“Lucky man,” Durward breathed.
“Oh yes,” said Sanderly.
Durward said no more, for he had just seen Carina at the back of the room in a gown of saffron muslin. His heart seemed to ache and rejoice at the same time, for Snake and for himself.
The ceremony was short. The couple made their promises in clear voices. Sanderly put his ring on his bride’s finger, and the lordly young clergyman pronounced them man and wife.
Everyone swept forward to congratulate them. Durward, being nearest, got there first, kissing the bride’s cheek, and thumping Sanderly on the back before making his way towards Carina. Little Orchid was jumping up and down with excitementas he passed the girls. His eyes swept over Duncan and Alex, grinning together but clearly on their best behaviour. Durward shouldered his way nearer Carina. He began to feel he was in one of those dreams where you never quite get to your destination, however hard you try...
Then, through the babble of voices and laughter, the door to the hall swept open to reveal the outraged butler being barged out of the way by a grim-faced man in a red waistcoat.
“Oh-oh,” Jonathan Berry said into the sudden silence. He happened to be right beside Durward, who heard him quite clearly. “I know that face. His name is Dance and he’s a Bow Street runner. Time to—er...run, my lord.”
“Marmaduke Travis, Viscount Durward,” the runner intoned loudly, “I have a warrant for your arrest, on a charge of the attempted murder of Arthur Foster.”
Chapter Twelve
“Go via the terrace,” Lord Wolf said at his elbow. “We’ll hold him up.”
Through the suddenly open space between them, Durward met Carina’s frightened gaze. Her hand lifted very slightly, a plea. And God, it was tempting. A mad dash through the garden to the stables, hand in hand with his lady love... He had no doubt he would find a ready-saddled horse. He could throw Carina onto its back, leap up behind her and ride hell for leather to Harwich. To Isbourne’s boat and Captain Jasper. Leaving Duncan to Bethany, now clutching the boy’s arm as though to prevent him from bolting with Durward.
Such fun, to escape it all in such a way... But he would still be running, still escaping. And Foster would still be dead.
He had hoped for more time, to marry Carina and make her safe.
Well, he hadn’t chosen the time, but he had chosen his path. He felt his lips curve into a sad, apologetic little smile meant only for her.
Then he turned to face the runner, whom he could no longer see for all the people blocking his path to his quarry. The Grandisons, Calton, the bride and groom. Wolf and his intriguing lady, Tabitha and Isbourne. Baldeston and Bethany...Jonathan Berry who now seemed to be trying to shake hands with the man from Bow Street.
Durward even noticed the bewildered Mansels, avidly absorbing the situation without quite understanding.
“Your pardon, Lady Grandison,” Durward said loudly. “And yours, Lady Sanderly—I appear to have interrupted your wedding.”
Everyone turned to gawp at him. Gently, he shouldered his way back through his well-meaning protectors, whose loyalty made his throat ache. What had he ever done to deserve their friendship? They let him through, until he faced the set-faced runner, who looked as surprised as everyone else.
Understanding, Durward smiled at him. “Left a colleague at the stables, did you?”
“Yes, as it happens. A horse was already saddled, I can only presume by you.”
Which was when he noticed the children had all vanished. “Actually, no... I’m not running, constable, though I could wish you had waited until after the breakfast.”
“The law does not wait for breakfast,” the runner pronounced.
“Very commendable,” Durward said. A hand slid into his. He knew whose without even looking. He could smell her, feel her. He closed his fingers around hers because surely no one would notice.
He was wrong.
“Look!” Lady Mansel hissed in outrage. “I knew there was something between them, the sly minx.”
“Sly indeed,” her husband sneered.
Durward ignored them. He sought Lady Grandison’s gaze. “You will look after her until I can make it right?”
It was Grandison himself who answered. “Of course,” he said gruffly.
Durward turned back to the runner and asked the only question that really mattered. “Is Foster dead?”
“Probably,” said the runner.
