Broadford.
“I think Rathbone is here,” he said, releasing Nora’s hand and then bowing low, as she dropped into the expected curtsy, her face going very still.
“The way Broadford is signaling me tells me that something has taken place.”
She took his arm before he could even offer it. David smiled briefly and then walked directly towards Lord Broadford, who was gazing at him with a stern, firm expression on his face. David did not hesitate, a fierce, protective fire surging through him as he looked down at Nora on his arm. He was not about to allow Rathbone even a second of success in any of this. “Where?”
“To the west of the gardens,” Lord Broadford replied quietly. “I believe he intends to make his way into the house through the gardens. The footman states he is making his way very carefully and slowly indeed.”
David drew in a deep breath. “Then it is time.”
Lord Broadford, clearly aware of what this entailed, nodded and put one hand on David’s shoulder. “I will not fail you in this, my friend,” he said, directly. “Once I find him, I will stay behind him a step or two until the moment comes to act. Do not fear. He will not escape.”
David nodded. “I thank you, my friend.” He watched Lord Broadford as he stepped away, then, putting a smile on his face that he did not truly feel, turned to Nora.
“I must return you to your mother.”
“I do not want to step back from you.”
With a smile, David settled his other hand on her fingertips. “Do not fear, my love. It will not be for long.”
Her eyes closed. After a moment, she nodded. “I trust you.”
He pressed her fingers to his lips. “And I love you,” he said quietly. “More than I have words for.”
It was only a few minutes later that David, his stomach turning this way and that, drew the attention of the entire ballroom. Aware of the tremor in his frame and willing it down, he drew in a deep breath and smiled broadly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, as every eye turned towards him, smiles on almost every face. “Might I begin by thanking you for coming to join me this evening at my engagement ball. It has been a wonderful evening thus far, and we have a good many more dances and the like to enjoy before it comes to an end.”
“Ah, but where is your betrothed?” a voice called, sending a prickle of unease down David’s spine. Was that Rathbone shouting at him, hiding himself in amongst the crowd? Or some fop doing what he could to draw a trifle more attention to himself? A murmur rang around the room, and David forced a smile, trying to remain outwardly calm and nonchalant.
“Indeed, that is a question one must ask, given that there ought to be both a lady and a gentleman present at an engagement ball,” he replied, as a few chuckles met him. “You are looking for my betrothed, Miss Frederica Longleat, no doubt. As you might all be aware, her father, the late Viscount Cheltenham, became ill shortly after our engagement was announced. He died not too long after the beginning of that illness, and thus, she is still presently in mourning.” Looking around the room, he tried to catch sight of Lord Broadford but could see nothing, no familiar face looking back at him.
There were too many faces present, all blurring together as he fought to find the right words to speak. This was the moment. The moment that Lord Broadford would capture Rathbone and, in his surprise, hold him fast before he could do any furtherharm. “What very few of you are aware, however, is that the reason for our engagement came about by my uncle’s demand. He informed me one night that a codicil had been written and added to his will, stating that I was to wed Miss Longleat. There were a few considerations to settle, but the matter was clear. I had no choice but to engage myself to the lady. That was a somewhat difficult time, since Lord Cheltenham became so unwell shortly thereafter. It is also the reason why we have not married as yet.” He spun around slowly, spreading his arms wide. “You can imagine my shock, however, when I spoke to my solicitors, only to discover that there was no codicil attached to the will, as my uncle had informed me.”
The response to this was immediate. Murmurs began at once, a few gasps breaking through the crowd.
“I informed Miss Longleat of this,” David continued, quietening the room again, “but she very much desired to continue with our engagement. I could not fully understand her reasoning, however. It was not until I realized that she was being threatened by another fellow that my understanding of her fear became clear.” David knew he had the attention of every single person in the room now, for the air was thick and heavy, every eye lit with curiosity. Taking a deep breath and setting back his shoulders, he prayed silently that Lord Broadford was in position and ready to act. “One of my uncle’s solicitors had taken it upon himself to threaten my uncle.”
A sudden commotion to his left drew David’s attention. Spinning to one side, he held out one arm, his finger pointing in that direction. “That man there, Mr. Rathbone, was the fellow responsible.” He was forced to speak more loudly now, his voice filling the room and covering over the many exclamations and sounds of astonishment that followed from the crowd. “He demanded not only wealth and land from my uncle but also that he be permitted to marry Miss Longleat. That was why my uncleinsisted that we wed. I think he had every intention of writing the codicil, but his ill health prevented him from doing so.”
“Unhand me!”
But Rathbone did not submit. The commotion to David’s left was not the clean, decisive capture he had planned — it was chaos. Rathbone wrenched free of Lord Broadford’s grip with a violence that sent a woman nearby stumbling sideways, her wine glass shattering on the marble floor. A collective gasp rolled through the ballroom.
“You think you can expose me?” Rathbone’s voice cut through the murmurs, raw and rasping, stripped of any pretense of civility. He was moving through the crowd now, shoving past a startled gentleman, his eyes fixed on David with an intensity that made the breath lock in David’s chest. “You think yourself better than me, Hampshire? Your uncle was no better. Ask him — oh, but you cannot, can you? Ask him who kept his secrets for twelve years while he played the noble lord.”
Someone screamed. The crowd was pressing back, opening a path between Rathbone and the dais where David stood, and Rathbone was walking down it — not running, walking, with that terrible deliberate stride David had come to dread.
He reached inside his coat.
David’s blood went cold. Time slowed to a crawl, his vision narrowing to the movement of Rathbone’s hand, the glint of something at his waistcoat — a letter? A weapon? David could not tell, and in that half-second of uncertainty, the ballroom seemed to hold its breath.
Rathbone pulled out a folded document and thrust it forward like a blade. “Your uncle’s promise,” he snarled. “Signed in his own hand. Land. Coin. Frederica. He swore it to me — do you hear? He swore it!”
The paper trembled in Rathbone’s fist. And for one lurching moment, David saw the man behind the menace — the clerkwho had done the dirty work, who had been promised payment and then discarded, who had motherless children somewhere waiting on the coin that would never come — and he understood, with a clarity that chilled him, that Rathbone truly believed he was the wronged party.
But the moment passed. Lord Broadford struck from behind — not gently, not with a polite hand on the shoulder, but with both arms locking around Rathbone’s chest, dragging him backward and off balance. Two footmen materialized from the crowd and seized Rathbone’s arms. Then two more. Rathbone fought like a cornered animal, kicking at the marble, his shouts fragmenting into wordless fury, but against four pairs of hands and Broadford’s unyielding grip, even his desperate strength was not enough.
