“I’ve already put in twenty thousand,” Spencer protested. “You expect me to put in all my tokens, too?”
“Do you want the horse, or don’t you?” Bellamy’s eyes were hard. “This is your only chance. Win or lose—after this hand, I get up from the table and walk away.”
Spencer stared hard at the man’s expression, scanning in vain for some tic in his jaw or telltale dilation of his pupils. Damn it, he ought to have forced himself to concentrate earlier. If he had, he might have known whether Bellamy truly had the cards to back up his bet, or just wanted to scare Spencer off, so he could leave the table with his token and dignity.
Regardless of what cards Bellamy held, Spencer knew his own were worthless. True, there were more cards to be dealt and he might catch a stroke of luck, but if Spencer called this bet, the odds were he would lose everything.
Well, not everything. The excessive drama of the thought struck even him as overwrought. What was truly at stake here? A few lumps of brass and an aging stallion? Suddenly, none of it seemed worth a damn. His wife, on the other hand—now, Amelia was irreplaceable.
He’d been pursuing this goal with such focus, for so long … giving it up simply hadn’t been an option. After all this time, he’d practically lost sight of why he wanted the stallion in the first place. If he gave up on Osiris, he’d reasoned at the outset, he would be giving up on Juno. And to give up on Juno would have felt uncomfortably close to giving up on himself. Would have, in the past. But this was the present. More to the point, this was the beginning of his future. The only reason they were gathered was because Leo Chatwick, his peer and contemporary, had died far too young. Was this truly what Spencer wanted inscribed on his own grave marker? “Brilliant cardsharp, good with horses?”
For a moment, he imagined what would happen if he lost. He would leave all ten tokens and any stake in Osiris on this table, and then go upstairs to make amends to his wife. Pledge to make her his priority, and hope and pray that she could one day find it in her heart to return the sentiment. Cover her body with kisses; whisper words of love against her skin. Make love to her until neither of them had the strength to stand.
How would losing feel? It would feel damn good. It would feel remarkably like a victory.
This was the moment to walk away.
Apparently, Bellamy had decided the same. He picked up the token and replaced it in his pocket as he rose. “Well, then. If you haven’t the stones—”
“Sit down,” Spencer told him, flipping Leo’s token into the center of the desk. “We’re going to finish this tonight. The other tokens are upstairs. Let me send a servant for the lockbox.”
He rose from his chair, but before he could even reach the door, Amelia burst through it. Behind her came Lily, dressed in nightclothes and wrapper, her unbound hair hanging to her waist. Both women wore expressions of fear.
“Good God, what is it?” Spencer moved to take Amelia in his arms. To the devil with horses and cards … At that moment, embracing her was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. It seemed the thing he’d been made to do. She needed him, and she’d come to him. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her now.
But as he reached for her, her arms stiffened. She held him off.
“We’ve no time,” she said, swallowing hard. “Claudia is missing.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Missing?” Spencer’s face turned the color of ash. He gripped her elbow. “Are you certain? Perhaps she’s only—”
“No. She’s gone, and she’s not alone.” Amelia swallowed hard, wondering how she could possibly tell him this next. But she had to do it. If there was any hope, it depended on swift action. “She’s gone with Jack. They left a note.”
Raising her fist in the gap between them, she bade her fingers to relax. In her palm lay the crumpled scrap of paper she’d found tacked to the kitchen doorjamb, in that pockmarked patch just below the lintel where countless coats of enamel had worn through to the grain. Her brothers had always left their messages there. The d’Orsay Post, they called it. And true to form, Jack’s message was succinct:
We’re for Gretna.
The paper was signed by them both.
Spencer stared at the words so fiercely, Amelia would not have been surprised to see the scrawled letters roust themselves from the paper and rearrange to spell different words, just to escape his displeasure. She too wished there were some way she could alter the facts.
“How long?” he asked brusquely.
“We … we don’t know. Obviously sometime since dinner, so a few hours at most. The horses are all still here, so they must be on foot.” Surrendering the note, she knitted her fingers in a tight clasp. “I can only imagine he’s after her dowry.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lily said from behind her. “I retired early, and of course I didn’t hear her go out.”
“Don’t apologize,” Spencer said. “My ward isn’t your responsibility.”
He gave Amelia a sharp look, stabbing at her conscience. Of course, Claudia was partly her responsibility. And Jack … Jack wouldn’t even have been here, if she hadn’t insisted he stay. “I’m so sorry,” she said feebly. “That he would run off with her like this, in the middle of the night … I simply can’t believe it of him.”
“Of course you can’t. You haven’t believed anything I’ve told you of him. No matter what he does, you defend the rogue. Why should you stop now?”
“Perhaps there’s some misunderstanding, some other explanation,” she said feebly. Feebly, because even she knew the words were foolishness.
Steeling his jaw, he headed for the desk. “I told you nothing good would come of letting him stay.”
“Yes, you did.” But she’d been willing to take that risk, assuming stupidly that hers were the only feelings at stake. That if Jack wrought more mischief, he would be hurting only her. She’d never dreamed his actions could affect Spencer and Claudia, too. Oh, Lord.
