Heartless (39 page)

The duchess sat up, forehead creasing in deep thought. She reached for her spectacles, losing her grip on the bedclothes. A blush climbed her cheeks though no one was there to see. She jerked them back into place over her naked chest. Then she plopped her spectacles on her nose and got out of bed.

If she was to find out what had become of her husband, she couldn’t loll about in bed all day reliving the glorious night in his arms.

She paused as a smile of remembrance curved her lips. Then she went to her dressing room and rang for Liza.

Unease crawled Leandra’s spine at the sight that met her eyes in the breakfast room. The sensation increased at the noticeable absence of Derringer and Gabriel. Michaella, who’d decided to stay after her family’s ejection from the premises, bit her lip as if fighting back tears, her features unnaturally pale. Lord Greville had a worried look on his face and Sir Adam appeared almost angry. The other two ladies stared at Leandra with carefully blank expressions, the most suspicious of the expressions she beheld.

Leandra motioned for the gentlemen to return to their seats and sat in her customary spot at the right of the head. She looked expectantly at Greville. “Well, sir? Why all the long faces?”

The earl flushed and looked down at his empty plate. Aurora placed a tiny hand on his arm and whispered something Leandra couldn’t catch.

Leandra turned her gaze to Adam Prestwich. “Where is Gabriel?”

Michaella burst into tears and fled the room.

The duchess rose as if to follow, but Lady Prestwich restrained her. “Gabriel is missing, Lady Derringer. He didn’t come home last night and one of the gamekeepers said there was blood near the cliffs.”

“Which cliffs?” Leandra asked blankly.

“The ones overlooking the Strait,” answered Adam. “Harwood has been seen creeping around there and I am afraid he is suspect.”

“Well, of course he is,” Leandra asserted. “He is, after all, in need of my father’s will and Hart happens to have it.”

This little piece of information silenced her companions. Wordlessly, the duchess signaled a footman to bring her breakfast and ate with all the absorption of a starving waif. Everyone waited until she was finished and had risen to leave before they erupted with questions.

“When did he find it?” asked Greville.

“Where was it?” asked Bri, Lady Prestwich.

“How did he get it?” asked Aurora.

“And how did he manage to keep it a secret?” asked Prestwich. He paused. “Wait, never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “I must have forgotten for a moment who we were discussing.”

Leandra smiled. “I believe he has had it for a few days at least, Levi. He has yet to tell me where he found it, Lady Prestwich. And I think you know him well enough to know how he got it, Rory.” Her gaze fell on Prestwich. “I realize you spoke before thought, Sir Adam, but I will answer anyway. He said nothing because he was hoping to torment my brother with it.”

Nothing was said to this revelation. Then, “The more I get to know you, Leandra,” inserted Greville, “the more I believe you and Hart were made for each other. I wonder, could you tell us where your brother, or whomever is responsible, has taken Gabriel St. Clair?”

As her husband was still very much the heedless man he had been when she first met him, Leandra did not overly worry about him until dinner that night. She would not have worried even then but for the disappearance of Gabriel just after she had discovered that note penned by Derringer’s mother. There were far too many pieces falling into place for any of the recent happenings to be mere coincidence.

It was not until two days later that Leandra realized her husband might not return. She was near the study when she overheard Greville discussing the duke with Prestwich.

“I know it is something Hart would do, Adam, but I can’t see him not saying anything to Leandra. He’s in love with her, you know.”

Leandra’s heart picked up at this, hope warring with common sense. As much as she wanted her husband’s love, she was not going to assume she had it, no matter who happened to think it was true.

In Prestwich’s reply she could almost hear his look of disbelief. “Derringer? Is he actually capable of love, Vi? And even if he was, why would feeling that tender emotion suddenly change his manners?”

Leandra nodded her head. It was true and she was actually fascinated to realize that she didn’t expect him to change. She loved him and that was all there was to it.

