Chapter Thirty-Four
The ballroom had already begun to forget.
The music had faltered but not stopped. Conversation had dipped, only to resume, hushed and eager. Guests circled in curious clusters, exchanging theories about the scream, the spill, the drama. The incident, such as it had been, now served as the evening’s diversion.
But Gabriel wasn’t listening. He moved through the room with purpose, Leticia’s ribbon clenched in his hand, his focus fixed and unyielding, and the crowd parted before him.
He found Barrington near the French doors, flanked by Mrs. Bainbridge and two of his men. Gabriel didn’t slow. He pressed the length of green silk into Barrington’s palm.
“She’s gone.”
Barrington stiffened. “What?”
“Erica and two men took her. There was a coach waiting past the garden wall.” Gabriel’s voice was flat but not calm. He didn’t bother with ceremony. There wasn’t time.
“I saw no coach,” Mrs. Bainbridge said, already turning toward the door.
“It didn’t wait at the front. It came through the side access. I suspect there was no crest and no lanterns. The gravel is fresh with track ruts. Gate guards missed it or were distracted. Either way, they’re gone.”
He turned to Barrington’s men. “You. To the hedge. Confirm the direction and depth of the carriage tracks. Look for fresh hoof prints. Any wax drips from the lanterns. Anything dropped in the scramble.”
The men scattered.
Gabriel turned toward the ballroom again, scanning faces, searching for any flicker of guilt or retreat. He wanted to see someone run. He wanted to catch them mid-turn.
Instead, he saw Lady Eastbury.
She stood at the edge of the hall, skirts brushing the marble, head high, but her eyes sharp. She moved toward him.
“Where is my niece?”
Gabriel met her gaze. “Taken.”
The word landed without a cushion. Her lips parted, but she didn’t gasp. Her chin lifted by a fraction.
“For the brooch?”
“No,” he said. “For her.”
For a moment, nothing moved between them. Not air. Not breath.
“I let her out of my sight,” Lady Eastbury said, her voice too even.
Gabriel shook his head. “She made the choice. She knew the risk.”
She looked away, but only for a breath. When she looked back, her composure had returned, but not untouched. “We must act quickly.”
“We are.”
A young footman approached, pale and stammering. “M-my lord, someone said they saw a dark carriage leave the side path less than ten minutes ago. It headed west, toward the old toll road.”
“We’re behind,” Gabriel said. “But not by much.”
He turned to Barrington. “I’m not waiting for a coach. I’ll take a horse.”
Barrington nodded. “We’ll follow in carriages. Give me a direction.”
Gabriel didn’t answer. Not yet. He turned on his heel and strode out of the ballroom, boots ringing sharply on stone. He needed space. He needed air. He needed a map in his head and silence to trace the route.
Behind him, the music resumed, faint, awkward, and completely irrelevant.
Leticia had trusted him. And they’d taken her.
But he wasn’t going to follow their path. He was going to intercept it.
*
The coach swayed hard with the road.
Leticia sat with her wrists bound and her ankles pressed tight together, the leather straps not painful, but firm. A loop ran through a hook bolted into the floor, tethering her with the quiet certainty.
They hadn’t blindfolded her. They hadn’t gagged her. They didn’t think she’d scream. They had not needed to force her silence.
Erica sat opposite her, unbothered by the ruts and jolts. She looked entirely at ease, legs crossed, gloved fingers tugging at a loose thread on her cuff. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling creaked with every jostle, throwing dim golden arcs across the wood-paneled cabin.
Leticia stared at the knot binding her wrists, and at the gap between shutter slats.
The road outside blurred past in bursts, gravel, hedgerow, black sky.
They weren’t going slowly, but they weren’t galloping either.
Leticia tracked the movement of the coach, counting turns, marking distance by sound and rhythm.
Gabriel would have seen the tracks. He would have heard the gravel when she dragged her foot. He would.
She pushed the fear down, pressed it hard against the place where panic wanted to root. Her throat tightened, but she locked her jaw against it.
The man beside Erica dozed with his chin tucked, and his hat slouched low. Another drove the coach. She could hear him shift with the motion of the wheels, the creak of leather, the soft metallic clink of something at his hip.
None of them had spoken since they left the garden, none except Erica. And even now, she wore silence with ease.
Leticia turned her head. “Is this your plan then? Kidnap me in full view of a ballroom and hope no one notices?”
Erica’s lips twitched. “You give yourself too much credit. No one notices what they don’t understand.
You walked into the garden with me. You followed.
You disappeared.” She shrugged lightly. “They’ll assume you stepped out for air.
Or that you and your aunt went to her room. People see what they expect.”
“My aunt doesn’t leave parties early.”
“No,” Erica said softly. “But you do. For him.”
Leticia held her gaze, but something in her stomach dipped.
Erica leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on her knees. Her voice was low, coaxing. “He can’t save you this time, Leticia. He’s too proud to ask for help. Too used to being right. Men like him don’t lead rescues. They walk into traps.”
Leticia flinched before she could stop herself. Not visibly, not enough for Erica to gloat, but it was there. The crack. The breath that caught.
“That’s what you’re counting on?” Leticia asked. “Gabriel making a mistake?” Leticia held her gaze. Not arguing. Not conceding. Listening.
“I’m counting on men like him thinking they’re the ones who set the rules.”
Leticia glanced again at the shutter slit. Trees passed. A low wall. Gravel again, louder this time. The road was bending, narrowing. Closer to fields now. Country.
She shifted in her seat to ease the stiffness in her shoulders, the tightness in her throat.
“You’ve told me this much,” she said. “Why not more?”
Erica sat back, lips curving. “I don’t need to frighten you. Just… distract you. Long enough.”
