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Helen gasped and Alistair saw that her face had gone slightly greenish.
“—knob. He wasn’t wearing a wig, Tom said. The man was balding,” Meg finished in a rush, staring at Helen. “Ma’am?”
Helen swayed, and Alistair put his arm about her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Go on ahead, Meg, and tell the footmen to ready themselves.”
“Aye, sir.” Meg curtsied and left.
Alistair closed the door firmly behind the maid and turned to Helen. “Who is he?”
“I… I…”
“Helen.” He took her gently by the shoulders. “I saw your face. You know the man Tom saw last night. Right now we have no way of knowing in which direction Wiggins and his accomplice might’ve taken the children. If you have any idea where they could’ve gone, you need to tell me.”
“London.”
He blinked. He hadn’t expected an answer quite that definite. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She nodded. Her face had regained some of its color, but now it held an expression of resigned fatality.
A wisp of unease uncurled in his belly. “How do you know? Helen, who was the other man?”
“Their father.” She looked up at him, her eyes grief-stricken. “The Duke of Lister.”
Chapter Thirteen
Truth Teller hid the horse he’d bought outside the castle walls. He guarded the monster all that day. In the evening, the sorcerer came as usual, and as usual, Truth Teller answered his question and left. But instead of retreating inside the castle, the soldier hid himself behind the cage of swallows. He watched and waited patiently until the moon had risen, and then he ran swiftly to the sorcerer. The sorcerer turned, startled, and Truth Teller blew the powder into his face. Instantly the sorcerer transformed into a little brown bat and flew away, leaving his robes and ring on the ground behind him. Truth Teller picked up the ring and offered it to the princess through the bars of her cage.
She looked at the ring and then at Truth Teller in astonishment. “Will you not demand a boon from me in exchange for the ring? My father’s wealth or my hand in marriage? Many men would do so in your place.”
Truth Teller shook his head. “I only wish you safe, my lady.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER
Alistair stared at Helen and felt as if the earth shifted and moved beneath him. “The children’s father is a duke?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
She looked at him with tragic harebell-blue eyes and said, “I was the Duke of Lister’s mistress.”
He cocked his head to see her better from his good eye. “Was there ever a Mr. Halifax?”
“No.”
“You were never married.”
It was a statement, but she answered it, anyway. “No.”
“Jesus.” A goddamned duke. His chest was tight, as if held within the grip of a giant, terrible vise. He glanced down at his hands and was almost surprised to see he still held the pistols. He walked to the desk and put them back in the drawer he’d taken them from.
“What are you doing?” she asked from behind him.
He closed the drawer and sat back down behind the desk. He aligned the papers before him with care. Soon he’d have to get back to work. “I should think that was obvious. I’m putting away the pistols, calling off the chase.”
“No!” She flew across the room and slammed her hands to the desk. “You can’t stop now. He’ll have gone to London. If we follow, we can—”
“We can what, ma’am?” Anger was replacing the band about his chest, thank God. “Perhaps you’d like me to call out the Duke of Lister on your account?”
