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Peter threw a newspaper on to Drew’s lap. ‘Pembroke is back in town, and apparently he is turning over every stone in search of you.’

Drew had sat in Peter’s town house in Mayfair for two days, figuratively kicking his heels.

This morning, Peter went out early, scouting for news of how things stood, while Drew sat there twiddling his thumbs. He had tried playing solitaire with a pack of cards but his mind kept wondering what Mary thought of this latest rumour.

Incest.

It was immoral and illegal.

If she believed it… He pushed away the thought as too unbearable. She was the only one whose good opinion he cared for.

‘Pembroke is on the war path. He is visiting everywhere, demanding to know if you are there, or if anyone knows where you are.’ Peter walked over to his decanters. ‘While Kilbride has a rough-looking sort of man standing outside your rooms waiting for you to return. And Wiltshire… well, he has put a sum on your head to have you found. Kilbride, I believe, just wants you dead.’

‘He can kill me. Caro is safe, he will not find her.’ Drew had not taken a single risk. Even Peter did not know where Caro was.

‘I know you do not care.’ Peter held up a decanter by its neck, asking if Drew wanted a glass. ‘But I do, and I am not going to let anyone kill you.’

Drew nodded, accepting the offer of the drink.

Peter turned to pour. ‘I made it public in White’s that I, who happen to know you very well indeed, believe the whole story is a pile of horse dung. My brother-in-law is speaking for you in Brooke’s Gentlemen’s Club and Harry has raised it in Watier’s. Our version will be circulated too.’

‘Your version?’

A glass in each hand, Peter walked over. ‘We are spreading the truth, that Kilbride was beating Caro. It will grow like a snowball. People will have guessed it previously but will have been too cowed by Kilbride to say. Wait and see. The truth will out now.’

‘But a man may beat his wife, that is legal.’ Drew accepted a glass. ‘How long do you think it will take someone to guess I am here?’

‘I will go out again this evening, and Mark and Harry can stay with you. That will throw people off the scent, and to help, I am asking people if they have seen you too.’

This was a hell of a muddle.

‘My lords.’

Drew and Peter looked at the butler who had opened the door.

‘There is a woman downstairs, Lord Brooke, who is asking to speak to you. She came to the servants’ door with a letter for you, but she will not pass it on to anyone but yourself, sir.’

Beyond Brooke’s butler they heard quick steps. The woman, who was swamped by a voluminous cloak, was no longer downstairs but rushing past the butler into the room. She threw the hood back.

Pembroke’s wife.

Her hand lifted from beneath the folds of the cloak.

Drew set down his glass and stood, facing the possibility that she had hidden a pistol beneath the cloak.

Peter moved too, preparing to make her drop whatever weapon she held.

But the thing her hand revealed was paper.

A letter.

‘I am not here to cause harm, Lord Framlington. Mary told us the truth of this ridiculous tale. John and I have been searching for you, to ask you to travel back with us. Mary is living with us, she wants you there. You will be safer away from London. She would have come to London herself but John and I thought it better that she stayed away. I promised to bring you back. Will you come with us?’

Drew stared at her. The Duchess of Pembroke had come through the servants’ entrance to offer him help. She had no reason to help him.

‘This letter is from Mary.’ She held it out for him to take.

He accepted the letter, his heart hammering.

My dearest Andrew,

I am sorry I did not believe you. I believe you now. Come, come quickly. John will take you out of London and bring you here, where you will be safe.

Mary, your devoted wife.

Will you forgive me for my lack of faith?

He looked up at the Duchess. ‘Where is she?’

‘At Pembroke Place, not far from London, it is John’s principal estate. The house and grounds are extensive. No one will be able to attack you there. You will have time and privacy to resolve these matters with Mary.’

‘Is Lord Marlow there also?’

‘No, Lord and Lady Marlow have gone to their own estate.’

Your devoted wife .

Does she love me still?

He covered his mouth with his hand and rubbed his chin.

‘Mary will be distraught if you do not come. I promised.’ Determination glinted in her eyes.

‘Where is the Duke? Why are you here and not him?’

‘He is waiting a hundred yards away, in an unmarked carriage. John has asked for you everywhere. I said no one is telling him the truth because they think he means harm. I told him I had more chance of persuading Lord Brooke to speak.’

‘If I go out there, will I receive a bullet in my chest?’

The Duchess glanced at the letter in his hand. ‘Would Mary lie to you? I told you the truth; John and I want you to come for Mary’s sake. Mary left you because she overheard a conversation between you and Lord Brooke about a property you purchased for another woman. John’s aunt believed you were with a mistress in a draper’s warehouse.

‘Mary now understands that was your sister. If you are guilty of anything, it is of not telling Mary what you have been doing. She did not leave you for lack of love. She has been inconsolable.’

Drew looked at Peter.

‘Go,’ Peter said. ‘This is what you want; to have her back. My horses will have to manage without you.’

Drew looked at the Duchess. ‘I will fetch my bag.’

An hour later, his bag stored in the box, Drew was in a carriage barrelling along the main road from London to Canterbury. Pembroke was seated beside him, with the Duchess seated opposite. It was the same road he had travelled with Caro.

With his arms folded over his chest and the brim of his hat tipped low to hide his eyes, Drew lounged in his seat, the sole of one boot resting on the far seat, the other on the floor, to prevent himself from rocking and sliding with each bump in the road.

Apart from acknowledging Drew as he had handed the Duchess up into the carriage, Pembroke had not said a word. But his eyes had studied Drew as though he were an absurdity. Drew had resisted the urge to stare back, and tilted the rim of his hat down.

Mary used to look at him like that sometimes, when she was trying to understand him. He did not like Pembroke doing it.

Hope breathed, as they travelled, that silent quiet beast of an emotion.

Does she love me?

His whole body was tense with the longing to see her.

The Duchess had attempted to open conversations on bland subjects such as, ‘I hope you are comfortable? This carriage is usually used by the servants.’ ‘At least the weather has held. I hope it will only take a couple of hours to reach Pembroke Place’ and ‘The parkland there is beautiful.’ Eventually her well of obsequious conversation ran dry.

Pembroke coughed. It was an odd sound, half cough, half chuckle. ‘Mary knows you fairly well, does she not, Framlington?’

Drew’s fingers tilted the brim of his hat up. ‘In what way, Your Grace?’

‘When I told her our uncle’s account of the incident with Kilbride, she said you would not run but tell them to go to hell. I had not told her yet that you said those words to our uncle. Are you sitting here wishing me to hell too?’

Drew held Pembroke’s penetrating blue gaze. ‘I am doing my best not to, Your Grace, as you are helping me.’

Pembroke’s lips lifted in a brief smile. ‘Have I judged you wrong, Lord Framlington?’

‘You will have to decide that.’ Drew tipped his hat back down and looked out the window.

‘Mary also said you will not defend yourself.’

Mary ought to keep her mouth shut. Drew did not answer, or look back, but a humorous sound broke from Pembroke’s throat.

Drew shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.