By this time, Bellamy and Ashworth were on their feet.
“What’s going on?” Bellamy asked.“My brother has eloped with Claudia,” Amelia told him. When Spencer shot her a look, she added, “It’s not as though we can hide it from them. For God’s sake, let them help.”
“Which way would they have gone, Morland?” Ashworth asked.
“Well?” Spencer looked to Amelia. “You know the area best.”
She shrugged helplessly, catching one fingertip between her opposite thumb and forefinger and pinching it hard. “Any number of ways. Most likely toward Gloucester, to catch a mail coach headed north. But to get there they might have gone north through Colford, or east, toward Lydney. Then there’s the river. They might have headed south toward the Severn, intending to ferry over to Aust and continue to London. The fastest coaches to Scotland leave from there. Or they could have hoped to board a ship …” Her voice dwindled, along with her hopes. The possibilities seemed endless; the likelihood of catching them, slim. “In any direction, they’re not much more than a half-dozen miles from transport.”
“Well,” Ashworth said, “there are three of us.”
“I’ll order my fastest horses saddled,” Spencer said, pulling open a low drawer of the desk. “We’ll each take a different route.”
“Precisely when did I offer my assistance?” Bellamy asked.
“Just now.” Spencer withdrew a pistol from the desk drawer. With a bit of show, presumably for Bellamy’s benefit, he jammed the gun into the waistband of his trousers.
At the sight of the weapon, Amelia’s joints went weak.
“All right, all right.” Bellamy acquiesced with an impatient tug at his hair. “I’ll go south, toward the Severn and Town. If I find them, you’ll hear of it. But I’ll continue on to London if I don’t.”
“Fair enough. You’ll find her at the Blue Turtle, in Hounslow. You’ll probably need to pay her account.”
Amelia had no idea what that last bit meant, but Bellamy seemed to understand.
“I’ll go north,” Ashworth said. “If they’ve taken a coaching route, someone ought to have seen them on the way to Gloucester.”
Spencer said, “I’ll take east, then, through the forest.”
Bellamy drew a deep breath and riffled his hair. “I’ll be needing proper boots.”
He left the room, and Lily slipped out the door after him.
Ashworth went next, tossing a parting comment over his shoulder: “We’ll meet you at the stable.”
Spencer’s reply was a curt nod.
Amelia stood alone with her husband, hugging her arms across her chest. She watched as he shook open a pouch and counted shot into his palm, then replaced the round balls of lead and cinched the bag tight.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Save the apologies.” He exhaled roughly, plucking his coat from the back of the chair and shrugging into it. Bracing his hands on the desk, he fixed her with a look of sharp concentration. “Give me the route. Road names, landmarks. Any description you can offer.”
She did her best, though it had been years since she’d traveled straight through the Forest of Dean. And what details she remembered—the primroses and violets, the carpets of ferns dotted with mushrooms, the remarkable sight of ducks nesting in a chestnut tree—weren’t likely to help him tonight. She forced herself to focus and gave him what information she could: stream crossings, steep grades.
Until she was interrupted by a pattering sound.
“Bloody hell,” Spencer muttered, stooping to peer through the window glass. “Now it’s raining.”
Could this get any worse? Amelia hoped it would only be a brief summer shower. The thought of Jack and Claudia on foot in the rain … not to mention, the three gentlemen in pursuit on horseback, riding over slippery, unfamiliar terrain … And all of this in the dark of night, with no moon.
Bloody hell, indeed.
He brushed past her on his way to the door. She caught his arm, swiveling him to face her. “Spencer, wait. Do you blame me for this?”
“I don’t have time to stand here and discuss blame, Amelia. I have to find them and bring Claudia back before she’s lost her reputation. Or worse.”
She cringed, understanding his meaning all too well. Jack might be desperate, but surely her brother wouldn’t defile a fifteen-year-old innocent? She wished she could reject the idea with greater certainty. At this point, she hardly knew what to think. “Is there nothing I can do?”
“Stay here.” Cupping her chin roughly, he tilted her face to his. “Do you hear me? Stay here, in case they come home.”
She swallowed hard and released his sleeve. “What will you do, if you find them?”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect Claudia.”
Fear drummed in her chest. He meant he would deal harshly, even violently, with Jack if he felt it necessary. And given the circumstances, she would not have asked him to show mercy … if Claudia’s abductor were any other man.
“Please,” she choked out. “Please don’t kill him. I just couldn’t bear it if—”
“If you lost your brother,” he finished bitterly. With one last wounded glance, he turned to leave. “I know what he means to you, Amelia. Believe me, I know it all too well.”
After two hours of pacing the drawing room, Amelia thought she would go mad with worry. For her brother, for Claudia, for Spencer … even for Lord Ashworth and Mr. Bellamy. The more time that passed, the harder it became to imagine any happy outcome. If Claudia and Jack spent the night together away from home—the girl would be ruined. Whether or not they were found before reaching Scotland, whether or not Jack had actually touched her. Spencer might be forced to let them marry with his blessing, simply to preserve some shred of her reputation. He would not consider that a happy outcome, and neither would Amelia. Jack and Claudia would no doubt live to regret it, too.