The cold certainty that settled in Victor’s gut only intensified as he learned more details from the driver. There was a boy with a note about her dying father, a carriage without markings that had pulled away after Olivia began walking, the fact that Harborough House would be empty since he wasn’t aware of her father returning to London.
“She’s been taken,” he told Simmons. “Send for Atherton, immediately.”
Every fiber of his being knew that someone had taken his little one. And he couldn’t afford to waste a single moment, if that were true. Not until she was back in his arms. The emotions that coursed through his veins were unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
Hurrying to his study, Victor unlocked the drawer containing his service pistol, checking that it was loaded before securing it inside his coat. His mind worked to reason out where she might have been taken, even as his heart pounded. But he refused to allow his fear to control him.
When James Atherton arrived, he also found merit in Victor’s suspicions. From the time Atherton had spent tracking the man, his men knew of three different locations that Reynolds frequented.
“We’ll check them all,” Victor decided, already reaching for his coat. “Starting with the nearest.”
“I’ve rarely seen you so affected. So on edge,” James observed as they headed for the door. “Not even in Spain?—”
“This is different.” Victor cut him off, unable to examine the depth of his feelings while Olivia remained in danger. “This is my wife.”
Their journey to find Olivia led them first to a Southwark boarding house, then to a Covent Garden studio where they discovered many of Reynolds’ belongings.
As they rode hard through the darkening city, Victor could not escape the visions that tormented him. Thoughts of Olivia in danger, frightened, possibly hurt. The realization that he might lose her forever ... he couldn’t allow that to happen.
When had she become the very air he breathed?
The countryside swallowed them as London fell behind, moonlight illuminating the rough road. Every minute increased Victor’s dread that they might find her too late. Or worse, not at all.
“We’ll find her,” James assured him as they changed horses at a posting inn.
But Victor was unable to speak.
“The oak,” James called suddenly, pointing to a massive tree silhouetted against the night sky, its trunk split down the middle by some ancient lightning strike. “There’s the turning.”
They secured their horses to a hedgerow and continued on foot, Victor circling behind the small building while James approached from the side. Crouching beneath a window, he listened intently, hearing voices from within.
“Your continued resistance is admirable, Duchess, but ultimately futile.”
It was Reynolds.
Victor shifted to peer through the grimy glass. The sight that met his eyes sent ice through his veins.
Olivia sat on a narrow cot, her face pale but composed, her posture straight-backed despite her obvious fear. The bodice of her dress was around her waist, exposing her bare breasts to the men. Reynolds paced before her, a pistol dangling from his hand.
“My husband will find you,” Olivia said, her voice steady and certain. “No matter where you think to go.”
Reynolds released a wild laugh. “Your faith in the duke is touching, though perhaps misplaced. He’s likely still searching London, assuming you’ve run off with another lover. He knows exactly what kind of whore wife he married.”
“You’re wrong,” Olivia screamed back at him. “He’ll come for me. And when he does ... God won’t even be able to help you.”
The absolute certainty in her voice struck Victor like a physical blow. After the way he’d been toward her the past week, she believed in him. Believed him to care for her.
He did. But he had been trying his damnedest to keep her from knowing that.
“Enough of the pointless chatter.” Reynolds moved closer, using his free hand to reach for his falls. “Perhaps we try a different way to jog your memory.”
“I’ve told you repeatedly, I know nothing of such matters,” Olivia replied, clutching at her gown.
“Then consider this a preview of what awaits you in Paris, where my patrons will find you most ... useful in extracting information from captured British officers.”
As Reynolds reached for Olivia, rage exploded within Victor. With a nod to James, who had positioned himself at the side door, he burst through the cottage door, pistol raised.
“Step away from my wife,” he commanded, his voice loud enough to echo in the room.
