“One figure? You saw someone?” She struggled once more to make sense of everything, as her head ached. “Why were you here?”
“I was passing by,” he said curtly. “Stay here for a moment while I speak to your servants.”
He rose from the chaise longue in her cheerful salon where someone—perhaps one of the footmen—had carried her. Gradually, everything he had said fitted together, in the fashion of a key sliding into its lock. The door clicked open. It made sense.
“You are saying that whomever it was that hit me over the head could still be here?” Fear collided with worry, washing over her, chasing for a moment the agonizing pounding of her head. Charlotte. “My daughter?”
“She is being looked after by her nurse,” he said, pausing in his strides to glance back over his shoulder. For a moment, his face softened with what she could only suppose must be pity. “I have a footman stationed at the door to the nursery. But it is not sufficient, Pippa. Surely you must see that, given what happened this evening.”
“I…” Her words trailed off.
What could she say? Her mind remained sluggish, but she knew he was right.
“I must check on my daughter,” she said, forcing herself to a sitting position, determined to see that Charlotte was unharmed.
“You will remain where you are,” he ordered. “I will speak with the servants and see to your daughter. Chief Inspector Stone ought to be arriving momentarily. The most important thing for you to do is remain precisely where you are so that you do not find yourself in further peril.”
Further peril.Her mouth went dry and her stomach clenched. The urge to heave up her accounts was strong, but she forced herself to breathe slowly. To concentrate upon the silken roses on her skirts. She was not in any state to go anywhere at the moment. The room seemed to spin around her.
“You have my promise that I will make certain your daughter is safe.”
He had not gone. Surprise jerked her gaze back to find the duke watching her, that dark gaze unreadable. He was being gentle with her. Kind once more. She found herself deeply thankful for his intervention, for his presence here.
“Thank you,” she said, her only acknowledgment that he was right.
How strange it was to watch his broad shoulders presented to her as his long-limbed strides took him from the room. He was dressed for the evening in dark trousers and coat, but his hair was a darker shade still. Glossy and black as jet beads. Stranger yet to realize she trusted him. That his promise to check on Charlotte a second time, coupled with his assurance that he had already stationed a footman at the nursery, filled her with a sense of peace.
Even so, his warning that the assailant who had attacked her from behind could have remained within her home set her on edge. She became acutely aware of every noise. Each creak of the floorboards, every soft voice in the halls, and even the tick of the mantel clock was a vicious abrasion to her nerves.
Northwich returned after what seemed like an eternity, and by that time, she had forced herself to rise from the chaise longue. But her head was still pounding with ferocious intensity.
“What the devil are you doing?” He rushed to her side, arms sliding around her. “You have just suffered a blow to the head.”
His warmth and his scent swept over her. But she would not be weak. She had to be strong for her daughter.
“Charlotte?” she asked, her first concern, always.
“Your daughter is sleeping soundly and well looked after,” he reassured her, his lips so near to her, they grazed her temple as he spoke.
She wanted not to like that sensation, wanted not to find it every bit as comforting as the rest of him. And yet, she did.
“Thank you,” she managed, hands going to his shoulders. “The rest of my household? Was anyone else injured?”
His jaw was rigid, his gaze nearly onyx as it burned into hers. “They are all well. The only person who suffered this evening was you. Your library, however…”
Her library? In truth, it had been, like everything else in the home, chosen by George. Even the books upon the shelves had been his selection. She had scarcely used the chamber at all until she’d had need of distraction.
She swallowed down the rising lump of bile in her throat. “What happened to the library?”
“It is torn apart,” he said. “Whoever was here, they were very intent upon finding something. Something they believed might be secreted within the library, if the destruction the criminals wrought is any indication.”
“Destruction?”
“Sit first, and then we shall speak more.”
He was being highhanded, but for some reason, she did not mind. She felt suddenly exhausted, as if she had lived three lifetimes within the last fortnight. She was weak and weary, battered and bruised, hopeless and confused.
For now, and just because the pain was clamoring with all the rest, and louder than she could bear, she allowed Northwich to guide her back to the chaise longue. Allowed him to assist her in sitting.
