Page 53 of The Marquess of Secrets

God, he’d never find him in this throng, besides the fact he had no idea what the blackguard looked like except for a vague description from Robins. It could fit any number of men here.

A man in a long coat and a bowler hat walked up to him. “Is there a problem, my lord?”

“Robins’ man?”

Well, he would give Robins his due; he figured out he was Doctor Damian. But then Harrison had given the man leave to follow him, told him of the shelter though not of the fact he toiled there. Since the terminus was a daily stop in his busy schedule, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out.

“Yes, my lord. My name is Taylor. Mr. Robins said to keep watch.”

“Did you see anyone leave here moments ago?”

“Yes, there were two, both men.”

A sprig of hope bloomed. “Did you get a good look at them? What direction are they headed?”

Taylor tugged on his earlobe. “Well, only a fleeting glimpse, my lord. One was older, gray hair, the other brown hair, a little above average height. Wore a laborers jacket. And he put on a peaked cap. He wasn’t acting suspicious, so I continued my surveillance on the entrance.”

Harrison exhaled in frustration. “Keep watch. We’ll be departing shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Frustrated and more than a little annoyed, Harrison returned to Lydia, taking the beard from her hand. Was this the man who watched them so intently at the Red Lion pub? The facial hair was certainly similar.

Damnation. Hell.

“He spoke to you?” Harrison asked.

She nodded. “Huntsford told me plenty. None of it good.”

“We will finish up here immediately and return home. We’ll talk there.” Harrison caressed her pale cheek. “You were brave bellowing out a warning.”

Lydia laughed shakily. “A lot of good it did. No one stopped him.”

“The people in here are worn and weary, and many are hiding. Becoming involved is not an alternative for them.”

Lydia nestled her cheek against his palm. “I know, I lived it. I hoped someone would step in.”

Forty minutes later, they were sitting in the dining room alone, having just finished a light meal of roast chicken. Lydia relayed to him everything Huntsford had said to her.

The audacity of the man. And completely reckless.

“I am sorry now Sam ever recommended William Robins and his merry band of ex-coppers.” He pushed away his near-empty plate in disgust.

“I don’t blame Mr. Robins,” Lydia replied. Huntsford is sly and far cleverer than I’d give credit for. But why focus attention on me? Why can’t he leave me be?”

“His narcissistic and twisted personality will not allow it. He is obsessed with you and receives a decided thrill controlling you. He misses that. He needs it. It feeds him, gives him power.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “My. You are well informed on the subject.”

“I assure you I hold none of the same attributes, outside of occasionally slipping into my I-am-an-heir-to-a-duke mask. I studied the German psychiatrist Carl Wilhelm Ideler at university. His thesis is still controversial. He believed passions are important in the origins of mental illness, that certain drives are in a constant state of imbalance. Not all physicians or scientists subscribe to their being actual diseases of the mind.”

“You think Huntsford is insane?”

Harrison blew out a breath of frustration. “The imbalance may have always been there. The drug use no doubt exacerbated it.”

Which made him all the more dangerous. During their trip home, an idea had taken root. He might as well mention it to gauge Lydia's reaction.

“You’re not out of harm’s way, not as long as you stay here. Why not come with me to Hastings? There would be no safer place than at the estate of a duke.”