But no Emily.
He dropped to his haunches and held the smooth glass between his fingers.
She would not have left without searching for the lens. His eyes burned when he remembered the lengths she’d gone searching his person the last time she’d lost one of her lenses. A harsh gurgling noise, not quite a laugh, not a sob, escaped his throat.
Where the hell was she?
What had happened in here?
His father had nothing to do with this. Had he? His father could barely lift his own head off of his pillow.
Would he have enlisted his valet?
Billings was stooped and arthritic.
Marcus wandered over to a table where one book lay open.
Poisons.
Arsenic?
His gaze flicked along the page and then over the drawings of fingernails with odd striations.
Fingernails?
Garlic-like odor?
And then all the pieces began dropping into place. His father wasn’t ill from cholera. God, no! His father had been poisoned. And Emily had guessed the truth. Hell, she hadn’t guessed. The woman was a walking encyclopedia. She’d known. But she’d come down here looking for confirmation.
And someone had discovered her here.
Quimbly.
The carriage he’d heard leaving earlier. It would have been him. Possibly with Emily inside.
Ice coursed through his limbs.
Not willing to waste a moment, Marcus briefed Crandall as to the situation and ordered a mount readied for him immediately.
Various scenarios playing out in his brain, Marcus dashed to his father’s suite and burst into the room. His father barely lifted his lids enough to glance in his direction. He appeared weak but alive.
A tray that must have recently been brought up sat on the table adjacent to the bed. Dishes remained covered.
Brushing past an annoyed and affronted Mr. Billings, Marcus lifted the lids and examined the food.
Upon initial inspection, it appeared perfectly normal.
But then he saw barely a trace of a white powder. “Billings, call the magistrate. And do not touch this food. I have reason to believe it’s been poisoned.” Not for a minute did Marcus suspect the valet of any nefarious deeds. The man loved the duke as though he were his father, son, and wife rolled into one. “And have the house searched. My wife has gone missing. I believe Quimbly might have taken her. Foul play. But I’ve no time to waste. Have a doctor inspect this food.” He took a few steps toward the door but then halted himself. “A different doctor. Call for Whitley.” Likely, Quimbly had paid off his father’s attending physician.
Marcus rubbed his chest as he ran down the stairs and rushed out the front door. An old favorite mare of his was just being led to the steps. Lady. He’d been forced to forfeit her with his estrangement. Not taking the time to exchange words with the servant, Marcus merely nodded approvingly before rubbing a hand along Lady’s neck and side and then swinging himself onto the saddle.
“Hiya!” Marcus urged the horse into a run at the same time the stablemasters stepped back.
Quimbly’s estate was less than two miles away.
Would Emily be there? In his mind, the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. His father’s desperation. The poisoning. Quimbly’s persistence.
In Quimbly’s eyes, Emily’s disappearance, her death, would pave the way for Marcus to marry Lady Lila. Not that he would ever do it. But Quimbly had apparently gone mad in his quest to improve his family’s position.
