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Melisande saw that his eyes were ice-cold and determined, and the sight froze her with terror. Mr. Horn was cornered, and it was only a matter of time until he found that she’d lied.
BY THE TIME Jasper made it home, his heart was nearly pounding through his chest with fear. He flung his horse’s reins to a boy and leapt the steps without waiting for Pynch. He threw open his front doors and went in, only to skid to a stop.
Melisande’s maid was clutching Mouse and weeping in the hall. Surrounding her were Oaks and two footmen.
Oaks turned at Jasper’s entrance, his face drawn and lined. “My lord! We think Lady Vale is in trouble.”
“Where is she?” Jasper demanded.
“Upstairs,” the maid gasped. Mouse wriggled hard in her arms, trying to get down. “There’s a man with her, and oh, my lord, I think he has a gun.”
Jasper’s blood froze in his veins, painful ice crystallizing. No. Christ, no.
“Where did you see them, Sally?” Pynch said from beside Jasper.
“At the top of the stairs,” Suchlike said. “Outside your rooms, my lord£ rode .”
Mouse finally gave such a desperate lurch that she gasped and dropped him to the floor. The dog ran to Jasper and barked once before scampering toward the stairs. He jumped to the first step and barked again.
“Stay here,” Jasper said to the servants. “If he sees too many . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to say aloud the awful possibility.
He started for the stairs.
“My lord,” Pynch called.
Jasper looked over his shoulder.
The valet was proffering two pistols. Pynch met his eyes. He knew damn well how Jasper felt about guns. Still, he held them out. “Don’t go up unarmed.”
Jasper snatched the weapons without a word and whirled to the stairs. Mouse barked and ran up the stairs ahead of him, panting with excitement. They made the first landing and continued to the second story, where the master bedrooms were. Jasper paused on the top step to listen. Mouse stood by his ankle, patiently watching him. Jasper could hear the maid, still sobbing faintly down below, and the murmur of a deeper voice, probably Pynch comforting her. Other than that, all was silent. He refused to think what the silence might mean.
He crept to his door on the balls of his feet, Mouse silently trailing him. The door was partly open, and he crouched so as to make himself less of a target as he pushed it open.
Nothing happened.
Jasper took a breath and looked at the dog. Mouse was watching him, completely uninterested in what might be in the room. Jasper swore under his breath and entered the room. Matthew had obviously been here. Jasper’s clothes were on the floor, his linens ripped from the bed he never used. He crossed and looked in the small dressing room, but although it had been torn apart, no one was there now. When he came back into his bedroom, Mouse was sniffing at one of the pillows on the floor. Jasper looked and nearly fell to his knees.
The pillow had a small streak of blood.
He closed his eyes. No. No, she wasn’t hurt; she wasn’t dead. He couldn’t believe otherwise—and remain sane. He opened his eyes and lifted the pistols to the ready. Then he went through the rest of the rooms on that floor. After fifteen minutes, he was panting and desperate. Mouse had followed him to each room, sniffing under the beds and in the corners, but he’d not seemed that interested in any of them.
Jasper mounted the stairs to the next floor, where the servants’ bedrooms were, under the eaves. There was no reason for Matthew to have taken Melisande up here. Perhaps he’d gone down the back way and escaped past the footmen in the kitchen. But if so, someone should’ve heard him. There should’ve been an outcry. Dammit! Where was Horn? Where had he taken Melisande?
They’d just made the uppermost floor when Mouse suddenly stiffened and barked. He raced to the end of the narrow, uncarpeted hallway and scratched at a door. Jasper followed the dog and carefully opened the door. A flight of wooden stairs led to the roof. There was a narrow parapet up there, but it was mostly ornamental, and Jasper had never been up there himself.
Mouse shouldered past him and raced up the steep stairs, his little muscled body jumping from step to step. He reached the top and stuck his nose to the crack of a small half-door, whining.
Jasper gripped his pistols and mounted the stairs quietly. At the top, he nudged aside the little dog with his boot and stared down at him sternly.
“Stay here.”
Mouse laid back his ears in submission but didn’t sit.
“Stay here,” Jasper commanded. “Or so help me, I’ll lock you in one of the rooms.”
The dog had no way of understanding the words, but he certainly understood the tone. He tucked his rump down and sat. Jasper turned to the door. He opened it and slipped out.
The skies had fulfilled the promise of rain. It dripped down, cold, gray, and dispirited on his roof. The door was only meant to provide access to the roof for repairs and cleaning. In front of it was a small square of level tiles, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, while all around was the slope of the roof. Jasper slowly straightened, feeling the wind blow raindrops against his neck. He faced the back garden. To his left was empty roof, to his right more empty roof. Jasper peered over the spine of the rooftop.
