Lorelei leaned forward and lifted the arm Nathan rested on, supporting his head. Then, wrapping her other arm about his body, she raised herself. She still shook and he still screamed, but she’d done it. She was holding him. Truly holding him.
Trusting herself to stand with him was another matter. She shifted to the farthest part of the chair and, as carefully as she could manage, lowered him onto the cushion. The arm of the chair would keep him secure but would not keep him from crying. Hating herself completely, she dipped her finger in the whiskey and put it to his lips. After two or three more times, he quieted.
It didn’t take a thorough search to confirm that Lorelei, Irene, Miss Elvins, and the baby were not in residence, though Thorne took no chances, and with the servants’ help, every room was checked. Maudsley was the only logical conclusion. Someone knocked on the door, and Thorne dashed for the foyer. Oswald, true to form, beat him to it.
“Thank God. I was just on my way to find you,” Thorne said.
Brock stood awkwardly, one arm gripping Welton by the collar. “Yes, well, I was accosted by a mongrel. Apparently, he had a missive for me. The duel is off.”
“What the hell does that mean? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Lorelei and Lady Irene are unaccounted for.”
Brock pushed Welton ahead of him through the door.
“Unaccounted for?” Brock repeated.
“We’ll take this into my study.” Thorne shoved Welton into his inner sanctum. “Start talking, Welton.”
“I received a note, just as Lord Brockway said.”
“Where’s the note?”
Brock held out a crumpled piece of vellum. “There’s no seal or title identifying the sender. I don’t know who sent it. Or what it means.”
Thorne tuned to Welton. “Why send it to you, of all people?”
“I-I was to be Lord Maudsley’s second.”
Brock snorted.
Thorne read it aloud. “Maudsley concedes. There will be no meeting at Hampstead Heath.How cryptic. And uncharacteristic.” His jaw tightened, and he pierced Welton with a hard glare. “My wife and Lady Irene seem to be missing, George. Have you any notion of where they might be?”
“N-no,” he stuttered.
“Cecilia?” Brock’s tone was marbled stone.
“She was drugged. The whole household was doused with an opiate.”
“Drugged?” Welton’s voice raised an octave.
The man was a simpleton. Thorne was certain he didn’t know a thing. But why had Maudsley selected him to stand as his second? “Who is your intended, George?”
“Maudsley’s daughter.”
“Ladies Irene and Cecilia are eight and four,” Thorne said.
“Of course they are,” Welton said, scandalized. “Of all the appalling insinuations.”
“Then who?” Brock demanded.
“There was another. A daughter. From his first wife, Lady Hannah. I-I don’t know her n-name. Lord Maudsley is forcing me to marryher. She had a-a baby. He said the child would be his heir because he hadn’t sired a son.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I told him Harlowe done went and got that whore Rowena Hollerfield’s sister with child. He said he didn’t believe the chit was Miss Hollerfield’s sister.” Welton looked down at the floor. “The whole conversation is a bit muddled. I was soused at the time it all happened.”
The door crashed back. “She’s not a whore. And if you refer to her as such again, I shall kill you.” The soft words filled the room.
Corinne Hollerfield stood in the arched door as proud as the goddess Diana, but rather than boasting an arrow in her clutched hand, she gripped Lady Cecilia’s tiny one.
