The bedchamber was deserted.
Lucy was gone.
Chapter Twenty-five
Every servant Ciaran questioned had noticed the redheaded lady.
One of the upper housemaids was sure she’d seen her coming down the staircase. A footman thought she’d been in the entryway. Another was certain she’d seen her standing on the second-floor landing.
They’d all seen her, yet not one of them could tell Ciaran where she’d gone. One moment she’d been there, and the next she’d disappeared.
He ran into the innyard and found Vale standing beside his carriage, impatiently tapping his walking stick against his boot. When he saw Ciaran he started forward, but then he caught sight of the expression on Ciaran’s face and stopped. “Ramsey? What’s happened?”
“I—I can’t find Lucy. She’s missing.”
The color drained from Vale’s face. “Missing? Eloisa and Lucy, both missing? Jesus, Ramsey. Did you question the servants?”
“A half-dozen servants, dozens of questions, and not one useful piece of information. No one saw her leave the inn, but she must have, Vale.” Ciaran dragged a hand down his face, his gaze darting up and down the street in front of him.
That was when he saw it.
The color caught his eye first. Bright green silk peeking out of a limp bundle of dark gray wool, lying in the middle of the innyard.
Ciaran darted across the yard, only narrowly avoiding a collision with a heavy wagon.
“Ramsey, what the devil?” Vale shouted, following on his heels. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Look, Vale.” Ciaran caught up the cloak and stood in a daze, gazing down at the bundle of dusty fabric in his hands. “It’s Lucy’s. She must have left the inn and come out into the yard.”
Then she’d disappeared.
Ciaran clutched the cloak to his chest. “He took her, Vale. Jarvis. Snatched her right out of the yard and shoved her into his carriage. It’s the only explanation for why her cloak would be lying out here in the dirt.”
Except, was it really the only explanation? Lucy might have left him and gone off to Devon alone—
No. Lucy would never have done that. She wouldn’t leave London without knowing her aunt and cousin were safe.
She wouldn’t leave him.
Not like this. He was as sure of that as he was of the sun rising tomorrow morning.
“How could Jarvis have found her, Ramsey? He couldn’t have simply stumbled across the Swan and Anchor. Only Eloisa and I know where you—”
Vale broke off and met Ciaran’s gaze. Ciaran saw his own panic reflected in his friend’s eyes, and knew they were both thinking the same thing. Jarvis had threatened his own daughter. He’d made Eloisa tell him where Lucy was, and then he’d come after her.
Now Eloisa and Lucy had both vanished.
Icy fear filled Ciaran’s heart, but only for a moment before it exploded in shuddering, trembling, burning rage. His jaw went tight, and his hands fisted. If Jarvis laid a finger on Lucy, touched even a single hair on her head, he’d spend the rest of his life answering to Ciaran for it.
But first he had to find them.
“Portman Square, Ramsey,” Vale said through gritted teeth. “Portman Square, and if I have to I’ll shake the truth out of the servants.”
Within minutes they were in Vale’s carriage and on their way to Portman Square. Ciaran’s stomach twisted tighter and tighter with every agonizing mile. The carriage was still rolling into the drive when he leapt from it and flew toward the front door, with Vale right behind him.
The house was dark and silent, but nothing could have stopped either of them from pounding on the front door.
Or, if that failed, knocking it down.