Then she was meant to listen. “Long enough for what?”
“For us to get where we’re going.” She smiled faintly. “And for him to take the wrong path.”
Leticia looked down at her wrists again. Her hands were tingling. Not numb, alive. Still hers. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in through her nose.
Gabriel would follow. Not the road, but the trail. He was trained for that.
He’d see the hedge, the broken stones. He’d notice the smell of horse sweat and oil. He’d hear the silence behind the noise. She just had to last long enough.
Leticia lifted her chin. “Whatever you’re part of, whatever this is, it’s temporary.”
“Oh?” Erica’s brows lifted.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Because Gabriel Ashcombe does not miss.”
Erica studied her for a long moment. She laughed, a soft, musical sound with no warmth behind it.
“We’ll see.”
*
The stable smelled of sweat, damp straw, and saddle soap. The air was thick with heat and motion.
Gabriel’s coat was off, his sleeves rolled, his gloves in his teeth as he cinched the girth strap tight on the bay gelding pawing the straw beneath him. The horse tossed its head, sensing his urgency. Good. He wanted an animal that matched his pace.
“Where are you going?” Barrington asked behind him, breath short from keeping up.
“West. The old toll road. Carriage prints veer in that direction.”
Barrington grabbed a bridle from the wall, tossing it to Mrs. Bainbridge. “Too obvious, isn’t it?”
Gabriel nodded once. “They’ll leave the road. The coach will divert into cover soon, less speed, more secrecy. That gives me an advantage.”
“You’re not following them?”
“I’m intercepting.”
He fastened the final buckle and stepped back, the map clear in his mind with the terrain and the possibilities of paths not traveled often, fields unguarded, and old stone markers in wild hedges.
“We know the direction,” he said. “We know the time. And we know what they think we’ll do, chase them. But we don’t need to chase. We need to arrive first.”
Barrington frowned. “How?”
Gabriel turned, voice steady now. “Dunmere Cross.”
Bainbridge froze. “That old smuggler’s pass?”
“It connects the toll road to the coastal fields beyond the Hawthorn rise. No one watches it. Most assume it’s overgrown. But the paths are still there.” He tightened the reins. “If I cut across from Mill Meadow, I’ll reach the back fields before the coach ever slows for the turn.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”
Barrington gave a slow nod. “We’ll bring carriages behind. Armed.”
Gabriel swung into the saddle. “No more delays. If they’ve taken her for the brooch, they’ll want time. But they won’t waste it.”
The gelding stamped once, restless beneath him.
Barrington stepped forward, gripping the saddle’s edge. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking very clearly. I know how they move. I know how she moves. And I know what time I lost.”
He turned the horse.
“Gabriel.”
Lady Eastbury stood just outside the stable arch, the lanternlight catching on the trim of her cloak. She was alone. Wind tugged at her hood, but her spine was straight, her hands unshaking.
“I need a word.”
Gabriel didn’t dismount, but he turned the horse toward her.
She stepped forward. “There’s something you don’t know. About the brooch.”
“I assumed as much,” he said.
“It wasn’t just her mother’s.” Her voice was tight, clipped. “It came from a set. Six pieces. All from Vienna. They were part of a cache her uncle brought back with him. I told myself they were sold. Lost. But that was a lie.”
“Why?”
“Because some secrets are more useful if you pretend they’re forgotten.”
She met his eyes.
“Someone is collecting those pieces again. Someone who knows where they scattered. And if your suspicions are right, that the brooch marked her, they’re not just reclaiming heirlooms. They’re reclaiming power.”
Gabriel’s breath stilled.
Lady Eastbury stepped closer, her voice low. “You must find her. Before they decide she’s served her purpose.”
“I will.”
A beat passed.
She did something unexpected, something that struck him harder than any plea. She reached up and pressed her hand once, briefly, to the horse’s shoulder. A silent blessing. A benediction for the road. And she stepped back.
Gabriel didn’t look at the others. He turned the horse toward the gate, heels light against the gelding’s flank. And he rode.
*
The clatter of hooves faded into the dark.
Barrington stood at the edge of the stable yard, arms crossed, face set. Lady Eastbury hadn’t moved. Her gaze followed the road, as if she could force her vision farther than the lanterns allowed.
A few stable hands hovered nearby, uncertain whether to retreat or offer aid.
A rider approached from the east. Hard and fast. One of the guards reached for his weapon, but Barrington lifted a hand.
“Townsend,” he said.
Felix reined in hard, throwing dust as he dismounted. “Report for you, urgent. Direct from Edward.” He handed over a folded packet. “It’s the records. From the auction house. Ledger pages. And…” He broke off, looking around. “Where’s Ash?”
“Gone,” Barrington said. “Minutes ago. He’s headed west. Dunmere Cross.”
Townsend looked stunned. “He went alone?”
Lady Eastbury spoke, her tone even. “Because no one else knew where to look.”
Barrington opened the packet, flipping through the top page. Names. Circled. Erica among them. Two others beneath.
His gaze narrowed.
The seller: Morton Hall Estates.
He passed the page to Mrs. Bainbridge. “It wasn’t just about what they bought. It was about who sold it.”
Lady Eastbury said nothing. Her eyes were closed.
*
The moon broke through the cloud cover just long enough to silver the hedgerow and cast pale light across the fields.
Gabriel crouched low in the saddle, his coat snapping in the wind. The gelding moved beneath him like a creature with the same intent as his, fast, relentless, focused.
Each hoofbeat was a heartbeat. Each gust of wind against his face was a warning.
He leaned lower, eyes fixed ahead.
The road forked just beyond the hawthorn rise. One way dipped toward the toll road, the other climbed the incline to the pass above the cliffs.
He didn’t hesitate.
He took the rise.