Chapter 17 #2
“I suppose,” she said, feigning reluctance, though her heart was quietly soaring. She felt it—every step, every breath, the certainty of it. This—he—was where she was meant to be.
As they stepped through the entry hall and out onto the front stoop, the sun filtered through the clouds, casting the gravel driveway in a gentle light. Olivia’s eyes fell on the waiting coach. But something was off.
The horses were harnessed and still, but there was no movement. No driver on the box. No footman at the door.
Her fingers instinctively tightened on Evander’s arm.
He stopped, just as still. She felt the change in him—the way his body went taut beside hers.
“Wait here,” he murmured.
She nodded, though unease prickled at the back of her neck. The world felt oddly silent. Too still.
Then—a sound behind her. Footsteps? No—too fast. Too close.
She turned, or tried to—but something struck the back of her head with brutal force. A flash of pain burst behind her eyes.
The last thing she heard before the darkness swallowed her was the sharp crack of a pistol.
And Evander shouting her name.
“Westmere!”
The name pulled at the edges of Evander’s consciousness like a ripple across still water. It echoed, urgent, but distant. Everything was dark. Heavy. He wanted to retreat, to let the weight of unconsciousness pull him under again.
“Westmere!”
The second cry was accompanied by a jolt—someone shaking him. His skull throbbed in protest, a hot pulse at the back of his head. Why did it hurt? He tried to recall—
Olivia.
A coach. A pistol. Warwicke shouting. Olivia slumped in someone’s arms.
Had he imagined it?
Evander’s eyes flew open. “Olivia!”
Shapes swam into view—Warwicke and Wilton, crouched over him, their faces drawn tight with concern.
He sat up abruptly, wincing at the flash of pain. His gaze swept the room in a frantic search. “Where is Olivia?” The question tore from his throat, raw and frantic.
Wilton hesitated. “She was abducted.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
Abducted.
“No,” Evander said, the denial reflexive, automatic. “How?”
Warwicke’s voice was steady, but his eyes were weary. “I had been following you, concerned for your safety. When I heard you scream, I ran over to you as fast as I could. But I was too late. They were already fleeing. I managed to stop them from taking you as well.”
Evander shoved his hand through his hair, breathing hard. “You should have gone after her!” he barked, the rage in him snapping like a whip. “You should have—blast it, Warwicke, you should have saved her!”
“I know you’re angry, but you need to calm down—” Warwicke started.
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” Evander growled. “She’s my wife! I was right there, and I did nothing. I couldn’t stop it. I failed her.”
“You were ambushed,” Wilton revealed. “They were waiting for you to leave our townhouse. This wasn’t random.”
Evander’s jaw clenched. “Who is they?”
The two men exchanged a look—tense, uncertain.
“We’re not entirely sure,” Wilton admitted.
Evander surged to his feet, only to stumble as dizziness slammed into him. The room tilted sideways, and he had to drop back onto the settee, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“You need to have a doctor look at you,” Wilton urged.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Evander bit out. “I need my wife.”
Warwicke sat beside him, calm but insistent. “You need rest, Evander.”
Evander almost laughed. Rest? His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. “Would you rest if Dorothea had been taken?”
Warwicke shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“Then don’t ask it of me,” he replied. “I won’t sit here waiting for something to happen. I have to find her.”
“Then we’ll find her,” Warwicke said evenly. “But we have to be smart. Until we receive word, there isn’t much to go on.”
Evander’s mind reeled. The reformers. Threats. The meeting.
“Lord Luca,” he said suddenly. “Could he be behind this?”
Warwicke raised an eyebrow. “It’s possible… but I’ve heard nothing of this through my contacts.”
“Then we ask him,” Evander said, rising again—more slowly this time. “We speak to him now.”
“I don’t think—” Warwicke began.
“I don’t care what you think is wise,” Evander snapped. “I’m going, with or without you.”
Wilton moved to block his path, his expression grim. “We all want Olivia back. She’s my sister. But running off without a plan helps no one.”
“I’ve listened to everyone long enough,” Evander said, pushing past him. “All I’ve got is the drive to do something.”
Warwicke stood. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But you must promise you won’t do anything reckless.”
“I won’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” Evander said. “Not when Olivia’s life might depend on it.”
“I can respect that,” Warwicke muttered. “For now.”
As they stepped outside, the brisk air hit Evander like a wave. And then the memories came flooding back to him.
The coach.
A man stepping from the shadows.
Olivia crying out—then crumpling to the ground.
His own shout of horror.
Then the pain.
He closed his eyes, cursing himself silently. I was careless. I let my guard down. She paid the price.
“Westmere?” Warwicke’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.
“I’m fine,” Evander replied tersely.
Wilton lingered at the doorway. “I’ll remain here, in case the abductors make contact.”
Evander nodded faintly, barely hearing him. He stepped into the fully manned coach, staring blankly out the window as it pulled into traffic. He could feel Warwicke watching him, waiting for him to break. But he would be disappointed. He had a purpose now.
“She means everything to you,” Warwicke said after a long moment. “I can see it in your eyes. You’d die for her.”
“I would,” Evander answered quickly.
“Then stay alive,” Warwicke said. “You dying doesn’t save her. It only makes it harder for the rest of us.”
