Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

" I want this dealt with once and for all!" James roared, anger pulsing through every inch of his body as he glared around the room.

He was surrounded by several constables from Scotland Yard, who had gathered in the Magistrate's office at his request to discuss the situation with Farrell.

"Farrell must be arrested today before he can cause any more damage to my duchy and my family!"

"Yes, Your Grace," one of the constables said, stepping forward. He looked nervous to be addressing the Duke, especially when he was so angry, and James had to admire the man's bravery. "We are doing everything we can to ensure that once the arrest is made, he will not escape us once again. But first, there are some issues with gathering evidence."

"I thought the evidence was already gathered?" James snapped. "That's what you told me when we met two days ago."

"Yes, it was," the constable agreed, his voice shaking slightly. "But then Lord Redfield left the country rather suddenly and took all his businesses' financial reports with him. As you know, Lord Redfield was one of the primary investors in Mr. Farrell's businesses."

"Yes, I know," James said, grinding his teeth in frustration. "But how was Redfield able to escape? Weren't you going to his residence yesterday with a warrant to search and seize his financial records?"

"We went there," the constable explained, "but when we arrived, he was already gone. We think he was somehow forewarned of our plans, and he managed to slip through our grasp."

"And where did he go?" James demanded. "You said he's abroad, but where?"

The constable glanced at his superior, a Mr. Jones, who sighed and then stepped forward to answer the question. "We don't know, Your Grace. All we know is that he managed to pay someone to secure him safe passage out of England. As for who this person—or persons—might be, where they are located, and how to find them, we don't know yet. But I can assure you, we have our best men on the case."

James slammed his fist down on the desk, where the Magistrate sat, watching all of this far too calmly for his liking. "That's not good enough! An English nobleman should not be able to disappear like that!"

"Your Grace, please calm yourself," the Magistrate said sharply as several bottles of ink toppled over and began to roll towards the floor. He was able to grab them in time, but the look he gave James was one of consternation.

"I will not calm down," James seethed. "Farrell kidnapped my wife! He threatened and exploited my tenants! He ran multiple illegal businesses on my land, and now he is on the lam while you, the best England has to offer in terms of law enforcement, are losing viscounts and evidence in spades!"

There was a short silence as everyone was unable to make eye contact with him. The feeling in the air was one of deep discomfort, but James didn't understand why they weren't more panicked.

"We're letting him escape!" he shouted to get his point across.

"He's not escaping, Your Grace," the Magistrate assured him. "We know exactly where he is. We just need to carefully and methodically gather all the evidence so that there is no way he can fight the case. Sometimes these processes are just slow."

"And we do apologize for losing Lord Redfield," Mr. Jones added. "We are doing everything we can to find the people who helped him escape. We believe that they operate a large network of suppliers who enable prominent criminals to escape the country."

James frowned, and something niggled at his mind. "Do you think this criminal enterprise might also have helped the former Lord Carfield escape? Is there a chance he's no longer in the country?"

Then he wouldn't be able to harm Violet!

At the mere thought of his wife, James's mind was immediately flooded with memories of what had happened between them in the library. He was suddenly no longer in the Magistrate's office, but back in the library, feeling Violet's lips on his, tasting her, running his fingers through her hair, breathing in the scent of her perfume…

The memory shuddered through his body, and he felt as if he might be sick.

Don't think about Violet. That will only bring ruin and heartbreak.

He forced himself to remember that he was in the office of the Magistrate and to focus on what the constable was saying to him.

"… an option we are exploring," the constable was saying while Mr. Jones nodded in agreement. "If that is the case, then it would certainly reassure us that he isn't planning any kind of retribution against the new Lord Carfield."

"And my wife," James snapped, his anger—so close to the surface ever since the tryst with his wife in the library—flaring again. "She, her sister, and their mother are also in danger. In fact, I would say that their safety is even more a risk than the new Lord Carfield's."

"Of course," Mr. Jones murmured, bowing his head, but James felt certain that the man did not look overly concerned.

It's like Violet said, they do not consider women valuable enough to believe that a man would go after them.

It only ignited his rage further.

"This is why I don't trust any of you to actually find Lord Redfield," he snarled. "Jebediah Crampton escaped from prison weeks ago, and you still haven't even found him! Tell me, constables, how is it that you keep losing some of the most recognizable men in England? Are you truly this incompetent?"

Another silence followed this speech, and James felt himself flush with embarrassment. He might be known as the Devilish Duke, but he usually did not resort to petty insults. But ever since his kiss with Violet, he had been filled with a simmering rage that refused to cool down. And while the two people he knew he was mostly angry at were Violet and himself, it was easier to be mad at the constables in front of him than to deal with the complicated emotions after whatever happened between him and his wife.

