Cecilia rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Where’s Nathan and Irene?”
“Who are you?” Welton asked.
“Corinne Hollerfield. Said whore’s sister.”
Welton’s face took on the flushed hue of a roaring fire. Thorne was almost amused.
Corinne turned to Thorne. “Lord Kimpton, the others are awake. Cecilia is demanding Lady Kimpton—”
“And Irene and Nathan,” Cecilia said.
Thorne swept Cecilia up. “They are out. Just for the moment.”
“Where?” she demanded.
He set her on her feet. “Miss Hollerfield, perhaps you and Lady Cecilia would give us a moment with Lord Welton?”
“Why don’t you want to tell us where my sister is?” Cecilia demanded. “She thinks she’s so grown up because she got to pour the tea. Well, next timeIwish to pour the tea.”
Miss Hollerfield grabbed Cecilia’s hand. “Come, Lady Cecilia. We shall wait in the foyer.” She shot Thorne a harsh glare. “We shall find Irene.”
“And Nathan.”
“And Nathan,” she said, pulling the door closed, but before it latched, Bethie stood in the arch.
Thorne looked at her thoughtfully.
“That’s Lord Maudsley’s daughter?” Welton said, clearly stunned.
“Of course it is. But Lady Cecilia is only four, or…” Brock frowned.
“Not the child,” Welton said. “The other one. The one who bore Harlowe’s bastard.”
“That’s enough, Welton.” Thorne’s fist shot out, catching the simpleton in the jaw. He waved Bethie in. “Please sit, Bethie. I shall have need of you after I deal with Welton.”
With a sharp nod, she stood off to the side at attention.
“Let’s get back to the note, Welton. Shall we?”
“I don’t know. I was on my way to Maudsley’s, at his request, mind, when one of those vagrant scamps stopped and asked my name.”
Thorne strode behind the desk and jerked out the bottom drawer. He lifted the ornate box that held his dueling pistols. The ones he kept oiled and ready at a moment’s notice. That moment appeared to have arrived. “Then that is where we shall start. Maudsley’s.”
Edward slid the wine rack into place. It was a handy piece of furniture with wheels that concealed his own private den. He darted up the servants’ stairwell to the third floor to the nursery. He lay Irene on her pristinely made bed, took the folded coverlet from the foot, and draped it over her small body. He would be sorry to lose her.
His mouth tightened. What an unfortunate turn of events. He should be handing over Cecilia. He’d looked forward to initiating Irene into womanhood for her thirteenth birthday. It was to have been a celebratory occasion.
He lightly kissed her forehead and made his way to the library.
“Rolf,” he barked. “Where’s Welton? He should have been here by now.”
Rolf waited at the foot of the stairs. Edward’s henchmen were prime choice. The man towered over any of his acquaintances. “Not here yet, sir.”
“Find him. I’ll be at my desk. Time is short.”
Rolf bowed and vanished from sight. Another brilliant trait Edward appreciated. Silence. Edward strode to the library. A hearty fire crackled, and burning candles gave off a subtle glow.
“Maudsley, my man. I’ve waited hours for that bestial lout to vacate.” Griston stepped into the room. “Where on earth did you dig him up?”
