Ophelia put her hands out to catch herself, but before she could hit the seats or the floor, she felt her arms being wrenched back and was stopped only a second before her nose would have crashed into the surface.
“No!” Ophelia yelled as she was yanked up.
“Quiet!” Abraham barked, wrapping a rough rope around her wrists. “We’re going to have to do this another way.”
Ophelia struggled as Abraham tied her hands together, but the ropes were suddenly cinched tight, and she was suddenly lifted under her arms and deposited into a seat.
“Let me go!” She demanded as Abraham banged his fist upon the carriage ceiling. She lurched forward as the carriage began to move, and it was only her will to not be touched by him that kept her from toppling toward his person.
“You should have done better,” Abraham sighed, shaking his head as he looked out the carriage window.
“I was trying!” She exclaimed. “Let me go! Take me back! My friends will come for me!”
Abraham’s hand forced a cloth over her screams, and before she could tell herself to stop breathing, Ophelia’s world went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Your Grace, a letter has just arrived for you,” Tristan’s butler stated, appearing at his bedroom doorway.
Tristan shrugged on his blue and silver accented jacket, and shook his head.
“I am running late for a party, Mr. Ives,” he replied, swiping his matching mask from his bed, “Place it in my office with my other correspondences. I shall read it tomorrow.”
He breezed past his butler out into the hall. Alistair had been right. Though he had been hesitant to take the sleeping tonic at first, he’d recovered greatly after finally getting some rest. Doing so had not only recovered his body, but his mind, and he had decided on quite a few things. First and foremost- finding Ophelia tonight and having a serious conversation about his feelings. After what Alistair had told him, he was sure that her affections matched his, and he was determined to find out for sure.
“Your Grace, I must insist you read this one,” Mr. Ives urged, following Tristan as he made his way down the stairs, “The messenger that brought it said he was not allowed to leave until he was able to confirm that you received it.”
Tristan paused on the staircase, turning to give Mr. Ives an odd look.
“Did the messenger say who sent him?” Tristan asked.
“Just a first name,” Mr. Ives replied, holding out the letter, “Christopher.”
A jolt moved through Tristan’s body as he snatched the letter from Mr. Ives hands and ripped it open. He read through the contents, ice freezing his veins as one sentence in particular jumped out at him.
Perley is Lord Abraham Blackwood, Viscount Weavington.
There were other sentences, explaining the link between him and Tristan’s late father, but the only thought that entered Tristan’s mind as he focused on the glaring piece of information.Ophelia.
“I have to go,” Tristan said, dropping the letter as he raced down the stairs.
“Is all well, Your Grace?” Mr. Ives called after him.
“Alert the constable,” Tristan shouted as he reached the front door, swinging it open with urgency, “Tell them to search Lord Weavington’s estate!”
Tristan heard Mr. Ives begin to shout something else, but he was already outside, racing past Christopher’s messenger who was leisurely smoking a pipe. The man startled as Tristan ran paced him.
“Shall I alert my employer you received his letter?” He called after Tristan.
“What do you think?” Tristan barked over his shoulder.
“Unharness that horse immediately,” he commanded as he approached his carriage.
The driver gave him a startled look, but climbed down to do as he was told. Too impatient to wait, Tristan helped him, and leaped on the horse’s back as soon as it was free.
“Your Grace! At least spare a moment to let me fetch you a saddle!” The driver cried.
“There’s no time,” Tristan gathering the loose leather straps into his hands, “Gather some stable boys and head to the Viscount Whitbridge’s estate. Check on a Miss Wexley. If she is not there then I want you to stay and protect her father.”
