Page 100 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Isn’t it?” Adrian challenged. “You could have protected her here, under your watchful eye. Instead, you sent her away—not for her safety, but for yours. Because it’s easier to hunt a criminal than to face your feelings.”

“Enough.” Leo’s voice dropped dangerously. “You overstep.”

“And you underestimate her.” Adrian stood up, meeting his glare without flinching. “Did it ever occur to you that Beatrice might have preferred the danger at your side to safety without you?”

The question struck too close to truths Leo couldn’t face. “I have work to do.”

Adrian sighed, recognizing the walls rising between them. “Very well. Hunt your villain. Exhaust yourself in the chase. But ask yourself this, Leo. When this is over, when Westbury is caught and justice is served, what then? What life will you return to?”

The question lingered in the air between them, unanswered as he took his leave.

Alone again, Leo stared out at the rain-soaked garden, seeing not the present gloom but the memory of Beatrice walking there, sunlight in her hair, quiet determination in her steps.

The image twisted in his chest like a knife.

Days blurred together in a haze of reports, meetings, and dead ends.

Leo slept little, ate less, driving himself and Blackwood’s men with relentless purpose. Each lead pursued, each witness questioned, each piece of evidence examined: all with singular focus, as if Westbury’s capture could somehow fix what Leo himself had broken.

On the morning of the sixth day, Peters entered the study bearing a silver salver with a single letter.

“Delivered by an urchin, Your Grace,” he explained. “The boy disappeared before anyone could question him.”

Leo broke the unfamiliar seal, immediately tensing as he recognized the elegant script.

Your Grace,

Your persistence has become tiresome. Perhaps it is time we reached an understanding. I propose a private meeting to discuss terms that might prove beneficial to us both.

Come alone to the abandoned Morrison warehouse near the east docks tomorrow at two o’clock. Should you involve the authorities, I shall know immediately and disappearpermanently—along with certain knowledge that would prove most distressing to your family.

Lord Westbury.

Leo read the message twice, recognizing the trap in its cordial phrasing. Westbury was desperate, which made him more dangerous than ever.

“A trap,” he murmured, feeling the first stirring of satisfaction in days. “Good.”

Within the hour, Blackwood stood before him, examining the letter with shrewd eyes.

“He’s desperate,” he concluded. “Which makes this opportunity valuable, and exceedingly dangerous.”

“I’m going,” Leo stated, his tone brooking no argument.

“Alone?” Blackwood’s weathered face contorted with concern. “That would be unwise, Your Grace.”

“Westbury believes I’ll come alone,” Leo said, a cold smile touching his lips. “And so I shall. But you and your men will be positioned nearby, ready to move when I give the signal—or if you hear gunfire.”

Blackwood considered the plan, then nodded slowly. “Three men across the street, four at the rear entrance. We’ll stay out of sight until your signal.”

“Perfect.” Leo withdrew a small pistol from his desk drawer, checking its mechanism with practiced hands. “Tomorrow, this ends. One way or another.”

That night, standing at his bedroom window, Leo stared out at the darkness, feeling the weight of Beatrice’s absence like a physical ache.

Tomorrow, he would confront Westbury and end the threat to her safety. But would it matter? The walls he had built to protect her were the same walls that now kept her away.

Adrian’s question echoed in his mind.“When this is over, what then?”

The answer terrified him more than any physical danger.