“Of course,” she promised. “And I’ll have Aunt Charlotte’s cook prepare food for you to take. You’ll have to leave quickly.”
Mr. Sinclair lowered the young woman back down on the settee and grazed his hand over Margaret’s cheek in a caress. Then he stood and picked up his fallen hat. “Go and fetch Fraser. He’ll take good care of her.”
She nodded in agreement. “Find Victoria,” she pleaded. “And send word to us, as soon as you know she’s safe.”
He put on his hat and went to the door. “That I’ll do. But would you tell her—” His words broke off as if suddenly realizing what he’d been about to say.
“I’ll tell her that you were the one to save her,” Juliette promised, guessing what he wanted. Although there was no chance of her sister ever desiring a Highlander instead of a lord, she would grant Sinclair that, at least.
His expression was enigmatic. “Aye. That’s good then.”
Her aunt arrived home at that moment, and Charlotte exclaimed at the sight of Margaret. “Help me bring her to her room,” she commanded a footman. “And someone fetch a doctor.”
Juliette met Sinclair’s gaze, and he nodded in silent agreement. She would go after Dr. Fraser herself, despite the impropriety.
“Find Toria,” she pleaded with Mr. Sinclair once more. If anyone could manage it, she trusted Sinclair. He ignored the law when it suited him, and she had every faith that he would succeed.
Paul was slowly losing his mind. Nearly a dozen times, he’d gone to the Arnsbury residence over the past few weeks, intending to talk to Juliette—only to turn back when common sense intervened. He’d pushed Juliette too soon, and nothing would change her mind. At least twenty times, he’d wanted to knock his head against the wall for stealing a kiss. She hadn’t been ready for that. He should have known better. And yet, when he’d seen her soft lips by moonlight, her eyes yearning, he’d given in to impulse.
No, he couldn’t pay a call. At least, not at her home. His only chance of seeing her again was in public.
He sat down at the small writing desk in the drawing room, staring at the pile of invitations. It was strange to think that the matrons of London wanted him to court their daughters. He had nothing to offer any of them—at least not yet. The title of viscount was as insubstantial as air, since his uncle was very much alive. But to them, being the heir to his uncle’s fortune was good enough.
A noise from the front door caught his attention. He hardly ever had callers, except for a few folk selling their wares door to door.
Paul rose to his feet and was startled to hear Juliette’s voice. “Is Dr. Fraser here?” she asked the butler. She didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed her way inside her father’s town house. “He’s not at the hospital, is he?”
Paul stepped out from the parlor, noting her disheveled appearance and the panic in her voice. “What’s happened?”
Juliette’s face was pale, her bonnet ribbons undone. She hurried forward, her expression pleading. “It’s my sister Margaret. She’s been hurt.” With her hand outstretched, she pleaded, “Come quickly.”
The fear in her voice pulled him out of surprise and into action. “Get my coat and bag,” he ordered the butler. Culpepper hastened to fetch them, and Paul moved forward to Juliette.
“Tell me how she was injured.”
Her face was white, and she took a breath before explaining. “Victoria was kidnapped. We think it was one of Strathland’s men who took her. Margaret was trying to stop him, and when she was thrown from the carriage, she hit her head.”
Now this was something Paul had never expected. If Strathland had started a personal attack against the duke, it would not end well for him. “Has the duchess been found?”
“No. Mr. Sinclair went after her.” Though Juliette was trying to remain strong, he could see the worry in her eyes.
“Cain will find her. Believe that.” He moved closer and took her hand in his. “Do you want me to go with him to Scotland?”
She shook her head slowly. “I’d rather you stayed here.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and it made him wonder if she was regretting the time spent apart. But then, before he could say anything more, she added, “I need you to look after Margaret.”
Well. That answered that.
Paul ignored the twinge to his pride and let go of her hand. He began asking questions about whether Margaret was conscious and how much blood she’d lost.
“There was some blood on her head,” Juliette admitted. “I—I don’t know more than that.” The discomfort on her face suggested that she wasn’t eager to think about it. “Will you come?”
He studied her for a moment. “Why didn’t you send a footman to fetch me?”
Her face went scarlet, and she shrugged. “I probably should have. I didn’t think.”
“I’m glad you weren’t thinking,” he said softly. Juliette offered him a tentative smile, and reached for his hand again.
When Mr. Culpepper returned, Paul donned his coat. With his medical bag in one hand, he followed Juliette out to the waiting landau. She let him help her into the carriage, and he sat across from her when the driver urged the horses onward.
