Chapter 43
Lieutenant Shelbourne pushed Alice ahead of him, prodding her in the small of her back with what she had to believe to be a pistol, and forcing her to stumble through the darkness down a path to the beach at the south of Windvale’s grounds.
“Lieutenant,” she said, even as her skirt tore on a branch. She’d already abandoned her mask; it impeded her already limited vision. “You can have every last piece of my jewelry, but I do not—”
Cold metal jabbed harder into her back, cutting her off.
“Someone is lying, chit, and my instinct tells me it’s you.”
Lying? How could she possibly lie about something she did not understand?
“Lieutenant Shelbourne,” she tried again, keeping her voice as calm as she could manage, “you knew my husband. You knew he was not one to give gifts so lavish. I have no jewels from him,” she tried. “Only a few trinkets. Necklaces, a bracelet perhaps.”
Shelbourne laughed. “You will not fool me. I watched the amount of wealth that passed through that man’s hand. I stood on his right side. I know what went missing and what it is worth.”
The uneven ground leveled out, her delicate dancing slippers sinking into sand.
A full shiver wracked her body—not because of cold—but because in the distance, moored on gently rising waves, sat a ship.
And shadowy figures moved along the beach and on small boats rowing to and from the ship.
The smuggling she’d worked so hard to keep from her home had breached every pathetic defense she’d established.
And Alice was entirely alone.
Henry jumped from the horse’s back before it had stopped in front of the castle-like structure. He took the stairs to the front door two at a time, Lucas on his heels.
Something told him he was too late. Something in his gut was screaming at him that danger was afoot, and that the gentle strains of music were only a cover for the true nature of the dealings within Windvale.
The butler’s eyes were wide when Henry flung back the heavy front door. “Milton,” he demanded. “Is Mrs. Seymour—”
Milton bowed his head, his mask of serenity returned. “She is in the ballroom, sir. With your sister, I believe. I had a footman check only minutes ago.”
That ought to have relieved Henry, but until he saw the women, he wouldn’t believe it.
He nodded to the butler and strode down the hall to the ballroom doors.
Would he be able to find his sister and Alice in the crush?
Even intimately familiar with Alice’s costume, would he recognize it among so many others?
Jimmy suddenly flung himself into Henry’s path, steps from the door. “Sir,” he breathed, quiet and rushed.
The sight of the young man seemed a seal on Henry’s roiling feelings. Something was wrong.
Jimmy tugged at Henry’s arm, and he and Lucas followed the boy down the hall.
“I saw him, sir.”
“Who?”
“The lieutenant. He dragged Mrs. Seymour from the house.”
Henry exchanged a look with Lucas. “When?” he demanded.
“Quarter of an hour ago.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know. Only some men were searching Mrs. Seymour’s room and I ran to tell Mrs. Martha, but she wasn’t there. Instead, that lieutenant was pulling Mrs. Seymour from the house. She was pushing him and yelling and—”
Henry grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Did you see what direction?”
“South.”
The beach. It had to be. Henry clapped Jimmy’s arms and ran, anticipating Lucas would follow.
Why Alice? Simply because of her connection to Henry, or was there something more?
And could he get to her in time? Or was he chasing after a shadow, bound to watch another person he loved slip into its depths?