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Chapter Thirty-One

It was a little after one when Nathanial arrived at Montague's lodgings, and it was to find the house shut up. The butler made a half-hearted attempt to prevent him from entering, but soon stepped aside. Nathanial stalked through the house, noting the threadbare carpet, the smudged wallpaper, and the worn furniture. Montague wasn't plump in the pocket, and no doubt he intended to bolster his income with Nathanial's wealth. Or perhaps his title direct.

What would he do to Theo to achieve his goal? He'd suspected his cousin of harbouring feelings for her, but this behaviour didn't suggest fondness. Unless his fondness had taken an entirely different direction.

White-hot anger flared, and he clenched his fists, forcing it back. If Montague had forced Theo into—anything—he would see to it Montague paid dearly.

There were few rooms in this house, and he even flung open the door to Montague's bedchamber, uncertain of what he was likely to find there; to his relief, he found nothing. No abandoned earrings, no shoe lying carelessly across the floor, no signs of a struggle having taken place.

Wherever Theo was, she had not been taken here.

A brief search of the desk in Montague's dressing room yielded results: a half-written letter. The ink was smudged, but Nathanial made out enough to see that Montague anticipated being in Leicestershire over the course of the next week.

Leicestershire. There could be nothing for him there.

Unless . . .

When they were children, or as close to children as they could be while still maintaining an independence, Nathanial and Montague had thrown countless parties at his hunting lodge under the guise of hunting. Back then, Nathanial had been trying to establish his reputation without clearly knowing what his reputation should be. He was the only son of a duke and he knew that made his consequence large.

Montague, as with all things, was content to encourage all forms of licentiousness.

If Montague had gone there, it would be bold of him, but it would probably work. The retainers there knew him, and if he said he had come with Nathanial's favour, they would most likely believe him. Especially if he had Theo in tow.

Using his cane, Nathanial hobbled out of the house and back into the carriage. "Leicestershire," he ordered. "As fast as you can. Spare no expense."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Nathanial settled back against the leather seats and closed his eyes.

As Theo had predicted, the hunting box was not nearly as small as its name suggested. In fact, as they approached, it looked rather more like a small country house, with six large windows at the front and two Grecian pillars crawling with ivy.

It was, however, unhelpfully in the middle of nowhere. Good for hunting, no doubt, but rather less felicitous for escaping. Trees surrounded the house on all sides, and although they had passed signs for Melton Mowbray, which she surmised to be a town of some size, it was not close enough for them to reach easily.

"Remember," Sir Montague said, his fingers gripping her shoulder tightly. His face had grown steadily paler as the journey had continued, but aside from changing horses and a quick meal, he had stopped for nothing. "We are here with Nathanial's approval and he will join us later."

She shrugged his hand away. "And if I should not play along?"

His mouth was a thin, white line. "Don't try me, Theo. The servants are frail, and my patience is running low."

Gone was the almost effortless charm from earlier. This was not a man for whom forbearance was his primary feeling.

The carriage stopped and he opened the door. With considerable effort, judging by the way his nostrils flared, he descended the steps and held out a hand for her. She glanced at the front of the house, but the housekeeper was already toddling towards them, and there was nothing she could do but accept his assistance.

His fingers tightened around hers in clear warning.

"Master Montague," the housekeeper puffed, holding out her hands to him. Sir Montague had briefly explained that he and Nathanial used to visit often, but Theo hadn't expected the housekeeper to be quite so pleased that he was here.

She scowled.

"Mrs Clayton," Sir Montague said, taking her hands with a smile that almost banished the darkness in his eyes. "Mr Clayton. "

Mr Clayton, presumably, also emerged from the front door and shuffled towards them. According to Sir Montague, they had been tending to the hunting box as long as he could recall. Or perhaps, Theo thought uncharitably, since the dawn of time itself.

"We weren't expecting you," Mrs Clayton said, her rheumatism-twisted hands giving Sir Montague's one last shake before turning to Theo. "And you must be the Duke's bride."

With Sir Montague's gaze on her, Theo dropped a slight curtsy and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Aye, and pretty behaved she is too," Mrs Clayton said approvingly. "Come in, come in. Is the Duke with you?"

"He'll be coming shortly," Sir Montague said. "Tomorrow, I believe."

"Oh, well, we'll have to hire a serving girl from the village, or maybe two. Take the trap now, Tom."

Mr Clayton nodded. "Yes, dear."

"And a manservant, if you would. I think Peter in Scalford would do nicely."

Theo stored Scalford away for later perusal. Perhaps it was closer than Melton Mowbray. Could she find a way of driving the trap there herself?

"Now, you stay seated in here with the fire going, and I'll put fresh linen down," Mrs Clayton said, ushering them into a small drawing room. The fire was puffing with smoke, and as soon as the housekeeper left, Sir Montague prodded it. More smoke billowed into the room.

Theo folded her arms. "What now?" she demanded. "Am I to be your prisoner?"

"You are my guest."

"In my husband's house."

"You will be gratified to know how soon I anticipate his arrival." Sir Montague lowered himself into a chair, his leg stiff. Through the rip in his calfskins, she noticed the bandage he'd wrapped around himself was stained with blood again. "Sit down," he said, the sharp edge of impatience in his voice. "You will gain nothing by standing around."

Theo held her ground. "Why, will you hurt me if I don't do as you say?"

"I certainly won't make things pleasant for you."

After a moment, she sat on the dusty chair and stared at him. With an injured leg, he was less of a threat, but she couldn't be certain he wouldn't overcome the pain to keep her there. That seemed entirely something he would do.

"You should have given these poor people warning we were arriving," she said.

"How could I, when I barely knew myself until we were on the road?" He leant his head back and closed his eyes. "I had no guarantee you would come, and I only knew of your arrival in London because the boy I employed to watch the house told me of the carriage."

"All this was achieved on a whim? "

"Not a whim, but I could hardly know when my plan could come to fruition. And I wanted to give Nathanial no indication of what I was planning." His smile was wolfish. "I couldn't have him disrupting me, could I?"

She cast another glance at his leg. In her opinion, stabbing him had been a disruption in its own right. "I wonder," she said, giving his person a quick once-over, "what your intentions are when Nathanial arrives?"

"A worthy question, little mouse."

"He will not come unarmed," she continued, hoping this would be true. Surely he wouldn't be so foolish as to come here without at least one gun. She knew there were two pistols—beautiful things—in Norfolk House. Two guns. Could she take one?

Or could she somehow avail herself of Sir Montague's ?

She looked at him again, wondering where he might be keeping a pistol if he did have one.

"Fear not," Sir Montague said, a sardonic note in his voice now. "I won't let your husband shoot me, though that's what you wish, isn't it?"

Theo didn't reply. What could she say, except to agree?

"I am also armed," he said. "Both with a pistol and the knife you were so good as to give me."

Despite herself, she flushed. "Well, you should not have tried to capture me."

To her surprise, he laughed. "Touché. You may reassure yourself on one point, however. You defended yourself admirably."

She looked at Sir Montague's coat again, negligently open, and thought she saw the gleam of a pistol butt protruding from his waist. If Nathanial truly was coming, and Sir Montague seemed certain he was, he probably thought he needed to rescue her.

But perhaps, she didn't need to be rescued. Perhaps she could rescue herself.

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