“Very strange. I thought my uncle sent all of his henchmen to do his dirty deeds. How long ago did this happen?”
“Just the other day.”
He nodded. “My uncle knows I’m here looking for him. Nonetheless, I will keep a cautious eye out for a man of this description.” He opened the door.
“Nash?”
He looked back at Lucinda.
“Please be careful.”
A knot of emotion caught in his throat and made it hard to swallow. “I will.”
As he rode back to Nora’s place, his mind kept going over what Lucinda had told him. Things just didn’t add up. So far, all the men he had run across who worked for his uncle had all been large, powerful, and middle-aged. True, they were all charming, but the physical description Lucinda gave him just didn’t fit. Slender? Handsome? And young?
Putting his confusion aside, Nash kicked his heels into the horse’s belly, pushing the animal faster. Apparently, his uncle was one step ahead of him. Nash couldn’t have that.
As he rounded a hill, a bright orange flaming light appeared above the trees surrounding Nora’s home. Smoke hung in the air. His heart dropped, causing his whole body to shake, but he pushed the horse faster. Screams and cries absorbed the air around him as the harlots and the servants rushed from the well to the house, throwing water upon the flames. Most of the fire was out, thank heavens.
He couldn’t breathe, and the thick smoke had nothing to do with it.
He jumped off his horse and ran to the nearest harlot. “Nancy? Where is Nora? Where is Maxey?”
She wiped her tear-stained face and pointed toward the tree. Leaning against it was Nora, while the cook tended to her wounds. He rushed to her and knelt by her side. Both eyes were bruised and swollen, and her lip cut and bleeding. The cook wrapped a bandage around her dainty wrist.
“Nora, what happened?”
Maxey’s mother cried and shook her head. “I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
He knelt beside her and grasped her shoulders. “Where is Maxey?” he demanded in a stronger voice.
“They…took her.”
Nausea rose to his throat. “They? Do you mean my uncle’s men?”
Nora nodded and cried louder. “They were too strong for me. I couldn’t stop them.” She lifted her hand and held a folded piece of paper. “This is for you.”
With shaky fingers, Nash unfolded the paper and held it up to the light the fire created.
We have Miss Littleton. To get her back, come for her, but bring no one. Bring your ring.
Invisible pain stabbed Nash’s chest, bending him over. He clutched the paper to his mouth, holding back the cries straining in his throat. His uncle was using her as bait, and would kill her once Nash was dead.
If Nash handed over the ring, Matthew would kill him and Joshua and take over the title. If Nash didn’t give his uncle the ring, Maxey would be tortured.
Rocking back on his heels, Nash reached into his shirt and withdrew the ring hanging on a gold chain around his neck. His chest ached, and he closed his fingers around the jewelry in a tight fist. Curse his uncle for making him choose. Curse his father for not stopping Matthew years ago. And curse Nash’s tender emotions for loving Maxey more than life itself.
Wiping the moisture under his eyes, he stood and took a deep breath. Whoever took Maxey couldn’t be that far ahead of him.
“I will get her back. I promise.” He tenderly touched Nora’s arm.
He dashed toward the horse, his heart beating harder with each step. The dark night enveloped him as he rode toward town. Shops had closed. People were nowhere in sight. Matthew had planned this kidnapping perfectly. Nash prayed that his uncle didn’t know where he had been tonight, or Lucinda would be next.
As Nash rode, he searched for signs of his uncle’s men. His chest twisted from the thought that Maxey’s body might be lying somewhere, undiscovered.
He couldn’t think this way. His uncle would use her as leverage. And until Nash handed the ring over, Maxey would be safe.
The clouds moved away from the moon, helping him see the road better. Something out of the ordinary captured his attention. A cloth hung on the limb of a tree, flapping in the breeze. He slowed his steed, snatched the white fabric, and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. It felt like part of a woman’s shift. He lifted it to his nose and took in a deep breath. The faint hint of jasmine hung on the cloth.
