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The Viscount’s Vice

Page 150

by Wendy LaCapra

He found Millie nuzzling Calder.

“Step back from my—” He skidded to a stocking-footed stop. He feigned surprise. “Millie?”

“Manny,” Millie corrected, with a roughened, lowered voice. She bowed. “Newest under-groom in the Harbury household.”

Good God! She was wearing breeches.

He heard Lenora on the stairs. The flash of white at the corner of his eye told him she’d only donned her shift.

“For shame, Asquith.” Millie shook her head. “Lenora is going to be devastated.”

Lenora squeaked.

“This isn’t...” Asquith glanced over his shoulder. “I mean, I can explain—”

“Why is your waistcoat on inside out?” Millie interrupted dryly.

Asquith cursed as he pulled off the garment.

“Fortunately for you, I neither need, nor have time for, an explanation at present,” she added with a menacing glance. “Neville has gone missing. Abducted, I believe. I’m going after him.”

Missing? Willard loomed in his mind’s eye. “Devil you are!” He made his gaze severe. “What makes you think you can ride off willy-nilly in an attempt at a rescue?”

“I’m not riding off willy-nilly,” Millie replied curtly. “I’m on my way to solicit the help of a Bow Street Runner Neville hired.”

“If all you need to do is send a message to Bow Street, why attempt to steal my horse?”

“Borrow, not steal,” Millie corrected.

Asquith groaned.

“And the Runner isn’t in London,” Millie continued. “Mr. Dixon is staying a few miles outside Brighton. Or at least that’s what Gerard believes.”

“Gerard? Neville’s valet?”

Millie nodded.

Asquith assumed Mr. Dixon was the runner Neville had hired. Sounded like he and Neville had been working at cross purposes to achieve the same end.

“I think you had better explain.”

Millie assessed him as if he couldn’t be trusted. Then, she sighed. “Neville learned about disreputable parties being held at a hunting lodge, a lodge I believe belongs to Willard’s family.” She patted her “borrowed” greatcoat’s pocket. “I have the address here.”

Hell and Damnation.

She could only be speaking of the same lodge where Preston was headed.

“If Willard is involved, Neville wouldn’t want you anywhere near him. I’ll go.” He held out his hand. “Give me the address.”

Behind him, Lenora squeaked again.

“You can come if you wish, though it sounds like your ladybird objects. But,”—she increased her volume to cover his protestation—“if you think I’m going to stay behind, you’re mad.”

Asquith didn’t bother protesting again, but he said, under his breath, “Not my ladybird.”

“Right now, Neville is all that matters,” Millie replied.

“Right.” Asquith frowned. “You said Dixon was somewhere outside Brighton. Even forgoing a carriage, the ride there will take hours.”