Not to mention he hadn't spoken to Violet in the two days since the kiss.

The silence stretched out a moment longer, and then the Magistrate stood up.

"Your Grace, could we speak in private?"

James nodded. "Very well."

"Gentlemen, please give us the room," the Magistrate said to the constables, and all of them bowed and hastened out the door.

James got the impression that they were very happy to get away from his shouting.

Once they were alone, the Magistrate went to the sideboard and poured two generous glasses of whiskey. He handed one to James and indicated that he should sit down. Grudgingly, James sank into the seat across from the desk, while the Magistrate sat back down in his chair.

"Your Grace," the Magistrate began, "I sense that something has happened."

"What do you mean?" James asked swiftly.

"Two days ago, when we met to discuss the case against Farrell, you were feeling good about how everything was proceeding. You were calm, you seemed to trust the constables, and you even said that if we weren't able to get the evidence from Redfield, we would find another way. But here we are, two days later, and you seem to have transformed back into…" the Magistrate—or Lord Gray, as James had known him before he became a Justice of the Peace—trailed off and waved a hand languidly.

James knew what he was going to say— back into the Devilish Duke.

"I understand that losing Redfield is frustrating," Lord Gray continued, "but there seems to be something else going on, other than your irritation at the turn of events. Did something occur in the last couple of days?"

James shifted uncomfortably. Of course, something had occurred in the last couple of days. His wife had kissed him, and then he had kissed her back, and it had been the most mesmerizing, intoxicating, romantic moment of his entire life.

It also could never happen again. But he wasn't about to admit all of that to Lord Gray.

"Nothing happened," he said stiffly. "I am merely eager to see my wife's kidnapper brought to justice."

Lord Gray studied him for a long moment before speaking. He didn't look entirely convinced.

"We have known each other a long time, Your Grace," he began. "How many years ago was it, when you came to me with the idea of cleaning up your father's duchy?"

"Twelve, I believe."

"Yes, twelve." Lord Gray swirled his glass, lost in thought. "You were young then, and a hothead. You had not yet become the cold, calculating duke who commands respect and fear wherever he goes. I thought the hothead had gone forever, but I'm seeing him right now. It's interesting, as the last time I saw you in this state when your rage was directed at your father. But now, I cannot tell where your rage is directed."

"Still at him," James insisted. "He is the reason we are in this mess. Well, he and those incompetent constables…"

"The constables are trying their best," Lord Gray said, and for the first time, anger flashed in his eyes.

James understood why. Lord Gray was proud of the men he employed to keep the city safe.

"But they are outmatched in resources. Redfield is richer than the King, in large part thanks to his investments in Farrell's businesses, and he can more easily elude my men than a poor man could."

James took a deep breath and tried to quell his anger. "You have a good point," he relented. "And I apologize. I will not question the competence of your men again."

"Thank you." Lord Gray smiled softly, then sighed. "I understand how personal this case is to you, and I want to reassure you that we are doing everything we can. But we could also use your help."

"My help?" James leaned forward, his interest piqued. "I will do anything."

"You are a man that many in the ton fear, and you have influence and wealth, just like Lord Redfield. You also have access to places that my constables cannot go."

" You are also a peer," James pointed out. "Can you not go to the same places I can?"

Lord Gray shook his head. "I must follow the letter of the law. While you… you can bend it in pursuit of justice. I would not say this in front of my constables, of course. And I'm not asking you to do anything illegal. Merely to use your position and influence to find an alternative way to obtain Redfield's financial records."

"I understand," James said slowly. "And I think I can help you."

"Good," Lord Gray uttered, clapping his hands together and giving James a fatherly smile. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"And what about Jebediah Crampton?" James asked. "Is there anything I can do to help find him?"

"He is proving the most elusive of the lot." Lord Gray shook his head. "And truthfully, I fear your involvement in that case would only complicate things. I need you to keep a clear head and not get too emotional. But if you were helping us find your father-in-law, I fear that wouldn't be possible."

James would have argued, except he certainly hadn't kept a clear head in the past few minutes.

"All right," he grunted.

"Very well." Lord Gray smiled secretly. "And perhaps…"

"What?"

"Perhaps this assignment can help distract you from whatever happened to sour your mood."

James might have been offended by the Magistrate's presumptuousness if he did not agree wholeheartedly—finding a way to secure the evidence against Farrell was exactly the distraction he needed from the memory of Violet's kiss.