Ramsey searched, coming up empty. His mind had merely one goal: find her. He turned to Heathcliff. “When did you see them last?”
“Same as you, on the bloody dance floor.”
“I’d wager Ramsey saw her more readily than you,” Lucas replied, arching a brow, but his expression was sober as he searched Ramsey’s gaze. “We’ll find her.”
“What could he mean by taking her from the room?” Ramsey asked, then his heart chilled with fear. He couldn’t possibly, he wouldn’t suspect that—
“Let’s split up. Ramsey, you take the gardens. Heathcliff, take the halls, and I’ll take the ballroom.” With a curt nod, the gentlemen all went their separate ways, and Ramsey made a direct line to the nearest exit to the garden.
He wasn’t sure Westhouse would go that direction. It would be too obvious.
Unless . . .
Unless he was waiting to be found.
