Lord Cedric rose with sudden energy. “Drawing us to a location of his choosing where he controls every advantage.”
“Precisely,” The Black Widow agreed. “Which makes this our opportunity to turn his trap against him. I can dispatch my people to watch the Richmond property while His Grace and Lord Cedric handle the Hampstead Heath cottage. If Croft has indeed moved his base of operations, we’ll have eyes on both locations.”
Damien was already reaching for his coat. “It should take three-quarters of an hour by horseback to reach Hampstead Heath, perhaps half that if we push the horses and take the back roads through Regent’s Park.”
Lord Cedric checked his pocket watch. “If Croft departed Richmond at midday, we might arrive simultaneously.”
“Too dangerous,” Eleanor protested, rising from her chair. “You’ll be walking into whatever trap he’s prepared.”
“Better than allowing him to escape with whatever leverage he believes Laura provides,” Damien countered. “Besides, Cedric and I can handle one desperate viscount.”
Lord Cedric’s smile was sharp as a blade. “Oh, I do hope he tries something theatrical. It’s been months since I’ve had a proper confrontation.”
“I’ll alert the magistrates immediately,” Eleanor interjected, rising from her chair. “I’ll have them dispatch constables to follow at a safe distance. If Croft has committed crimes—kidnapping, extortion, fraud—this could be our opportunity for his legal arrest.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded approvingly. “Excellent thinking. I shall send a messenger to several Bow Street Runners I know who can be trusted with delicate matters. They’ll ensure any evidence gathered is properly witnessed.” The Widow moved to her desk and pulled out paper and ink with haste. “You’ll have support surrounding the cottage within the hour, though they’ll remain invisible unless needed.”
Eleanor watched her husband prepare for what could be a deadly encounter, her fear disguised as practical concern. “At least coordinate with the constables before confronting him directly. If Croft is as desperate as Abram suggests, we need proper legal authority present.”
“Agreed,” Damien said. “We’ll wait for the magistrate to arrive before making our move. But if he attempts to flee before they reach us…”
“Then you stop him,” she finished grimly. “Whatever it takes. We won’t get another chance like this.”
Lord Cedric checked his pocket watch again and said cheerfully, “How delightfully civilized. Legal authority and dramatic confrontation all in one afternoon.”
As the two men departed, Eleanor found herself staring after her husband, torn between pride and terror at what he might discover.
Damien urged hishorse through the narrow lanes leading to Hampstead Heath, the steady rhythm of hoofbeats matching the urgent pulse of his heart. Beside him, Lord Cedric rode with easy grace, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt as they approached the modest cottage nestled among ancient oaks.
“Rather picturesque for a villain’s lair,” Cedric observed, dismounting with fluid movements. “One might almost expect tea and cucumber sandwiches instead of kidnapping and extortion.”
Damien swung down from his saddle, his eyes scanning the property’s surroundings. “The isolation serves his purposes well enough. No neighbors to witness whatever he has planned.”
They positioned themselves in the tree line, their horses tethered out of sight, waiting with the patience of hunters as the afternoon shadows lengthened. Damien found himself studying every detail of the cottage—the smoke rising from the chimney, the curtained windows that revealed nothing of what lay within, the stable that stood ready for quick departure.
“There,” Cedric murmured, pointing toward the lane where dust clouds announced an approaching carriage.
The vehicle that emerged was well-appointed but travel-worn, bearing the unmistakable signs of a hasty journey. As it drew to a halt before the cottage, Damien felt his muscles tensewith anticipation. Whatever answers lay within that carriage would determine the course of everything that followed.
Lord Croft descended first, his usually calm demeanor replaced by the agitation that marked his movements. His eyes darted nervously about the property, and Damien could see the strain of recent events etched in the harsh lines of his face.
“Shall we use the element of surprise to apprehend him?” Damien whispered. “It may become more complicated once they disappear into the house.”
“I agree. Now would be an excellent time for heroics,” Cedric whispered, drawing his sword silently.
They moved as one, emerging from concealment with the coordinated precision of men accustomed to danger. Cedric’s blade found Croft’s throat before the viscount could cry out, while Damien approached the carriage cautiously, his own sword drawn.
“Your Grace,” Croftmanaged, his voice steady despite the steel pressed against his neck. “What is this about? I’m merely escorting dear friends to a cottage for respite. Nothing criminal in that, surely?”
“Do us all a favor and save your breath, Croft,” Cedric said, pressing his blade closer. “You’ll need it for more important pursuits, like breathing.”
Damien ignored the men, his attention focused entirely on the carriage door. When he pulled it open, the sight that greeted him stunned him into silence.
Laura sat within, her face bearing the marks of recent trials. In her arms she held a small bundle—an infant whose dark hair and delicate features marked him unmistakably as a Westmore. But it was the third occupant of the carriage who truly staggered him.
“Dominic,” he breathed, staring at his brother as though seeing a ghost.
His mind reeled with the implications. Dominic—here, with Laura and a baby. Had his brother been working with Croft all along? The thought sent ice through his veins. Three years of devotion, of sacrifice, of believing he was saving his brother from Croft’s influence—had it all been a lie?