Page 84 of The Duke of Pain

The caterwauling was loud and shrill enough to shatter glass. A couple of men came out of a room into the upper hallway, and the police constables ran up the stairs to subdue them.

Whinstone peeked out the door next to the room the other men stayed in, and his gaze locked with Gideon’s.

I have you, you miserable bastard.

Whinstone’s eyes narrowed, giving Gideon that contemptuous look he had always shown him since he was a small boy. Then he slammed the door and locked it.

“I’ll try to go in. You go around back to make sure the duke doesn’t go out the window,” Rainer instructed. “Belcher,” he yelled to one of the constables. “The young lads can assist Williams with the accomplices. You go with the duke. And Williams!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut that woman up. Gag her if you must.”

Gideon and Belcher tore out of the inn, and as they rounded the corner to enter the rear yard, Gideon halted, watching in shock, as Whinstone stood on a small balcony, then dropped. The duke landed on a horse. One he apparently had at the ready for a quick escape.

And he was escaping.

Snapping the reins, Whinstone tore out of the rear yard. The thing was, the despicable man was an expert horseman, better than Gideon could ever claim to be. But be damned if he would allow the man to disappear into the shadows.

No one would harm Olivia and get away with it. Not as long as Gideon drew breath.

“Belcher, can you ride?”

“I can, Your Grace.”

“I’ll fetch two horses from the stable. Keep the light on Whinstone.”

“He’s heading west, Your Grace. Back toward London,” Belcher replied.

“I will follow that son of a bitch straight into the depths of hell,” Gideon growled as he ran toward the stables.

A bit dramatic perhaps, but it fit Gideon’s mood.

Locating two of the horses from the wagons, Gideon hastily buckled on the reins and strapped on saddles he had found in the small barn before returning to Belcher.

Already Whinstone had a five-minute head start.

Rainer hurried toward him. “He escaped?”

“Had a horse at the ready, jumped on him, and tore off down the main road,” Gideon grumbled as he mounted the horse.

Rainer passed Belcher a revolver. “Here, lad. Use it if necessary. Shoot the horse out from under him if needs must. Do not let him get away. Be careful, the both of you. We are heading back to Stanford with the suspects. When you catch the runaway duke, bring him along, tied to the saddle, if necessary.”

Gideon nodded, then turned and galloped down the dark road, with Belcher close behind. His bullseye lamp, affixed to the saddle, cast a fragment of light for their pursuit.

And what would he do when he caught up to his loathsome stepfather? Beat him to a bloody pulp? Take the revolver from Belcher and shoot Whinstone between the eyes? String him up to become carrion for the ravens?

Gideon would love to do all three, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t the 17th century, more’s the pity.

No, he had to be civilized about it all. Take him in for trial.

Whatever it took.

Seeing some semblance of justice would have to do. If there was no possible way to arrest and prosecute him for the abduction and assault, they could charge him with the stolen goods.

Gideon wanted to slam the door shut on this aspect of his life.

The damage wrought by his stepfather, and even his mother, would always be with him. Permanent scars, inside and out.