Her voice was not pleading. It was firm, steady, with the stubbornness only a child could wield.
Percival swallowed. His throat burned with words he could not speak. He wanted to tell her that Aurelia would be back tomorrow, that she was fine—thateverythingwas fine. But he could not lie. He could not promise something of which he was no longer certain.
So instead, he pulled his daughter into his arms.
Her small frame pressed against his chest. She paused for a moment, then her little hands gripped his coat.
And that was when the formidable Duke of Whitmore allowed himself to crumble.
“I want her too,” he whispered into her curls, the admission tasting of defeat.
Sir Whiskerton glared up at him with unblinking green eyes, as though judging him. And for once, Percival didn’t deflect.
I deserve that glare. I deserve worse.
But the moment didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not when a frantic knock sounded at the door.
“Your Grace!”
It was Sophia.
Percival straightened, his arms loosening around Lottie. “Come in.”
The governess rushed inside. Her face was pale, and her eyes were so wide with panic that she frightened Lottie.
“Your Grace—” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “I just received word from Banfield House. Her Grace…” She swallowed hard. “Her Grace has been hurt.”
Instantly, the air vanished from the room, and the world around him slowed.
“Hurt?” he repeated.
It sounded like a joke.
No, it must be a joke.
“Yes.” Sophia’s voice trembled. “She was attacked by men on the road.”
Percival froze, as though his soul had been wrenched out of his body. He could only picture Aurelia smiling or laughing with a touch of stubbornness.
But hurt? He couldn’t picture her hurt.
His brows knitted together, and his jaw clenched so tight that it ached. And then, when his confusion gave way to worry, his bloodboiled.
His vision darkened at the corners.
Who dared? Who dared touch her?
“How?” he bit out.
The governess flinched at his tone, but she answered nonetheless. “Her carriage was attacked. Lady Hyacinth and Lady Nora were with her. She lost consciousness, Your Grace.”
Something inside Percival snapped. Something that tore a low, guttural growl from his throat. The sound made Lottie flinch and cling tighter to the cat.
He stood up and gently pushed his daughter back against the pillows.
“Stay with her,” he ordered, his voice like iron.
He did not wait for a reply.
