Not one of them moved. Not one dared speak.
Gabriel’s gaze swept the room of familiar faces, loyal staff, people who’d served this house and his family foryears. But tonight, trust was a fragile thing. Tonight, anyone could be the traitor.
“No one leaves here until I have answers.” His voice betrayed none of the panic that thrummed beneath.
Rutland turned to him, arms folded, expression grim. “No one packed Lady Rothley’s clothes. No one saw her leave.”
“She didn’t leave. She was taken.” Gabriel’s voice was like steel, measured only by force of will. “And someone here is an accomplice to kidnapping.” His gaze cut from one servant to the next, searching, judging. “You may wish to consider that abducting the wife of a marquess is punishable by death.”
Jane spoke up, voice shaking. “I overheard the earl and countess talking when they came for Mr Gentry’s wedding, milord. I told Daisy you’d offered marriage. It’s me what’s to blame, not her.”
No, he was to blame. For not realising it would matter.
Gabriel gave a tight nod. “Thank you for your honesty. But that doesn’t answer the question. What the hell has happened to my wife?”
Rutland drew him aside, lowering his voice. “None of them know. Is it possible she left of her own accord?”
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “No.”
He’d stake his life on it.
A discreet cough drew his attention.
Alfie hovered in the doorway, cap clutched in his hands. “Mr Kincaid sent me, milord. I need a quiet word about the carriage. Outside, if you’ve a moment to spare.”
Kincaid knew better than to interrupt without good reason.
“No one is to leave,” Gabriel barked, before striding after Alfie down the basement corridor. They stoppedoutside the pantry door. “I assume this isn’t about the carriage.”
“No, milord. But Mr Kincaid said I’m to tell you what I’ve seen.”
His pulse stuttered. “You saw Lady Rothley?”
Alfie shook his head. “I saw the cook last night, out in the garden. He met a woman down by the fountain. He was meant to be locked in the pantry, calming his temper, only he wasn’t.”
Gabriel’s fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re certain it was Molière?”
Alfie nodded. “And it ain’t the first time, neither. I saw him out there the other night, meeting the same lady who came across the field.”
“From the direction of Wynbury Hall?”
The lad shrugged. “That’s what Mr Kincaid thinks.”
Gabriel laid a hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. Tell Kincaid we’re leaving in five minutes.”
He turned on his heel, striding back to the servants’ dining room.
The moment he entered, every head snapped up.
He didn’t waste time. “Molière will be leaving us tonight. Though if he’s lucky, he may yet save himself from the gallows.”
Molière’s eyes darted to the door, then back to Gabriel. His fingers fumbled at the edge of his chair, white-knuckled and trembling.
“Raise your hand,” Gabriel said, his gaze sweeping the table, “if you’ve ever seen him slip out of the house at night.”
One by one, the staff slowly raised their hands.
