“I see it.” Seth didn’t need to hear the words. The bullet had grazed the greyhound, and fortunately, had not lodged itself in its shoulder. Seth tenderly stroked Shelby's head, offering silent reassurance.
“In the village, there is a man known for his skill with animals. He is rather adept at treating injuries and illnesses,” the gardener suggested.
“Then we must get Shelby to him immediately.” Seth tore off his tailcoat. He wrapped the jacket around Shelby and gathered him in his arms. Rising, he carefully handed Shelby to the gardener, who took the hound, his face morose. “Please, hurry,” Seth pleaded.
With a nod, the gardener hurried away, Shelby cradled against him, his stride quick and purposeful.
Seth had to reach down and grapple Rufus’ collar to stop him from chasing after Shelby.
“Stay, Rufus,” Seth pleaded. Rufus fell still at his side but howled at the sky. It was like a great groan that erupted deep from within the hound’s soul. Seth ached with him, pained to watch Shelby in so much distress too. “What in God’s name is going on?” The sudden words that escaped him made the hound cease its panting. Rufus looked up at him, the hound’s dark eyes wide in wonder.
What sort of blackguard would harm Shelby? Or rather, why?
Seth backed up and dragged Rufus with him, back toward the drive of the house. Something more was amiss. Maybe Charity had intended to run away the night before and leave him, but if that had been her intention, then something had gone very wrong indeed. Why else would his hound be shot?
Right then, he made a decision.
“Bates?” Seth's voice cut through the morning air, seeking the butler who appeared at the doorway, visibly unsettled. “Summon the constable at once.”
“Your Grace.” Bates was raising a hand and pointing way over Seth’s head, far down the drive.
“What is it?” Seth had to look twice behind him to take in what Bates had seen. Far down the drive, there was a carriage approaching.Lord Holmwood'scarriage, unmistakable in its grandeur, was advancing towards them, escorted by a formidable assembly of horsemen. A quick tally revealed no less than fifteen, all of whom seemed prepared for confrontation.
Seth was rooted to the spot, his arms folded as Rufus lay beside him, his head resting on Seth’s foot.
The carriage came to a halt and some of the horses circled Seth, as others stopped and their riders alighted. The door to the carriage was opened by one of the riders and Lord Holmwood disembarked. He carried with him a swagger stick, leaning his weight upon it as his eyes fixed like pinpricks on Seth, with an intensity that bordered on the feral.
“Your Grace, I desire no further trouble,” Lord Holmwood declared, his voice carrying across the distance to Seth. “I have come prepared with my men—”
“So it seems,” Seth remarked dryly, his gaze sweeping over the men, recognizing some were twice the breadth of Lord Holmwood across the shoulders, with hands the size of meat cleavers. “Let me guess. These are the grunts in you and your son’s employ at the Bloomsbury Club. Tell me, do they beat your patrons into submission to settle their debts too?”
Beside him, a man the breadth of a bull cracked his knuckles. Seth, unfazed, simply met the action with a slight arch of his brow. He could outrun these men if he needed to, with ease.He could probably take a couple head-on—they lumbered about with the pep of a pyramiding tortoise.
“Their identities are of no consequence.” Lord Holmwood strode toward him. “Whatisof consequence is my daughter’s whereabouts. Present her to me.” He nodded toward the manor.
Rufus whimpered beside Seth once more and Seth glanced down at him. Silence stretched out between the group.
“Should you refuse to cooperate, Your Grace, I may be compelled to resort to force,” Lord Holmwood said, his voice piercing. “A constable has been notified of my accusation against you for abducting my daughter. He will be arriving soon.”
“That accusation is baseless,” Seth countered firmly. “She accompanied me willingly.”
“That may be your assertion. Yet, whose testimony do you suppose will carry weight?”
Seth might have broken into laughter if there wasn’t a more pressing matter at the back of his mind. “Are we comparing your credibility to mine? Or perhaps to that of your daughter's?” Seth glowered at the man before him. “Is it your intention to diminish her to merely an object of your possession, to the extent you're prepared to argue her words hold no merit? Such profound respect you have for your own kin.”
“She needs protecting. Seth… she is not right,” Lord Holmwood stammered, struggling to articulate his thoughts.
“Not right?” Seth repeated in amazement. “She is not ill. She only can’t see.” He gestured madly at his own eyes. “She hardly needs taking to Bedlam, as the man you wished her to marry claimed. How foul a father you must be to willingly want her to marry such a man who would even suggest it.”
“Enough!” Lord Holmwood bellowed. “Present my daughter to me at once.”
“How could I, when she left to return to Holmwood?” Seth’s whole body was tense. He knew something was wrong, even before he said the words. If Lord Holmwood was here now, then he was not the one to take Charity away the night before. Nor was he the one who had fired a bullet at Shelby.
Could it have been Lord Tynefield? Did he come for her after all?
The awful image of seeing the baron trying to force himself onto Charity in that bedchamber the first night he had met Charity now filled his mind. It ignited a tremor of rage in him that manifested in his trembling hands.
“Cease your fabrications, young Duke.” Lord Holmwood flicked his fingers at one of his men. “Bind him. He'll await the constable constrained.”
