“I do so wish I could change your mind.”
She smiled. “You shall not. But I do wish to hear of your triumphs. Come now, tell me as we walk.”
The gravel paths in the parterre were not elaborate, and by country house standards, they were positively Lilliputian. However, the movement amongst them would serve ample enough distraction, she hoped.
“Fair enough, but I shall not cease attempting to convince you to see reason,” her friend warned as they began to travel amongst the flora. “We have excellent supporting numbers of members of parliament from every party. More than half of all the Conservatives, along with a third of the Liberal Unionists, almost half the Nationalists, and a fair number of Gladstonian Liberals as well…”
Pippa listened to her friend’s excited revelations, allowing her to be distracted by the promise of a better future.
For the both of them.
* * *
Once again,Roland found himself ordering his coachman to drive him in circles about Mayfair. Oxford Street, Grosvenor Square, South Audley and Curzon Streets. Circuitous loops. Park Lane to Piccadilly. He passed Pippa’s townhome more than half a dozen times. The night grew darker. The streets grew less congested. The lights in the grand homes dimmed.
He was almost pleased that she was as safe as she could reasonably be for another night, and that he would return home and throw himself into mindless exercises for the next two hours before falling into bed, when he decided to conduct one more pass.
That final inkling would prove a boon.
Mama had always urged him to listen to his instincts. It was an important skill, he had discovered over time. One that was easy to circumvent when society and all its distractions were introduced into the landscape. But his instincts had always held him in good stead when he had taken the care to listen.
Pity he had not listened to them five years ago in Oxfordshire, when they had called for him to remain in England instead of embarking on his long-planned trip to New York to visit with his mother’s family.
“Once more,” he had called to Meacham, who had likely begun to wonder at the nature of their repeated evening adventures.
But Meacham, bless the man, had not questioned the reason. Instead, he directed the well-appointed carriage on another steady loop, the eighth such route this evening. And as they drew near to Pippa’s townhome, his pocket watch having recently told him they were past midnight, that was when he saw a shadowy figure racing down the pavements.
And that was when he took note of the blazing lights. The open door.
His heart froze.
“Stop!” The curt order fled him.
Meacham did not rein in the matched pair soon enough for his liking. The whole damned conveyance was still in full motion when Roland ripped open the door and flung himself to the street. He landed on his feet, running before his soles hit the earth. Not toward the figure who had appeared to flee from her home. But rather toward Pippa’s townhome.
He sprang up the walk, took the steps three at a time, and all but leapt into the front entryway. No one was about, but oil lamps were ablaze, and the commotion within was undeniable. He followed the sounds to the main hall, where a young man—a footman, perhaps, nearly slammed straight into him.
“Steady, lad,” he cautioned.
“And who are you?” the servant demanded. “What is your business here? Are you from Scotland Yard?”
“No,” he said, heart still thundering. “Where is the lady of the house, Mrs. Shaw?”
“I don’t know where they have taken her,” the man said. “If you are not from Scotland Yard, who are you? I will warn you, sir, we have called for the police.”
His heart was beating fast, faster than ever. His chest was constricted as if a boulder had been placed upon it. He could scarcely breathe.
“Where have they taken her?” he rasped, repeating the domestic’s words. “Whohas taken her?”
Suddenly, the man fixed Roland with a pointed glare and a frown. “See here, now. Whoareyou, sir?”
“I am the Duke of Northwich,” he informed the servant. “A friend to Lady Philippa—Mrs. Shaw.”
It was the frenzy within him that had him calling her by the title he had once known rather than her married name. He was in such a state he could scarcely think, let alone speak. He needed to see Pippa.
Right. Bloody.Now.
The urge to shake the younger fellow was strong, but Roland tamped it down. “Tell me where she is and what has happened.”
