The room was shut against fresh air as every room his uncle entered was always shut. Even so, the older man wore a fur-lined coat. In the smothering warmth, Matthew was dizzy with the pervasive stench of his own dirt.
“Actually, I hadn’t expected the pleasure of your company so soon,” Matthew said silkily, although it cost an effort. “You must have broken the speed record from London.”
“I was in Bath when Monks’s message reached me. An annoying journey but not onerous. Yet again, you prove an irritation, nephew.” Then in a voice totally different from the smooth cadence he’d used so far. “Where is your slut?”
“Mrs. Paget?”
Matthew fought to conceal the savage joy that coursed through him. She had got away. Grace was free.
Puzzlement was his safest response. After all, his illness and her escape mightn’t be connected. He kept his voice deliberately unconcerned. “Upstairs? Walking in the woods? Please find her. I’d like to see her.”
“Oh, so would I. But I’ve got an army of men combing the grounds and so far, we’ve found no sign of the jade.”
“I’d help you look, Uncle. But as you see, my circumstances are somewhat restricted.” Another childish crack. He almost enjoyed himself. The news about Grace worked better than a tonic on his assorted aches. “Perhaps she was so frightened by my seizure, she’s hiding.”
“And perhaps this was a ruse to distract your keepers while your whore scarpered.”
“Believe me, Uncle, I couldn’t feign what I went through. Ask Monks or Filey if you don’t think I was genuinely ill. If Mrs. Paget saw her opportunity, you can’t blame her.” Then the ultimate hypocrisy, “I’m devilish sorry. I’ll miss her.”
“Tell me what you and the chit cooked up and I’ll be lenient. I’ll even bring her back to warm your bed after I’ve pointed her foolishness out to her.”
“Uncle, you see conspiracy where none exists. You know I’m prone to fits. You know I wanted the lady to remain with me.”
That at least was true. A scalding memory rose of the turbulent emotion in her face when she’d said goodbye. He’d nearly weakened and begged her to stay. Thank God she’d turned away before he could speak.
His uncle still sounded unworried although Matthew knew he must be desperate to catch and silence Grace. “No matter. I’ve sent for the Bow Street Runners. They’ll track the troublesome jade. You’re familiar with their efficiency.”
Matthew wasn’t the only one prone to making unworthy jibes. The Bow Street Runners had discovered him mortifyingly quickly after his second escape attempt.
Now the Runners were involved, Grace’s ability to fade into a crowd was more crucial than ever. Foreboding filled him. Could a beauty like hers escape notice? Even when he’d first seen her, sick, frightened, and wearing shabby black, her loveliness had pierced him to the quick.
Lord John just needed to describe a woman with a face that stopped your heart, a widow who dressed like a pauper and spoke like a duchess. The Runners would find her within days.
Oh, Jesus, Grace. I’ve sent you to your death. At least here I could have tried to keep you safe.
“I hope you do find her,” he said while his heart snarled, You’ll rot in hell, John Charles Merritt Lansdowne.
“It shouldn’t be too hard. The trollop is quite distinctive, isn’t she? Not in the common way at all. No wonder you made such a fool of yourself. I find myself intrigued. If I can stomach the idea of using your leavings, I might sample her myself before I bring her back.”
Matthew didn’t react although rage seethed under his skin like lava boiling in a volcano. The idea of his uncle’s cold white hands touching Grace made his belly contract with sick fury.
His uncle lifted his stick to watch the light gleam off the lump of amber in the handle.
Lord John had often struck him with that stick when he’d been a boy. The transgressions had always been minor, sometimes nonexistent. Matthew remembered the pain. He wondered if Lord John intended to hit him now. But his uncle just twirled the stick round and round and studied the fly trapped inside the gold.
Eventually, Lord John broke the charged silence. “You always turn into a blasted fool when your protective instincts are engaged. You’re as bad as your damned useless father. Born to be a country doctor, not one of the kingdom’s greatest magnates. The title was wasted on both of you.”
Lord John’s jealousy of his oldest brother was too familiar to rouse anything but weariness. “I honestly don’t know where Mrs. Paget is. My fit has passed, Uncle. As you so politely pointed out, I need a wash and change of clothing.”
“You do at that.” His uncle’s lips stretched in a superior smile. “But I haven’t finished with you yet. Where is the slut?”
“I told you—I don’t know.” Matthew’s hands fisted tighter.
“Wrong answer.” His uncle raised his stick high then slammed it hard over Matthew’s ribs.
The world shrank to a black tunnel illuminated by bright shards of excruciating pain. The breath left him in a great gasp that shredded his stinging throat. His body tensed against the blinding agony but escape was impossible. His bonds held him stretched out and helpless.
He might have lost consciousness again for a few seconds. He didn’t know. When he opened his eyes, Lord John was studying him with the same dispassionate gaze that he had recently devoted to the dead fly suspended in amber.