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“Good day,” he managed. He gave a jerky nod and then started absently down the street.

He hadn’t known, until this moment, the full weight of what he’d left Lenora to carry alone.

She loves you, Preston had said.

He loved her, too. And, if he was right, and he hoped fiercely he was, he would love their coming child. And he would guide that child with the same careful precision he’d witnessed Hampton use this afternoon.

The same precision he suspected his father had used, but he, like Preston earlier this evening, had been too lost and angry to see.

Chapter Thirteen

By the time Asquith had collected Calder, night had fallen. Now that his plan was in motion, and the pathway he must take cleared, he would have preferred to go directly to Lenora, but the hour made a visit impossible.

So he remained in his stables instead. Working by the light of an oil lamp, he brushed Calder’s barrel with long, deliberate strokes that lifted dust, debris, and dried sweat.

In between each pass, he cleared his curry comb. The last few days Asquith had been awash with anxiety, but the unhurried, methodical ritual calmed him.

The stallion stood patient and loose beneath Asquith’s attentions. Soon his dark coat gleamed. Asquith followed up the brushing with a soft cloth before moving on to work Calder’s mane and tail with his fingers. Finally, he attended the hooves.

He still could not believe he owned this stunner descended from Eclipse.

Reluctantly, he returned the brushes, oil, and cloths to the tack room. He reemerged into the stall area just as the door clattered open.

Neville leaned against the jamb, chest heaving. “Asquith, thank God! Where the devil have you been all day?”

Asquith hardly recognized his friend

Beneath some odd, cream-colored enhancements altering Neville’s face, his expression blended both strain and relief. As for the clothes he wore, Asquith wasn’t even going to describe the crude, green greatcoat. And even the horses could not mask his scent.

“Asquith!” Neville prompted.

“I’ve been buying a horse,” Asquith answered. “What the hell has happened?”

“Willard attacked Millie.”

“Pardon?!”

“She’s fine. But she’s had a devil of a night. Me, too!”

“What did Willard do?”

“He took her to the theater—”

“Unchaperoned?!”

Neville shook his head. “Not at first. His mother was with them. But he drugged her and—”

“He drugged Millie?” Asquith felt his temper rising.

“No, his mother.” Neville braced himself on the jamb and caught his breath. “I will tell you everything, but for heaven’s sake, stop interrupting.”

“Go on.” Asquith pressed a fist against his mouth.

“I was there because...” Neville shook his head. “Never mind why I was there. Suffice to say I was. I spotted Millie with Willard, realized Willard couldn’t possibly have good intentions. My first thought was to get her out without drawing further attention. I left the pit and found the theater manager, and got him to agree to let me speak with Millie in the Royal box, which was empty. He also sent Lady Sarah along.”

Asquith frowned, completely confused. How had Harbury’s sister come into any of this? And why had Neville been in the pit?

“Asquith! You would not believe! Willard has always been a blackguard, but I swear he was half mad tonight. After Millie slipped out of his box, he flew into a rage. A public rage. But we—Sarah and I—still managed to get Millie out of the theater.”