Page 48 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke
“Continue,” he commanded.
“There were two men with him. Big fellows, the rough sort. Not the kind of gentlemen he usually keeps company with.” Fletcher swallowed hard. “They had a carriage waiting—a plain one, with no markings. His Lordship didn’t look willing, but he didn’t resist either.”
“Was he injured?” Beatrice’s voice was steady, though Leo detected the undercurrent of concern.
Fletcher’s gaze flicked to her, surprise evident at being directly addressed by a duchess. “No, Your Grace. He looked pale, worried, but was walking on his own.”
“And their destination?” Leo pressed.
“Heard one of ‘em mention Surrey,” Fletcher admitted. “Something about a quiet country stay. Lord Mallingham didn’t look pleased with the idea.”
Leo moved to his desk and took several gold sovereigns out of the top drawer. “You will leave London,” he ordered, placing the coins before him. “Today. You will speak of this to no one. If I learn you’ve shared this information with anyone else—particularly Lord Westbury or his associates—you’ll find my displeasure far costlier than any bribe they might offer.”
Fletcher’s eyes widened at the gold, then at the implied threat. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand perfectly.”
“My butler will see you out,” Leo concluded, dismissing him with a nod.
As the door closed behind Fletcher, Leo turned to Beatrice, who had risen from her seat, her expression thoughtful.
“Thornfield,” she said softly. “Just as I suspected.”
“It appears your memory has proven invaluable, Duchess.” He hesitated, then added, “Philip may not be there voluntarily.”
“Westbury has him,” she concluded, her face paling slightly. “But why keep him alive? If Philip heard something incriminating…”
“Leverage, perhaps,” Leo suggested, moving to stand beside her near the window. “Or he’s seeking information. Philip may know more than Westbury realizes.”
The afternoon sun caught in her dark curls, transforming them to burnished copper. The sight momentarily distracted him, evoking memories of her appearance at the garden folly the previous day—the widening of her eyes, the flush that had spread from her cheeks down to her elegant throat.
He forced his mind back to the matter at hand.
“I leave for Surrey within the hour,” he announced, turning away from the window. “Blackwood’s men will accompany me. We should reach Thornfield by nightfall.”
“I’m coming with you,” Beatrice stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Leo’s jaw tightened. “Absolutely not. This is no longer a matter of simple inquiry. If Westbury has Philip under guard, there may be violence.”
“Philip is my friend,” she countered, lifting her chin in that gesture of defiance that simultaneously irritated and intrigued him. “I will not sit idly by while you determine his fate.”
“This is not a debate, Duchess.”
“Indeed, it is not,” she agreed, surprising him. “It is simply a fact. Iamcoming with you. Philip trusts me; he may be more willing to cooperate if he sees a friendly face.”
“And I take it I am no friendly face?” he asked out of compulsion, feeling that twinge of annoyance at her insistence on seeing his cousin.
It was irrational, and he knew he should not be feeling so, but he could not stop the monster from wheedling through his ribcage.
Beatrice harrumphed and folded her arms. “I made no such assertions, Your Grace.” Her tone conveyed her stubbornness, as ever.
It was quite a wonder how much obstinacy she could fit into that body of hers. A quality he couldn’t say he didn’t respect, at this point.
Leo studied her for a long moment.
“Ha,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “Very well,” he conceded, wondering even as he spoke what madness had possessed him to agree.
“We cannot continue in this weather,” Leo told her as the rain pattered hard against the roof of their carriage.
Their search for Philip had acquired fresh urgency following Fletcher’s revelation. It was compelling enough information to prompt their immediate departure despite the threatening skies.