Evander turned to meet his friend’s gaze. “Then what do I do? Just wait? Hope for the best?”
“No,” Warwicke said, his eyes steely. “You fight. But you fight smart.”
Evander nodded slowly. “Do you have an extra pistol?”
Warwicke shifted his coat, revealing the one tucked at his waist. “No. And I’m not giving you this one.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll be the one to threaten Lord Luca, if it comes to that.”
Evander didn’t argue. Truth be told, he’d never liked pistols. He used them on hunts but hated the recoil, the way they shattered silence—and lives.
“We don’t know Lord Luca is responsible,” Warwicke said. “Don’t let desperation cloud your judgment.”
“He was at the reformers’ meeting. That’s enough for me.”
Warwicke’s brows pulled together. “Westmere…”
He cut Warwicke off with a raised hand. “Don’t lecture me. Tell me honestly—what would you do if someone tried to kill Dorothea?”
Warwicke looked away, a shadow passing over his features. “They did try, and it nearly destroyed me. But I had to keep my mind clear until I knew the truth.”
“I don’t think I have that kind of patience.”
“You must,” Warwicke asserted. “Until we find Olivia.”
Evander stared ahead, jaw set, heart hammering with grief, rage, and dread. Wherever you are, Livy... hold on. I’m coming for you.
The coach lurched to a stop in front of a whitewashed townhouse, pristine and imposing against the gray sky.
Evander didn’t bother to wait for the footman and flung open the door himself, boots hitting the cobblestone before the wheels had fully ceased turning.
His blood was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t waste a moment.
He took the front steps two at a time, fury giving speed to his limbs, and pounded on the door with the side of his fist.
The door creaked open. A tall, gaunt butler with white hair and an expression of long-suffering patience appeared in the frame. “May I help you?”
“I need to speak to Lord Luca,” Evander said sharply. The effort to keep his voice controlled made his jaw ache.
“I’m afraid Lord Luca is not home,” the man said with a rehearsed apology. “If you would be so kind as to leave your calling card—”
Evander stepped forward, barely restraining himself. “Where is he?”
The butler’s expression didn’t change, but a hint of discomfort flickered in his eyes. “I am not at liberty to say, sir. But as I said, if you leave your card—”
“That is unacceptable,” Warwicke’s voice cut in behind him, calm but firm.
The butler’s mask slipped for a second and annoyance flashed in his eyes. “I wish I could help you, but as I said—Lord Luca is not home.”
He began to shut the door.
Warwicke stepped forward and stopped it with his hand, pressing it open just enough to slide inside. “And I find that unacceptable,” he said, stepping into the entry hall.
The butler jerked back, scandalized. “If you don’t leave immediately, I will send for the constable.”
Warwicke smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Please do. I’m acquainted with most of them.” His voice dropped, losing all trace of politeness. “Now tell us where Lord Luca is.”
“No,” the butler said again, though his voice had lost its earlier confidence.
Warwicke’s smile faded. “It wasn’t a request,” he asserted.
The butler visibly swallowed. Evander saw the way his hands twitched at his sides, uncertain whether to hold his ground or bolt.
“I could be dismissed,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I say anything.”
Warwicke took one slow step closer. “And I could be far less pleasant if you don’t.”
Evander almost felt pity for the man. Almost.
The butler cracked. “He’s at his office,” he said quickly. “But he isn’t alone. His employees are with him.”
“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Warwicke leaned in just enough to be intimidating. “I imagine you’re thinking about sending a messenger ahead to warn him.”
The butler hesitated.
“I wouldn’t,” Warwicke said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The gesture was casual, but the butler flinched as though it were a threat. “We want this visit to be a surprise. You wouldn’t ruin a surprise, would you?”
The man shook his head.
“Good,” Warwicke said, turning.
Evander didn’t speak as they made their way back to the coach, their boots echoing hollowly against the stone. He climbed in wordlessly, and the moment the door shut, the coach jolted forward again into the churn of London traffic.
Only once they were moving did he turn to Warwicke and say, “You terrified that poor man.”
Warwicke didn’t even look his way. “He’ll live.”
Evander allowed himself the smallest twitch of a smile. “Do you think he’ll warn Lord Luca?”
“Absolutely,” Warwicke said. “But it hardly matters. If Lord Luca is involved, he’s expecting us already.”
Evander grew quiet. A single question had been digging at his insides the entire ride. “What if he’s not involved?”
Warwicke turned to face him fully, his voice serious. “Then we find who is.”
Evander exhaled through his nose, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. “And what if we’re too late?”
For a moment, Warwicke didn’t answer. Then he said, “Focus on what you can control. Don’t let fear in. That’s how you lose.”
Evander stared at the passing streets, their orderly windows and manicured hedges mocking his turmoil. Don’t let fear in. But fear was already there. It was curling in his stomach like ice.
“That’s easier said than done.”
“It is,” Warwicke agreed. “But if they meant to kill her, they would have. Abduction means they want something.”
Evander’s throat tightened. His fists clenched against his knees. “I should have protected her,” he said under his breath.
“You were ambushed,” Warwicke reminded him. “Blame the ones who took her, not yourself.”
Evander said nothing. His mind was already racing, calculating what they would do next. But one thing was for certain: He would not stop. He would not rest. Not until he had Olivia back in his arms.