Page 47 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Chapter Fifteen

“Your Grace, we’ve found him,” his butler announced, appearing in the study doorway with uncharacteristic urgency. “Mr. Blackwood’s man has returned with information about Lord Mallingham.”

Leo’s head snapped up from the maps he’d been studying since dawn. His fingers, which had been tracing possible routes to Thornfield, stilled on the parchment.

“Bring him in.” His voice carried the sharp edge of command that brooked no delay.

The butler hesitated, glancing briefly toward the hallway. “He’s… not presentable, Your Grace. Perhaps the servants’ entrance?—”

“I care nothing for presentation. Bring him to me now.”

The butler bowed and withdrew.

Moments later, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway. Leo straightened, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to finally obtain concrete information about his wayward cousin.

The man who entered bore little resemblance to gentility. Dirt smudged his face, his clothes hung loose on his thin frame, and his eyes darted nervously around the study as though seeking escape routes. Behind him, Blackwood’s trusted lieutenant stood guard, his imposing presence ensuring compliance.

“Your name?” Leo demanded.

“Thomas Fletcher, Your Grace.” The man’s fingers twisted nervously around the brim of the cap he clutched. “I ain’t done anythin’ wrong.”

Leo rounded his desk slowly, deliberately, each step measured to heighten the man’s discomfort. “That remains to be determined, Mr. Fletcher. I understand you’ve recently come into a substantial sum of money.”

Fletcher’s eyes widened. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?” Leo kept his voice soft. “My men saw you purchasing a fine new coat just yesterday. Quite an extravagance for a man of your… position. And then there is the matter of drinks bought for an entire tavern in Southwark.”

“A man can’t have a bit of luck?” Fletcher protested weakly.

Leo stopped before him, close enough that the smaller man had to crane his neck. “Luck, Mr. Fletcher, rarely visits those who betray their friends.”

Fletcher’s face paled. “I don’t know?—”

“Anna Finley,” Leo interrupted coldly. “She sent you to check on the Marquess of Mallingham. What did you tell her?”

Fletcher’s eyes darted to the door, where Blackwood’s man stood implacable. “I told her the truth! That he was gone, vanished like?—”

“A lie,” Leo cut in, his voice dropping to a whisper that nonetheless filled the room. “You saw him, didn’t you? And someone paid you to keep that information to yourself.”

A movement at the door caught Leo’s attention. Beatrice stood on the threshold, her expression a careful mask that nonetheless couldn’t quite conceal her concern.

Their eyes met briefly, and something passed between them—understanding, perhaps, or determination.

Without a word, she entered and sat in the chair near the window, her presence lending weight to the proceedings.

Fletcher licked his lips nervously as his eyes darted between them. “I didn’t mean any harm. For a man in my position, when someone offers gold?—”

“Who paid you?” Leo demanded, his patience evaporating.

“I never s-saw his face p-properly,” Fletcher stammered. “Kept his hat low, spoke all fancy. But the coin was real enough.”

“And what did this mysterious man pay you to conceal?”

Fletcher hesitated, fidgeting more frantically with his cap until Leo feared the brim might disintegrate entirely.

“I saw him,” he whispered finally. “Lord Mallingham. The night he disappeared. He wasn’t alone.”

Leo exchanged a quick glance with Beatrice, whose back had straightened at the confirmation.