Page 83 of Let Me Be Your Hero
Worry gnawed at him as he paced the foyer. He had tried to come up with some explanation,anyexplanation, other than foul play. But nothing fit. She wouldn’t be hiding from him. To be sure, they had been arguing, but she was neither childish nor petulant. And she had been about to get her way. No matter how annoyed she might have felt with him, she wouldn’t have taken herself off moments before he was going to show her his workshop.
Nor had she left the house of her own accord. He had his men watching every entrance, and they all swore up and down that they hadn’t seen her.
There was only one plausible explanation, and it made him want to crawl into a hole and die—that someone inside the househad betrayed her. That one of the servants, or one of his men from Nettlethorpe Iron, had accepted a bribe.
That they would eventually find Izzie inside the house, but what they would find would be her lifeless body.
The mere thought made him want to curl up in a ball and die. This was all his fault. He hadsent the guards away! Which had only been necessary because he had upset her in the first place. And then, after sending the guards away, he went and left her alone! How could he have been so careless with the most precious person in his life?
What was even worse… she had told him that she loved him. She had actually said those three little words that he had never dreamed he would hear, andhe hadn’t said it back. Which he had only done because he was so sure she would want to retract her declaration as soon as she found out about the screws.
But if he somehow survived this, somehow didn’t die of a broken heart, he knew with absolute certainty that he would feel the crushing agony of not having told Izzie that he loved her, too, every second of every day, for the rest of his miserable life.
He shook himself. He couldn’t think like that. He had to cling to hope that somehow, she might be alive, and he would have a chance to make this right.
From his post by the front door, Giddings called, “The Astleys are here, sir. I’m opening the door.”
Lady Cheltenham swept inside, along with Lord and Lady Fauconbridge, Harrington Astley, a sobbing Lady Lucy, and Lady Diana Latimer. “Have you found her?” the countess asked. “Tell me you’ve found her.”
“We haven’t,” Archibald admitted, his voice cracking. “I have no idea how this could’ve happened. I—I’m so sorry.”
The countess nodded, unable to speak. Fauconbridge offered his mother his arm. “We will find her. I sent notes to Anne and Caro.”
“And I sent for Aunt Griselda,” Lady Diana added.
“Thank you,” Archibald said, although he didn’t know what any of them could do to help. Still, it was good of them to come, if only as a show of support. It was more than his own parents, who had collapsed on a sofa, prostrate more at the possibility that they would become social outcasts than out of concern for Izzie’s welfare, had managed to do. “I’ve also sent word to Bow Street.”
Just then, one of his men, Collins, came sprinting into the foyer. “Boss!” he cried, gesturing behind him. “We found something. Follow me!”
He led a stampede of Astleys up the stairs to the first floor. “Whoever did this,” Collins said, “I think he carried her out.”
Collins passed by Archibald’s workshop and rounded the corner. The rooms along this side of the house did not receive much use because they faced a narrow alley and therefore did not receive much light.
Collins opened the door to a parlor that Archibald had only been in once or twice. “It’s over here,” he said, gesturing to the window. “See?”
Leaning outside, Archibald saw that someone had tied a rope around the carved gargoyle that protruded from the side of the house. It dangled down to the alleyway below.
Collins was still speaking. “The window must’ve blown shut. That’s why we didn’t notice it right away. But this must be how they took her out.”
Archibald squeezed his shoulder. “Strong work, Collins.”
Hope flared in Archibald’s heart. The presence of an escape route, instead of a corpse, suggested a kidnapping rather than a murder.
Maybe, just maybe, Izzie was still alive…
“Is everyone present and accounted for?” Archibald hated to ask the question, hated to think that one of his men might havebetrayed him. But someone had done this, and he needed to find out who.
Giddings, the butler, answered, “All the servants and all your men from Nettlethorpe Iron are at their expected posts. No one has gone missing, sir.”
Archibald rubbed his brow. That was a relief, but it didn’t help Izzie. “Then who?”
Giddings’ eyes were full of regret. “In addition to Lady Isabella’s guests—her sisters, Lady Diana, and Lady Griselda, one other person was admitted to the house today.”
Cold dread pooled in Archibald’s gut. “Who?”
“The same man who came about a week ago to inquire about making over the front room. Who suggested redoing everything in chartreuse green. He said he’d come to take some measurements.” Giddings dropped his voice low. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I tried to turn him away, but your mother happened to be passing through the foyer, and she insisted that we admit him.”
“Did anyone see this man leave?” Archibald asked, even though he already knew the answer.