A thread of annoyance entered Greville’s voice. “I would normally agree with you, but hasn’t your own experience with love made you realize that things are not always so simple?”

Prestwich grunted. “This really has nothing to do with a missing duke, has it?”

“No, but I think even Hart, as callous and unfeeling a monster as he is,”—Leandra had to stop herself from marching in and boxing Greville’s ears—“would never send this. Even as a jest.”

Leandra wanted very badly to push open the door a little more so she could see what it was they had. Something in their manner alerted her that they were not going to tell her what was happening, so she did just that. Except, she threw open the door, catching the gentlemen unawares. She gasped when she saw what the earl held.

“Oh, dear God!” Her huge eyes flashed from one man to the other. “What happened? Where is he?”

“Leandra—” began Greville, rising from his chair.

“No! Do not
Leandra
me, Lord Greville. I will know what has happened or I will flail you both alive!”

Prestwich’s eyes lit with an unholy glee much like Derringer’s would have done, while Greville took a hasty step back. The duchess glared at both of them for a moment, then, reasserting her usual unruffled calm, she sighed. “I think you both know that I will not simply walk away without some explanation. I can be quite as stubborn as Hart, I assure you.”

Prestwich took the object from the earl’s grasp and held it out. “I’m sure you know what this is, your grace?”

Leandra took it from him, tears forming. Her husband’s hair, the long hank tied with a black riband. The silky black strands slipped through her fingers, the same silky strands she’d slipped her fingers through only days ago. Why had it been cut off?

Prestwich appeared to read her mind. “There was no note with it, Lady Derringer. We do not know if someone else sent it or Hart himself.”

“Why,” Leandra began in a dangerously soft tone, “would my husband do something so reprehensible?”

Greville chose to intervene. “You know Hart, Leandra. I do not think he would do this to you but he has been known to do some fairly… well, despicable things in his lifetime. I just can’t think what he thinks to gain by this.”

“He will gain nothing, gentlemen, because he didn’t do it,” stated the duchess with confidence. She moved across the room and sat behind the large desk still strewn with paperwork. She stared down blindly at a piece of vellum as she continued. “Hart was very adamant about his appearance. I’ve yet to discover why exactly, but he would not do anything to mar it.” She looked up at Greville as if for confirmation. He nodded in agreement since it was quite true. Looking down again, her eye was caught by something in a paper on top of the desk.

“What is this?” she asked.

Prestwich stepped closer. “It appears to be a normal order for the departure of a ship.”

“But who ordered the departure?”

“If it is one of Hart’s, Leandra, it had to be him,” offered Greville. “I know he is the only one with the authority to do so.”

Leandra studied it with the gentlemen looking over her shoulder. “It appears someone is trying to set sail and according to this, it should be right now.”

“Captain Taverner will not leave without this order,” remarked Greville.

“Would he realize it is forged, do you think?” inquired the duchess with a grim look.

“Is it?” Prestwich peered closer. “How do you know?”

Leandra smiled. “I have seen enough messages from my husband to know how he signs them.” She pointed at the D in Derringer. “He does not make that little tail there. He always starts his signature with a wicked slash. This was done by an amateur,” she remarked meditatively.

Brushing a few other documents aside, she discovered two more such orders, the signature on each closer to the duke’s than the previous, as though someone practiced until they got it right. That could only mean an order went out on which the forgery was close enough to remain undetected by the captain.

“So what does all this mean?” asked Greville. “Someone wants to set sail enough to forge Hart’s command. What has that to do with Gabriel and Hart disappearing?”

Leandra went very still, heart stuttering in her chest. She remembered the words of a certain letter word for word, the words of Derringer’s mama. In a voice devoid of expression, she asked, “Where is Martin St. Clair?”

30

In the following weeks, Leandra began to lose hope. Her worry increased with each passing day. They had no news of her husband, nothing to lead them to his whereabouts or even if he still lived. Each morning she woke, as wearied as if she’d only just dropped off to sleep.