My Duke's Seduction (Wicked Lords of London 1)

“Well, tell us about him.”

“It was only for part of a set. I grew overset and had to step off the dance floor.” She made herself meet his gaze with a steady glance.

“What title does Wimbley hold?” he asked leaning even closer.

“Earl of Wimbley.” She blinked as though it were obvious. But her insides fluttered at the lie.

“The daughters of a duke would know there is no such man.” His smile turned cold, curling his face into hard, frightening lines.

“My husband has no reason to lie,” Tabbie’s voice was softer than it had been before and Tricia suppressed a shiver. If Tabbie was afraid then they truly were in trouble.

“Oh my dear, you both have plenty of reasons to lie. What I don’t understand is why your husband would get involved in something that had nothing to do with him. If I were to hazard a guess, however, I would say that your Lord Wimbley has everything to do with it. Before we’re done, I am sure you will answer all of my questions.”

The carriage rumbled to a stop and the armed man stepped out first, gesturing for Tricia and Tabbie to follow. As soon as she exited the carriage, she recognized her surrounding, though they looked even dingier by day than they had looked at night. They were in the docklands.

Now Tricia knew she should be afraid. Very afraid.

Chapter Nine

Ryker had procured the license with relative ease and returned home. It would be some time before he would hear from Mr. Hart so he settled himself behind his desk, hoping to accomplish some other much-needed tasks he’d been neglecting of late.

But a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts almost immediately.

“Come in,” he called, surprised by the interruption.

The door opened, and his butler stepped in. “A message, Your Grace. It’s from a boy but he claims he was sent by your detective.”

Ryker gestured the man forward and his butler presented him a tray with a folded note, unsealed. “This is the message?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He picked it up and unfolded the paper. Mr. Hart’s handwriting scribbled across the paper but the words made his blood run cold. For a split second, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Winters had taken Tricia. But then his mind began working again. If one hair on her gorgeous head were harmed, he’d gut Winters and feed his entrails to the hogs.

“Is the boy still here?” His tone came out sharper than he intended as he stood. His butler took a half step back before composing himself.

“Yes, Your Grace. He waits in the entry. He was told he would receive payment.”

Ryker grabbed his quill, and scribbled another note at the bottom of Mr. Hart’s. “Bring this to the Earl of Sussex at once. No delays.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” And then the man turned and was gone.

Ryker moved swiftly to the entry where a boy of thirteen or fourteen stood in the center, staring at the ornamented ceiling above. Ryker took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of his emotions. He didn’t want to frighten the lad, he needed him now. “What’s your name?”

The boy started and, folding his hands behind his back, answered. “Ollie, me lord.”

Ryker didn’t correct him. “What did the man who gave you that note look like?”

Ollie described Mr. Hart perfectly. Ryker’s shoulders drooped. He’d held out hope that it was all a ruse or perhaps a trap where someone claimed to have Tricia when she was actually safe at home. “That’s a good lad. Where exactly did he give it to you?”

“Down over by the Billingsgate Dock, sir.”

“Did he say anything else?” Ryker fished several coins from his pocket.

“Just that I should hurry, sir. And I did. I ran all the way here.”

Ryker nodded and he handed the boy several guineas as his eyes grew round with wonder. Then he clapped the boy on the shoulder. “We’ll get you down to the kitchen for a meal, too. You come back next week, and I’ll find you a job if you’re interested, Ollie.”

The boy gave an eager nod and Ryker called for his butler as he returned to his desk. He wanted to tear his study apart. Even more, he wished to jump on a horse and chase after her, but he needed to be smart. Much as it pained him to do so, he penned a note to Coventry.