He had to get home to Pippa and Char-char. Had to make certain they were safe.
* * *
Pippa joltedawake to the sense she was not alone. She had been dreadfully worn out after the upheaval of the last day, between the discovery of George’s partner’s arrest and the journey back to London. Then, her interlude in the library with Roland had left her feeling sated and suddenly aware of how very tired she was.
With Char-char happily accompanied by Rawlings, the sweet chambermaid who would be taking Croydon’s place until a replacement nursemaid was found, Pippa had decided to take a nap. But it seemed her head had just settled upon the pillow and she had fallen into the comforting abyss of slumber when a noise brought her back to wakefulness.
Had she imagined it?
The curtains had been closed and the sun was setting over London, which meant her chamber was shrouded in shadows. She cast her eyes around the chamber, trying to reassure herself that she must have been suffering from a nightmare brought on by the strain of the last day, when she saw a figure clad in familiar black bombazine standing near the closed door.
And a pistol pointed at her.
She gasped and bolted upright into a sitting position.
“Do not scream or move, Mrs. Shaw, or I will shoot you,” Croydon said, her voice dripping with ice.
Mrs. Shaw.Itwasan intentional insult, just as she had suspected.
Pippa’s mouth went dry, her heart pounding furiously. “Croydon?”
The nursemaid moved slowly nearer to the bed. “You were expecting your savage duke instead?”
Savage.
“Do not dare to insult him,” she defended Roland instantly, without a care for the armed woman facing her.
“You do not give me orders now,” Croydon said, stopping at the foot of Pippa’s bed. “Not any longer.”
“What are you doing in my chamber?” she asked, desperation rising in her throat along with the frantic need to escape.
How could she get away? She had no weapons of her own, and Roland was gone. If she screamed, Croydon had threatened she would shoot. Was screaming worth the risk?
“Should that not be apparent? I have nothing left to lose now because they have my precious son.”
Croydon had a son? Pippa struggled to understand the revelation, the connection.
“Who has your son?” she demanded, attempting to edge to the side of the bed as slowly as possible so that the nursemaid would not notice the movement.
“Scotland Yard. What are you doing? I told you not to move!”
Scotland Yard?
Pippa stilled. “Your son was arrested by Chief Inspector Stone?”
Croydon’ssonhad been George’s accomplice?
“If it had not been for you going through your husband’s correspondence, he never would have been caught,” Croydon snarled. “I warned Reginald against trusting such stupid, reckless partners. Pity he did not listen to me before it was too late. Now all our efforts, all the money, is for naught.”
“Your son was one of George’s partners?” she asked. “Why? How?”
“My son was the only intelligent one of the three of them. Shaw was stupid and he grew far too comfortable and greedy.”
“The three of them,” Pippa repeated, attempting to keep Croydon talking, knowing that doing so would grant her additional time and, God willing, the means to somehow escape this madwoman. “Who was the third man?”
“His name was Watts. Not that it matters now, for he is dead, just as he deserves.”
“Your son killed him,” she charged, sliding toward the edge of the bed again.
