Dominic stopped him with a raised hand. “That’s not the only thing. That same footman brought our horses around front yesterday morning.”
Wright’s brows drew together in confusion. “That’s highly irregular, my lord. The grooms are responsible for the horses. I assigned no footman to do such a task.”
Dominic’s back stiffened. “Then who the blazes was that man?”
Wright looked deeply troubled now. “I… I don’t know, my lord. But I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Start by rounding up every footman in the household. I want them all accounted for. Now.”
Wright gave a crisp bow and turned on his heel, calling for one of the under-butlers as he disappeared down the corridor.
As Dominic stood in the entry hall, the pieces began to fall into place—one troubling detail after another. Dorothea’s sudden illness. The footman no one seemed to recognize. The wrong person delivering tea. And now, a memory returned with a jolt: the fireplace damper being closed, filling Dorothea’s bedchamber with smoke.
At the time, he’d dismissed it as an oversight—a careless mistake by one of the servants. But now? Now he wasn’t so certain.
What if it hadn’t been a mistake at all?
What if someone had wanted to harm Dorothea?
The thought struck him like a blow to the chest, and without another moment’s hesitation, he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His boots pounded against the polished wood, his breath tight in his throat.
He didn’t knock.
He threw the door open and burst into her bedchamber.
Tabitha, seated in the corner with a basin of cool water and a cloth, let out a startled gasp. “My lord—what is it? Is everything all right?”
“It will be,” Dominic said, though the words rang hollow to his own ears. He forced his voice steady, willing himself to remain calm. “I’m only here to ensure Lady Warwicke remains undisturbed.”
Dorothea, propped against her pillows with a blanket tucked around her, narrowed her eyes with displeasure. “Do you truly intend to make a nuisance of yourself?”
“I do,” he replied as he went to sit down in the chair beside the bed.
She gave him a withering look. “I don’t want you here.”
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I know. But I’m not here for conversation or forgiveness. I’m here to keep you safe. That’s all.”
“Safe from what?”
“I am not sure yet, but I will know soon enough.”
Not looking the least bit impressed, she turned her body pointedly away from him, her back to his gaze.
He didn’t flinch from her anger. He deserved it. Every ounce of it.
Still, no matter how furious she was with him—no matter how much he had hurt her—he wasn’t going anywhere.
If someone was targeting Dorothea, if someone within these walls had meant to harm her, then he would remain exactly where he needed to be: at her side.
Even if she loathed him for it.
He settled back in the chair, silent now, eyes fixed on the flickering fire in the hearth.
Let her rest.
Let her rage.
He would wait.
