The edge of the hedge bore two wide arcs, grass pressed flat. Ruts cut deep into the ground. Mud clung to the rim of the path.
A carriage had been here. And recently. He crouched. Reached. Something pale caught the light.
A ribbon. Green. Frayed at one end, where it had caught on a branch or buckle. His fingers curled around it.
Leticia’s.
His breath caught. She had trusted him. He had promised she wouldn’t face this danger alone. And they had taken her. He stood slowly, the ribbon still clutched in his hand. His grip tightened until his knuckles blanched.
He turned sharply toward the house. “Barrington’s men, to thegarden gate!” His voice rang out like a shot, cutting across the garden.
He didn’t wait.
And then he ran.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The ballroom hadalready 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 thedirection 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.
