Dash crossed his arms. “Do you believe Whitley is a traitor?”
A beat of silence stretched. He did not believe anything of the kind. If he was a traitor, it was an unwitting one. That might not save him in the end though. It might very well ruin the man.
“I believe,” Leander said at last, “that Whitley is a dupe and Élise is the one we need to be concerned with.”
Slothington perked up. “Then we question her.”
“Not yet,” Leander warned. “We don’t want to overplay our hand. We need more information.”
Slothy threw up his hands. “So, we do nothing?”
“We prepare,” Leander corrected. “Tonight, we follow Whitley. And if Élise receives another visitor…” His jaw tightened. “We intercept him. Alive, preferably.”
Dash nodded, determination settling over his features. “Agreed.”
Slothington sighed mournfully. “Very well. But when this is over, I reserve the right to seduce someone. It need not be Élise.”
Leander cast him a dry look. “Your sacrifice is duly noted.”
As his friends chuckled, the hollow unease in Leander’s chest only deepened.
This was no longer a matter of social scandal or diplomatic whispers. It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.
And Leander—Duke of Lionston, sworn protector of crown and country—felt the first stirrings of a storm he knew would not break easily. “Prepare yourselves,” he murmured. “If all goes well we will know what our next steps will be tonight.” He prayed he was right because it was more than his life he was concerned about. He had to protect Sabrina, and when this was all done he fully intended to court her. He was done pushing her away. It was time to claim the woman who had always held his heart.
Sabrina should have turned back.
She knew it the moment her half-boot crunched against the loose cobblestone outside the narrow row house—knew it in that sickening, sinking way one knows they have made a grave mistake. But she had followed Basil this far, and stubborn pride would not allow her to retreat. Not when she feared what her brother had fallen into with his actions.
The lantern light from the street curved just enough for her to see the door swing open. She had followed him to the doorstep of the woman he had been speaking to at the ball. Élise stood framed in the threshold, dark hair tumbling in unrestrained waves down her back. Sabrina’s eyes widened. The woman wore nothing more than a thin dressing gown, loosely tied and slipping from one shoulder, exposing far more than Sabrina had ever imagined a lady—or whatever Élise might properly be called—would display so boldly at her doorway.
Heat flooded Sabrina’s face and she jerked her gaze away at once. Good heavens.
She sneaked another glance and noticed that Basil had not looked away from Élise. With a low groan of unmistakable longing, he reached for Élise, drawing her against him with such aching familiarity that Sabrina’s breath caught. Élise’s arms slid around his neck, her lips meeting his in a kiss so intimate, so wholly consuming, Sabrina felt as though she had intruded upon something sacred—or scandalous.
Or both.
The pair disappeared inside the house, still fused together, and the door shut with a soft click, leaving Sabrina alone with nothing but the faint echo of her own heartbeat. She exhaled shakily.
What in the world was she supposed to do now?
Leander had warned her—firmly—that she should leave Basil’s indiscretions alone. That she did not understand the danger. That he would handle it. She had ignored him and she had followed Basil instead. And now—now she had witnessed something she could not possibly unsee. Sabrina turned to go, pressing a trembling hand to her stomach. That was when a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.
She gasped, instinctively fighting, but a strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. Panic flared white-hot beneath her ribs. The street blurred and the night spun. She kicked, clawed, twisted—but the stranger was stronger. Much stronger.
Before she could scream, before she could even remember how to breathe, she was dragged toward a waiting carriage—its door already open as though expecting her.
“No—no—let go—!” Her plea was muffled against the leather-clad palm.
The man shoved her inside. The door slammed. The carriage lurched forward at once. Her eyes widened as terror finally clawed its way to the surface. She had followed Basil into danger.
But danger—true danger—had now followed her.
And she had no idea whose hands she had fallen into. She stared into the darkness uncertain what to do next. Should she scream? What would that even accomplish. No one was coming to her aid. Sabrina was completely on her own and had no idea how to extricate herself from this mess she had found herself in.
“Who…” She swallowed hard. “Who is there.”
“I see you have found your voice,” the man said in a heavily thickened French accent. “I am so glad you have decided to converse with me. You and I are going to have so much fun together.”
