Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order 3)

D’Angelo patted Evan on the back. “Well, laddie, go and speak to Miss Hart about the letters while I help Buchanan empty your crystal decanters. I’m sure he has many tales of Highland lasses to keep me entertained.”

Buchanan shrugged out of his greatcoat and hung it on the coat stand. “I’ve stories that will make yer hair curl.” Buchanan followed D’Angelo to the drawing room. “Let me tell ye about Marion. Och, when she grabs yer by the bahookies ye canna shake her off. Claws like a wildcat.”

Evan heard D’Angelo’s hoots of laughter above stairs. Thank the Lord for Buchanan. Shame Evan didn’t feel the same way about the whiny Mrs McCready. Indeed, he wondered if the woman would be stuck to the adjoining wall, her ears pricked and honed.

Perhaps it was best to visit Vivienne while still fully clothed, give her the directions to his room and have her come there. The old crone was likely to do something to spoil their plans.

He knocked lightly on Vivienne’s door, whispered her name, but braced himself to face the devil’s spawn keeping guard next door.

Vivienne didn’t answer. It was almost eleven. Maybe both women were asleep in bed. Still, he turned the doorknob and slipped into the dimly lit room.

The fire had burned to nought but glowing embers. The candle in the lamp was but a stub. An ache in his gut told him something was wrong before he glanced at the unmade bed, before he strode to the armoire and found it empty. Despite a thorough search of the room, he could not find the tea chest containing his grandfather’s letters. But he found a glass of milky liquid, some sort of tonic or restorative. One sip revealed a sickly concoction of milk and spices and something else, bitter like bark tea, bitter to hide the taste of laudanum.

Panic rose to his throat.

If this were a case, he might assume the worst, believe Vivienne had lied and manipulated events, believe she’d read something to make her steal the chest and disappear into the night.

His innate trust in her said otherwise. No. This amounted to something other than a lover’s betrayal.

He hurried to Mrs McCready’s door and hammered loudly before barging into the room. It was empty, too.

Hoping Vivienne had taken the chest and crept to his apartment, he sprinted to the west wing. No. No sign of the woman who must have left the house, who must have been taken against her will.

“D’Angelo! Buchanan!” Evan raced downstairs. He skidded across the hall and burst into the drawing room.

Both men looked at him, the laughter in their eyes dying.

“What is it?” D’Angelo was on his feet.

Evan could barely catch his breath. It was as if his heart were being crushed in a vice, crushed and squeezed until his chest was so tight he might pass out.

“It’s Vivienne,” he managed to say. “She’s not in her room. Her clothes are gone, along with the tea chest. Gone. I have a terrible feeling. A coldness in my bones.”

Buchanan jumped up from the chair. “Have ye checked with Mrs McCready?”

“She’s not in her room.” Evan dragged his hand down his face. “Charles couldn’t have returned to the house, not without passing us on the road.”

“No, Charles seemed sincere when he agreed to help you clear your grandfather’s name. Trust me. Like a bloodhound, I can sniff out deceit.”

The need for action burned in Evan’s veins. He should charge out into the night, search the lanes, the fields, the mausoleums, everywhere, but he knew he had to focus on thinking logically.

While Buchanan went to inspect Mrs McCready’s room, Evan summoned the butler and had him call every member of staff to the hall.

“I have reason to believe Miss Hart has been abducted from the house. I want to know if anyone saw her this evening, saw anything untoward.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler bowed and left to attend to the task.

“Let’s examine the facts,” D’Angelo said. He was always calm and composed when dealing with other people’s problems, more a wild, bloodthirsty predator when dealing with his own. “What reason would an

yone have for kidnapping Miss Hart? It cannot be another love interest for the woman is a wallflower.”

“She is not a wallflower.”

“You told Cole she was a wallflower and a pest.”

Evan huffed. “That was before I knew her.”

“So, she may have another suitor.”