Page 13 of Never a Duchess
“Yes, look to the left of the tunnel’s entrance.”
Callan moved the scope a fraction. He spotted the gentleman stepping out of the darkness to stare at the house. The fellow wore a hat, which was odd in itself, the brim kept low to hide his features.
“With such keen eyesight, ye should be a constable, Miss Ware.”
She snorted. “I would if society allowed women to do anything but sew and raise children. Might I take a peek?”
Callan handed her the scope. In her impatience to take the instrument and study the suspected villain, their fingers brushed. Desire rippled to his toes. When a man craved a woman’s company, even the small things caused an intense reaction.
“He looks of average height and build,” she mused.
“Aye, he resembles half the men here tonight.” His mind returned to their own pressing problem. “His identity is of nae consequence. We cannae afford to hide here a moment longer.”
Callan cupped her elbow and gave a gentle tug.
“Wait.” Miss Ware gasped. “I see a woman stealing along the path. She’s wearing a dark cloak with the hood raised. She doesn’t want to be identified. Do you think she might be married?”
Though he hated to admit it, this was an intriguing game. “Maybe I might have one last look before we leave.” He was surprised when she offered him the instrument without complaint.
Callum closed one eye and focused on the unfolding scene.
The couple met near the tunnel and had a brief conversation before the man seized her by the arms and shook her violently. “This isn’t an assignation,” he said, blood suddenly flowing too quickly in his veins.
“What do you mean?”
The woman drew a letter from the depths of her cloak and handed it to the angry gent. “He’s reading something she’s given him and has shoved it into his coat pocket. She seems desperate to escape him.”
“Yes, I see her now. She’s stepped into the moonlight.” Miss Ware’s voice was all a quiver. “She’s gesturing to the house.”
The raised hood prevented Callan from seeing the lady’s face, though her outstretched hand suggested she wanted payment. The rogue cupped her cheek and pulled her into an embrace, but a struggle ensued.
“Your Grace, this encounter is unlike anything I have ever witnessed.” Miss Ware gripped his coat sleeve, fear marring her tone. “You must do something. You must help her.”
“Cursed saints! He’s pulled a knife from his pocket.”
“A knife! Quickly! You must go now.”
But it was too late. The devil grabbed the woman, clasped his hand over her mouth, and dragged her away through the tunnel.
Callan’s heart thundered in his chest. He thrust the scope at Miss Ware. “Wait here. I’ll arrange for Devon Masters to collect ye. Open the door to nae one else. Do ye understand?”
Miss Ware swallowed hard. “Yes. What will you do?”
“I’ll chase after the devil, but I’ll likely be too late.” He charged from the room and hurried down the narrow wooden stairs onto the first-floor landing.
He crashed into Devon Masters and his wife while descending the main staircase. “There ye are! Thank the Lord!”
Mrs Masters cast her suspicious gaze over him and whispered, “Have you seen Miss Ware, Your Grace?”
Masters was less than polite. “If you’ve laid a damn finger on her, you’ll marry her,” he said, his mood as black as his ebony locks. “Do you hear me?”
“There’s nae time to explain now.” Though struggling to catch his breath, Callan told them where to find Miss Ware. “She will tell ye everything.” Although he hoped she kept their private interactions to herself. “I need to scour the garden, and then I shall come to the supper room.”
Callan ignored Masters’ demands for information and hurried outside to the suspected crime scene. He pulled thesgian dubhfrom the sheath, gripped the black handle, and crept through the tunnel.
All was quiet but for the faint clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones and the distant hum of music and conversation.
The tunnel led to an unlocked door in the boundary wall. Lord Kinver’s abode was one of two houses in the row with a private entrance to the mews.
