She had not seen his name in the gossip sheets, however. There had been no indication he held balls or parties. He probably did, but she doubted she could count on one being held when she needed it. If this scheme had started earlier in the Season, she might have had better luck insinuating herself into one hosted by Brentworth.
She tucked the letter away. Langford had said she would no longer steal. She prayed he was right. If he wasn’t, she hoped he knew how she could get into this other duke’s home.
* * *
Gabriel read the letter. Amanda sat in her little dressing room waiting for him to finish.
He turned the paper over. “It was postage paid.”
“It has to be. The shops that accept such letters for others are not going to lay out money to receive them.”
“It also negates the need for a return direction. There is no way to know from where this was sent. That is unfortunate.”
He set the paper down and walked to the window. He stared out at the night while he debated what to say and what to do.
He had avoided making decisions about this, any of it, the last few days, but the problems had not been far from his mind. Except at night. They lived in a different world then. He should have shown more fortitude about that, but having her in this house and not touching her proved impossible. Hopeless. Torturous. He was not so good as to refuse what she offered, even though it only complicated what he now faced.
“Amanda, I must ask. Is there any chance that there is no man, or that your mother conspires with this man and is not his prisoner?”
He turned to see her gazing at him in shock. Then her eyes blazed. “That is a terrible thing to suggest.”
“You have not seen her in years, you said. You do not know her anymore.”
“She is my mother. She would not . . . She would never . . .”
Even as she sputtered, he saw the possibility dawn in her expression.
“If she would never, would your father if he returned? He might well be the man who has her.”
“Are you mad? After all these years, he is unlikely to seek her out now.”
“Perhaps he had no choice. He may be ill, or need to hide. Whom else could he trust or count on?”
“You’re wrong! Nor is she in league with this puppet master.”
He wished he could be as sure as she was.
“We need to get the dagger,” she said firmly, as if he had lost sight of the next step. “I need to send it as I am told. I need to follow it and free my mother. Once she is safe away, this man will no longer have a hold on me and I will be finished with it.”
Her fear touched him as it always had. He would have gladly put off this conversation for a day, a month, forever.
She was wearing a nightdress of thin lawn. She sat on a divan with her legs drawn up on the cushion. Her bare feet stuck out from beneath the nightdress’s hem. She wore her hair down at night now, ever since he’d told her he preferred that.
A nostalgic emotion flowed through him. If he helped her, the price would be high. Too high. There were lines a man did not cross, not even for friends or lovers. Yet here he was with his foot one inch away.
“We will obtain the dagger and send it forward and follow it. We will find your mother and the other stolen items, which I will return to their owners.”
She nodded. “And then?”
Hell, she had to ask now. This was not how he wanted to tell her. There was time enough for that.
“And then?” she asked again.
“Then you will leave England, Amanda. And your mother too.”
She blinked, but he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. She forced a little smile that broke his heart. “That is better than Newgate. I have always thought I would like to visit America.”
It was the best he could do, and even so it compromised him.
