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“I will only ask you to leave once more before I have you physically removed from the premises.”

Theo barely held back her growl. The footman trying to usher her back from the rear entrance of the Duke’s London residence was clearly relishing his little foray into authority. She’d known the minute he opened the door that he was going to give her trouble. The perfectly parted and pomaded dark hair was a clear sign he thought himself a man of considerable import. He’d raked one stare over her and had come to all sorts of insulting assumptions about her.

“What is going on here?” came a droll voice. That would be the London butler.

“Rogers!” Theo raised her voice. “It is Dawson, the Ironcrest steward. I must see the Duke—or, or the dowager!”

There, that had to give her some clout. She could prove she was the steward. Who else would have such intimate knowledge of the Ironcrest business?

The footman stepped aside slightly so Rogers could peer down at her. “This deranged woman is claiming to be His Grace’s steward.” He laughed, shaking his head at her like she’d lost her faculties. “Says she hails from Ironcrest. I’ve asked her to leave, repeatedly.”

“I am his steward,” she gritted out. “How else would I know his steward’s name is Dawson? How else would I know his London butler’s name is Rogers? Or his Ironcrest estate’s butler is Haverford.” She lifted her chin. There. That would show them.

Rogers let out a beleaguered sigh and turned to the footman. “Remove her. It is clear His Grace was up to his usual pursuits while visiting his estate.” He glanced down his nose at her. “I would suggest you return to where you came from, Miss. Before you embarrass yourself further.”

Her mouth popped open. She started backing up as the footman crowded her out of the servant’s entry, her mind reeling. They thought she was the Duke’s whore? Or…or…something like that.

She somehow snapped out of her shock and abruptly halted. The footman grabbed her arm and tried to push her back. She violently shoved it off. “Do not touch me.” She looked over his shoulder to where the butler was already walking back inside. “Rogers! How would I know who you are? I can prove I’m his steward. Ask me anything!”

But the man kept walking.

“Gentlemen can become quite loose-lipped when in bed with a woman,” the footman said, lips curling. “Anything you say will only serve to prove you can be quite distracting. You won’t play us for a fool. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last, darling.”

Theo bristled. How bloody insulting. “Say I was his whore. How would you know he doesn’t want to see me? If I’m so distracting, as you so eloquently put it, maybe he wants more of my distracting.”

That was perhaps not the best argument to get her through the door, but she was so damn affronted on her behalf, on behalf of the whores. Women did what they had to to get by in this life, more often than not forced into these roles because of men. That term was bandied about as an insult. Any woman who was not pure and a pretty little unopened package for her husband was labeled as such. Yet what would all these men do if the whores they thought so little of up and disappeared? Hmm? Her nostrils flared. This footman was trifling with the wrong headstrong woman today.

“I suggest you let me pass and see the Duke.”

He shook his head. “You’re more half-witted than most.” Then the bastard put his hands on her again. She ducked and slipped from his hold, snatching her knife from her boot. She spun, jabbing it toward him, and his eyes went wide.

Then he darted for her. She shot through the door and into the house. Theo ran down the hall, eyes frantically scanning. She just needed to find where Rafe was. She just needed to see, to confirm he was still alive. She passed the kitchens, yells and pounding footsteps chasing her. But all her mind could comprehend was her racing, panicked thoughts. He had to still be alive. The way they spoke…it was as though he was. But she knew they wouldn’t speak any other way. No one would let slip if he was actually gone. That was not information revealed until after it was formally announced. Not if a servant didn’t want a sacking.

Hands shoved hard into her back, and she crashed to the floor. She kicked out, pulling a grunt from someone. She made out light brown hair. A different footman than the one at the door.

The man dove atop her, and Theo managed to roll them and point her knife to his side. He froze. She grinned.

“The shrew is batty!” someone yelled out.

They weren’t all that wrong. At this point, she had gone mad. The desperation to see Rafe, the bloody fear strangling her heart. She’d do anything to find him.

Someone bowled her over, and the air knocked straight from her lungs. Bloody hell. She gasped for air as the footman from the door’s visage came into focus. She bared her teeth. And headbutted the oaf.

“Arghhh!” He clutched his head.

Gasps and shouts soared around them. She scrambled backward, and both footmen dove for her ankles and—goddamn it—they caught her. She twisted and kicked, but their holds were tight.

“Get her under control!” Rogers roared.

“We’re bloody trying!” snarled the dark-haired footman. “Alert the Duke and his guests!”

Her entire body lit up at that. The Duke and his guests? He was alive? He was alive! She grinned at the idiots, and they both hesitated. Which was all she needed. She lunged toward them, stabbing wildly at their hands and arms. They managed to yank their limbs back just in time.

“As I thought.” She popped up and whipped out her pistol, briskly walking backward.

Someone screamed.

“Ta ta!” She spun on her heel and bolted down the hall.