"My God." Sir Birnie's choked exclamation came from behind her.
Marianne walked over to the closest portrait—which showed Rosie at the age of five or so—and ran trembling fingers over the smooth ripples of paint. Her lashes grew damp. Her intuition—her maternal knowledge—had always been right.
Her babe was alive; her babe needed her.
She faced the Chief Magistrate. "You believe me now?" she said in suffocated tones. "Coyner has my daughter—has had her all these years. We must find him."
Shock edged Birnie's features. Clearing his throat, he said, "Dear lady, if I had known, had suspected that Coyner was capable of…" He broke off, shaking his head. "Rest assured I will do everything in my power to see your girl returned to you. You have Bow Street at your disposal. And I will personally offer a substantial reward for the capture of this nefarious criminal."
"We'll get the Thames River Police on this as well," Harteford said. "I'm acquainted with the Chief Magistrate at Wapping, and I'm sure he will want to join the effort, especially since one of his finest was shot by Coyner."
How she wished Ambrose was here at the moment. Marianne gave a tearful nod.
"In the meantime, we'll go through Coyner's personal effects and search for clues as to his whereabouts," Birnie said.
"Thank you both," Marianne whispered.
She went to the last painting in the line. Judging by Rosie's age in the portrait, it could not have been done long ago. Seeing the small gold placard affixed to the bottom edge of the frame, she leaned closer.
Her blood turned to ice as the words beneath her daughter's image became clear.
Lady Gerald Coyner.
39
Three days later,Ambrose arrived in London. It was past nine in the evening when he and his family entered the townhouse. They were met at the door by Lugo, who informed them that Marianne was currently out but would be returning soon. Seeing his family's yawns and drowsy faces, Ambrose sent them all off to bed. He lingered in the foyer with the manservant.
"I'm surprised you made it back so soon," Lugo remarked. "Is your injury healed?"
"Healed enough." In truth, Ambrose's arm throbbed like the devil after the jostling carriage ride, but he didn't give a damn about the pain. "How is she, Lugo?"
Lugo filled him in on the progress that had been made. Some of Ambrose's worry eased when he learned that Bow Street and the River Police were now involved in the search for Coyner. A question remained in his mind, however.
"There's something I wanted to ask you, Lugo."
"Sir?"
Ambrose eyed Marianne's loyal servant, who stood tall and staunch—a soldier no different from himself. He cleared his throat. "Why did you send me the note telling me that she had gone to Pendleton's?"
"I've known my lady for a while now," Lugo said. "I know when she is in over her head."
"And you trusted me to help her?"
"Took a bullet for her, didn't you?"
Ambrose grimaced. "Wasn't the first time, either." And not the last, if it came to that. He'd protect Marianne to his dying breath.
"Not my place to say, but she could do worse than you." A quicksilver smile flashed across the other man's ebony features. "Had a guest chamber set up for you. The one next to my lady's."
Heat crept over Ambrose's jaw. "Yes. Well."
He was saved from saying more by the sound of footsteps. He reached the door in several strides and yanked it open. Marianne's startled gaze met his.
"You're back," she said tremulously. Her eyes fell to the bandage bulging beneath his sleeve. "Oh, Ambrose—"
He pulled her inside. Pulled her close. Her hair smelled like jasmine and sunshine, and he hadn't realized until that instant how much he'd missed her.Everythingabout her—her unique scent, how soft she was, how perfectly she fit against him.
Letting out a quivery breath, she rested her head against his good shoulder, her arms circling his waist. For several long moments, they simply held onto one other. Out of the corner of his eye, Ambrose saw Lugo begin a quiet retreat.
