” she gasped, the moonlight glinting off her pale face. “The light.”

He nodded, glancing up at the window high above them.

The light still glowed there. The last time Isaac had been to the tower, he recalled that there were a few bits and pieces left there—a half-rotted chaise, a few tools, and a candlestick with a stub of a candle inside it. Perhaps it was still there.

He pressed a finger to his lips, and Charlotte fell silent.

Together, they slipped silently through the long grass.

As he’d known, it would be, the door at the base of the tower stood open.

There’d been a lock once, long since rusted into oblivion.

It had been smashed off, the door hanging crazily off its hinges.

Inside was darkness, the moonlight only just illuminating a few stone steps, sagging with age.

“I’d rather you wait down here,” Isaac whispered, risking breaking the silence.

Charlotte drew in a breath. “I think you know I can’t do that.”

He glanced down at her, taking in her expression. She was grim, her gaze steely. A twig was caught in her hair, and she felt the most powerful impulse to take it away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Turning away, Isaac placed his foot on the first step.

“If you must come,” he murmured, “stay behind me.”

She said nothing, which he took as agreement.

They climbed the steep steps together, twisting round and round in the dark, airless space.

At times, Isaac felt almost as if he were going up on his hands and knees, terrified to lose his footing in case he came crashing back down onto Charlotte, hurting her and giving away their element of surprise at the same time.

As he approached the top of the stairs, the light grew, a flickering, buttery glow.

The stink of tallow hung in the air, too.

The staircase opened up onto a single, circular room, the floor littered with leaves and long-forgotten rubbish.

Isaac hovered, not sure what to do next.

Should he rush out into the room and take him by surprise?

The question vanished when a voice spoke to him.

“I know you’re there, Isaac. Come on out.”

Breathing out slowly, Isaac got to his feet and climbed into the room at last.

There was nowhere to sit in the room, save the decaying chaise longue, which gave off the sickly-sweet aroma of rot, its velvet coverings hanging off its bones in ribbons.