The man was tall and lean with sharp, angular features that seemed to harden the shadows around him. His dark eyes glinted with impatience, and his lips were thin, pressed into a line that spoke of irritation and menace. His coat, though well-tailored, hung slightly askew, giving him an air of restless aggression, as if the world itself had slighted him, and he intended to make amends through force.
Dorothy’s gaze sharpened as recognition flickered through her mind. She remembered him from a week past when he had come to the house, prying about Philip and questioning the housekeeper with that same insolent persistence. Now, standing before her again, his presence seemed even more threatening, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Philip owed him money, if that was the root of this relentless harassment. Yet, even with that thought, her defiance only hardened.
For weeks, she had endured questions and insinuations, and now, the brazenness of this man’s tone ignited a spark of defiance within her. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and met his eyes without flinching.
“I suggest you take your questions elsewhere,” she said, her voice ringing clear and firm. “We have no obligation to answer you. Leave us be.”
The man’s expression darkened. Without warning, he lunged, shoving them further toward a narrow alley, his hand brushingagainst Dorothy’s arm with enough force to unbalance her. “Tell me, or there will be consequences,” he hissed. “Where is Phillip Lockhart?”
Dorothy’s heart pounded, but instinct and courage surged stronger than fear. She threw herself at him, shrieking, her voice piercing the evening’s calm as she tried to get the man away from her sisters. The force of her struggle and the sound of her protest startled him, but he reacted with panic, shoving her back violently. Dorothy stumbled, her head striking the rough stone of the wall.
A sudden, sharp pain flared, and the world tilted.
The gentleman, flustered and realizing the severity of his actions, fled without a backward glance, leaving only silence in his wake. Dorothy’s knees buckled as consciousness abandoned her, the shadows of the alley swallowing her in an eerie, suffocating embrace.
Emma and Cecilia rushed forward, their hands trembling as they tried to steady her limp form, but Dorothy could not feel anything. She couldn’t hear anything, and her vision was dimming by the second. She could even taste blood in her mouth.
The evening, which had promised solace, had turned cruel in the blink of an eye.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Your Grace, we received news that Her Grace was attacked and is now unconscious.”
Magnus froze, the words slicing through him sharper than any blade. They had arrived a day before at his London estate. He had busied himself reviewing correspondence when Mrs. Tresswell, breathless and anxious, had arrived.
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, every muscle tensing. “Unconscious?”
“She… she struck her head, Your Grace.”
Magnus’s hand clenched into a fist. “Where was the detail I assigned to watch her?”
He had worried for her more than he cared to admit, yet circumstance forbade him from writing directly, from exposing the depth of his concern. So he had entrusted a detail to keepdiscreet watch, to observe from afar and report back on her well-being.
Mrs. Tresswell’s lips pressed tightly together, and she swallowed before speaking. “Your Grace… he was following her initially, but he lost sight of her during their stroll. By the time he caught up, Her Grace was being carried back toward her father’s residence.”
He didn’t wait. He flung open the door, heart hammering so violently it nearly stopped him. As quickly as he could, he sprinted toward the stables. His boots pounded the floor, adrenaline sharpening every nerve.
A moment later, he vaulted onto his horse, reins tight in his hands. Nothing mattered except reaching her. The wind whipped past his face as the animal surged forward, hooves striking fire into the cobblestones. Magnus’s thoughts were a blur. He could barely breathe. Each second was agonizing. Every shadow on the street made him flinch. He didn’t glance back, didn’t consider anyone else, only the path ahead, only getting to her.
Magnus’s mind raced as his horse carried him through the streets. He blamed himself for everything that had happened. If he had compromised, if he had not asked Dorothy to leave, she would not have been in London and would not have been hurt. The urgency of the situation pressed on him as he spurred the horse faster, imagining what she must be enduring and cursing the choices that had brought them here.
Magnus burst through the front door of the Lockhart residence, his coat flapping behind him as he struggled to catch his breath. The house seemed to constrict around him as panic clawed at his chest, but he didn’t stop. He rounded the corner into the main hall and saw Emma standing frozen, wide-eyed. Without thinking, he closed the distance and grabbed her shoulders, his hands firm but trembling.
“What happened? Where is Dorothy?” he demanded, his voice sharp, ragged with urgency.
Emma blinked, almost as if she could not comprehend the speed with which he had arrived or how he even knew. “The doctor is still with her,” she said finally, her voice small, caught between relief and astonishment. She stared at him, as though he had appeared out of nowhere, and for a moment, Magnus could see the shock mirrored in her eyes.
“Emma, where is my wife?” he pressed again, tightening his grip slightly.
“She’s with the doctor, Your Grace,” Emma repeated, trying to steady her own voice. “They are treating her.”
Magnus’s gaze hardened. “What happened? Who hurt her? Give me their name. I need to know everything. Tell me exactly what she endured.”
Emma hesitated, swallowing nervously. “It was just someone… a man looking for our brother, Phillip. He... he got aggressive when we refused to answer.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. “Aggressive?”
“He… he pushed her. She fell and hit her head. Then he panicked and ran,” Emma stammered. “That’s all we know.”
