“Three days, Alex, we have three days,” Frederick said, the urgency in his tone turning Emmaline’s stomach as it confirmed her suspicions about the letter.
Panic started to rise in Emmaline. Three days was no time at all.
“What… what do they demand?” Emmaline asked.
Nobody answered. Time seemed to stand still as she stared at her husband, awaiting a response.
Though he no longer wore his disguise from the ball, Emmaline watched the mask fall down over his face as his expression hardened. “It does not matter. We have three days to find them and make them rue the day they ever thought to threaten the devil lord’s family.”
Chapter 23
Emmaline had barely slept by the time the sun rose the next morning. She sat in the window seat of the master bedroom, overlooking the street below, praying that her husband would return.
He had been gone all night long without word, off with his uncle and Tiny to learn what they could about the mystery sender of the threatening letter. And with him gone, Emmaline had asked Lorraine to bed with her, just as she and her own sister had often done during traumatic events, like when her youngest brother had fallen sick of a fever or Sebastian had fallen from his horse with severe injuries that had left him on the brink of death.
Those nights had turned out to be just bad nightmares she woke up from when the dawn arose, but she feared that would not be the case with their current situation.
Lorraine’s gentle breathing, having finally passed out sometime around the chime of the fourth bell of the church tower down the street, was the only thing that broke the silence of the room. And in the din, Emmaline wondered where her husband might be, if he might be hurt, if he would ever return to her.
Clutching her robe close to her chest, she reached out a finger and brushed it over the condensation that had gathered on the windowpane. It was raining outside but still, she could just see the street below, the lamplighters going about their work extinguishing the previous night’s lamps.
And as she watched, a curiosity caught her eye: a small boy in a dark hood, scurried down the pavement, his head darting this way and that beneath the heavy cowl.
Before she knew it, he had disappeared from her view, darting towards the gate at the bottom of the garden.
Alex!She thought, racing from the room. He had finally sent word.
Careful not to awaken Lorraine, she slipped from the room and rushed bare foot down the hall towards the servants stairs. There was only one entrance a dirty little street urchin like that would dare to knock upon and so, Emmaline fled down the stairs towards the servants quarters and the servant’s entrance beyond.
“Your Grace!” Benedict’s voice startled her as she raced past the open door of his office without so much as a glance. Skidding to a halt in her night gown and robe, she wrapped her arms around her chest and took a step backwards.
“Benedict, I had no idea anyone would be up this early.”
“I have not slept, Your Grace,” Benedict told her, and Emmaline remembered Alex’s words from the night before. Clearly, he had not been jesting when he had told them that all the men would not sleep a wink until they had gotten to the bottom of this.
The butler rose from where he had been seated at his desk and crossed the room to stand in the doorway. He was a somewhat imposing figure standing at a foot taller than her, but Emmaline quickly reminded herself, she was the lady of the house.
“Please, do not trouble yourself, Benedict,” she insisted. “I merely came down to get a glass of water.”
“You ought have rung for one of the servants, Your Grace. It is much too cold and dreary down here.”
Emmaline shook her head. “With everything going on, I did not wish to trouble anyone. Please, go back to your rest. You must be exhausted.”
She was most relieved when the butler did not take too much convincing. Clearly, he was simply too tired to argue. He stifled a yawn and bowed low. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Emmaline fought the urge to hurry off, letting her feet carry her swiftly but not so fast as to cause alarm, right to the kitchen door down the hall. She did not go any further until she heard the squeak of the butler’s chair legs on the floor.
Breathing only a half-sigh of relief, she continued on to the servant’s entrance and carefully unlatched it. The hooded boy stood just beyond, arm raised as if about to knock.
When he lifted his head, his hood falling, his eyes were round with astonishment at the sight of her. “Your…Your Grace, a message for you.”
“Thank you most generously, good sir,” Emmaline said, taking the letter from him. “I shall see you well compensated.”
She cursed herself then for not having brought him a coin in thanks for easing her terrified heart. The boy dipped his head and hurried off back into the rain before Emmaline could even think to offer him a towel and a warm drink before he went on his way.
Closing the door with her breath held, Emmaline placed the latch back in its metal and hurried to the kitchen before she dared to open the note.
And the second that she did, her heart sank. It was not an update from her husband but in fact a note from her father, a note asking her to visit him. Secretly and discreetly were his words, and Emmaline’s insides twisted into knots all over again.
