“Yes,” Gerard confirmed. “And a young lad employed as a tiger says he saw Mark in a scuffle in the mews this morning.”
“Then Nevillehasbeen taken,” Millie whispered.
“Possibly,” Gerard replied. “Try not to worry, my lady. If Mark meant to take his lordship’s life, he could have done so there in the mews.”
Neville. Taken. By Willard. Her mind knew the truth, but her body rebelled. This morning, he’d been warm beside her. Real. Safe.Hers.
“My lady?”
She refocused on the present. Cassie, Lady Neville, Gerard…they were all watching. Waiting for her to… what? Collapse? Weep? She’d never done any of that.
She hadn’t wept when her father raged. Nor had she wept when her mother died. She hadn’t even wept when they sold Willowhurst. Weeping changed nothing.
Mr. Winter had taught her better.
When the fox came for the hens, you didn’t cry. You loaded the rifle. You tracked. You protected what was yours.
And Neville was hers now, just as she was his.
She glanced between Gerard’s stoic expression, Cassie’s concern, and Lady Neville’s anger, growing more centered by the moment. Her hunter’s instinct, a sense of vigilant calm, superseded fret born of inaction.
Gerard was right.
Willard thrived on the game. He wouldn’t rob himself of the triumph of whatever he had planned. She still had time to intervene.
Neville had mentioned learning something about a lodge and a Runner.
She turned to speak directly to Gerard. “Lady Neville has just discovered that Willard has taken refuge at his maternal uncle’s lodge. Neville told me he hired a Runner to investigate a lodge based on a witness’s letter. That cannot be a coincidence.”
“Likely not,” Gerard agreed.
“Do you have the missive with the lodge’s specific direction?” she asked.
Gerard nodded. “The original copy is with Mr. Dixon, the Runner. But I have a copy upstairs.”
Then to the lodge she would go. At the very least, the Runner must be made aware of Neville’s peril. With any luck, she could work with the man to find either Willard, or better, Neville, before Willard executed any further plans.
“I know this is unusual,” she asked Gerard, “but will you see me upstairs?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“You can’t mean to go after him,” Cassie said.
“No one,” Millie replied calmly, “is going to stop me.”
“But you just can’t ride off after him,” Cassie sputtered. “You just can’t.”
“I can,” Millie replied. “I am a married lady now. I don’t have to have a chaperone wherever I go.”
“Aunt Jane—tell her she can’t.”
Millie turned to her mother-in-law. “You’ve done your part, Lady Neville. Will you trust me to do mine?”
“I would urge caution.” Lady Neville carefylly chose her words.
“I will take care, I promise. But I must at least get word to the Runner. Please understand. I cannot remain still, not while Neville is in danger.”
Lady Neville’s expression softened. “Ambrose told me he trusts you.” She sighed. “I had better trust you, too.”