“My lady!” Greaves protested as the footmen departed, although not before directing a questioning glance at the butler. “He could be dangerous.”
Fenella subjected the stranger to a comprehensive inspection and shook her head. He’d hold his own in a fight, but some powerful instinct told her she was safe from harm. She couldn’t say the same for her servants if they attempted to eject him before he’d achieved his purpose, whatever it was. “I don’t think so. There’s clearly been some mistake.”
“Mistake be damned. Please, for God’s sake, just tell me Carey is all right.”
Carey? A spark of memory stirred in Fenella’s mind. Her son Brandon’s recent letters had brimmed with praises for a new boy who had quickly become his best friend. “Carey Townsend?”
“Who the dev…” The large man cast her a darkling glance and ran his hand through his windswept coal-black hair. “Of course Carey Townsend, unless your house is packed to the rafters with runaways.”
“Carey’s not at Eton?” she asked faintly. A horrible premonition gripped her that her son might be in grave trouble. After all, if Brand hadn’t run off, too, why would this man expect his ward to be here?
“No, by God. The boys have been missing since early afternoon.”
“Boys?” Dear heaven, she’d been right. Sick fear, worse by far than any doubt about the man’s intentions, cramped her belly. In the five years since her husband Henry’s death at Waterloo, this was the worst crisis she’d faced. Her knees gave up and she collapsed into her chair. “Brand’s with him?”
“Aye.”
“Mr…Townsend?” When he nodded to confirm her guess at his name, she went on, “Please, for pity’s sake, stop talking in riddles and tell me what’s happened.”
“So the lads aren’t here?” His impatience vibrated like an earthquake, but at least he moderated his roar to a cranky rumble. As he sat, the chair creaked ominously. “Or are you blethering to put me off?”
“If your ward was here, I’d tell you.” Her voice shook, and terror knotted her stomach. “But this is the first I’ve heard of anything wrong.”
He frowned. “Your son is a bad influence.”
“I doubt that very much, sir.” Automatically she defended Brand, while her imagination took flight in hellish directions. The idea of two eleven-year-old boys lost somewhere between Eton and London turned her blood to ice. “If Brandon has done something silly, I place the blame firmly with your—”
“Nephew,” the man snarled. “And they’ve been more than silly, madam. They’ve been wantonly irresponsible. Are you sure they’re not here?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Mr. Townsend’s dark eyes regarded her searchingly, then his aggression drained away. “Hell. I was convinced they’d make for your house, but now I see you had no warning of this harebrained prank either. When the boys’ housemaster told me that Brand was dying to introduce his new best friend to his mamma, this seemed the logical destination. Especially with Carey missing his own mother.”
Through her agitation, she barely heard him. Dread rose to choke her. “We have to find them.”
She surged to her feet, then wished she hadn’t when the room reeled alarmingly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Greaves move to catch her, but Mr. Townsend was too quick.
As his arm curled around her waist, she sank into all-encompassing masculinity. For one lost moment, she drew strength from that bear-like embrace. She was so upset, she could almost forgive his rudeness if he folded her close and told her that all this was just a horrid joke.
“Oh, curse me for a right impulsive fool. I’m sorry, lass.” Through the fog in her mind, she was vaguely aware that he didn’t sound angry anymore. Instead he sounded kind and concerned. And the Yorkshire accent was remarkably soothing now that he’d stopped shouting. “I shouldn’t have blurted the news out like that, but after talking to the school, I assumed I’d find them safe and sound under your protection.”
Fenella blinked fiercely to bring the room into focus and told herself to be strong. She couldn’t fall into a hysterical heap. Brand needed her. She made a feeble attempt to push free. “Please…please let me go.”
“Can you stand up?” Deep-set, disconcertingly perceptive eyes studied her. “You were close to collapsing.”
“Well, I’m perfectly steady now,” she snapped, irritation reviving her spirit.
“Very well,” he said gruffly, but his huge hands lowered her into the chair with surprising care. Given his earlier behaviour, she’d expect him to drop her like a stone. He inspected her briefly before, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned to Greaves. “Brandy for her ladyship. She’s had a shock.”
Thanks to you, she wanted to retort, but restrained herself. She didn’t want to risk another outburst. They didn’t have time to bicker. They had to find Brand and Carey. With an unsteady hand, she took the glass from Greaves and strove to come up with a coherent plan.
“I’m sorry for shoving my way in here—I thought you were part of some ridiculous scheme to keep Carey from me. The lad’s never settled to having me as his guardian.” With a sigh, Mr. Townsend subsided into his chair and spoke almost like a reasonable man. At least the china on the mantelpiece stopped rattling. “I’ve been worried sick ever since I found out Carey and Brandon had gone.”
Fenella struggled against the urge to shriek and run in panicked circles. She needed more information, and at the moment, the domineering Mr. Townsend was her only source. Inhaling to calm rioting nerves, she made her first proper assessment of the man sprawling opposite her. Despite first impressions, he wasn’t by any means a yokel. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and the grand s
urroundings didn’t appear to overawe him.
He remained eye-poppingly large. Well over six feet and built like a prizefighter, he was all solid muscle. She thought of a Clydesdale. No, something more predatory and fast-moving. An oversized panther, perhaps.