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“With a gentleman?”

He pursed his lips. “It would be out of character for her to seek out an assignation.”

Wasn’t it? Although sometimes he felt as though he knew Ina’s mind better than his own, love and marriage was the one area they always stayed away from. She didn’t ask him the details of his life, and he didn’t want to know hers. It was the only way he could keep the story he told himself about them being “just friends” alive.

“Then you’re worried for her safety,” said Mrs. Sullivan.

He tilted his head in confirmation.

“Well, I suppose you’d better come with me,” said the matchmaker.

It was Fergus’s turn to quirk his brows. “Are you certain, ma’am, that I cannot be of assistance? Your guests—”

“Will be just fine without me,” she said firmly. “However, if you could find a discreet way to collect Mrs. Coleman without alerting her that there are concerns about her niece’s whereabouts, that would be welcome. There’s no need to worry the lady if it isn’t, in fact, Miss Duncan at all.”

Please don’t let it be Ina.

Without another word, Fergus bowed and led the way out of the room, opening the door for them both as they went, followed by Jessa.

They’d just reached the staircase leading to the upper floors when a woman’s scream pierced the air.

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Sullivan said, picking up her skirts.

Without thinking, Gavin broke out into a run, stopping abruptly when Mrs. Sullivan threw open a nearby door just in time to see the flash of Ina’s hand hitting Sir Kier Gowan squarely in the nose. The man roared in pain, blood soaking his fine leather gloves, and Gavin was on him, hauling him by the throat and ramming him against one of the towering bookshelves.

Now he could feel the satisfying crunch of Gowan’s windpipe as the bastard clawed at his hand.

Gavin’s breathing was ragged as he held onto what little self-control he had left. The man had laid his hand on Ina. It would give him no end of pleasure to put Gowan through a wall, strangle him, or throw him out of a window into the street.

A soft touch fell on his shoulder. “Mr. Barrett, you must let him go,” said Mrs. Sullivan.

He squeezed a little harder, and Gowan’s eyes bugged as he scratched at his hand with more urgency.

“Miss Duncan is safe,” Mrs. Sullivan said, more firmly this time.

Reluctantly, he let his grip loosen. Gowan tore away from him, staggering back a few steps before hitting a low table and falling to the ground.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Gowan shouted, his hand at his throat as he stared in disbelief and disgust at Gavin.

“I should think the same thing could be asked of you,” said Mrs. Sullivan, her voice booming through the room now.

Real fear replaced the anger in the lout’s eyes. Good.

There came a squeak. Jessa was peering out from behind Mrs. Sullivan, her jaw slack.

“To the kitchen, Jessa,” the matchmaker ordered sharply. The maid scrambled out the door, shutting it behind her.

“Are you unharmed?” Mrs. Sullivan asked Ina, taking her by the arms to study her.

Ina’s cuff was torn and there was blood down the front of her dress. Gavin’s own blood began to boil anew.

“Yes, but I wish I’d hit him harder,” said Ina as she kneaded the base of her palm.

That was the Ina he knew—strong and spirited. If Gowan had diminished that spark in her, no amount of cajoling from Mrs. Sullivan could have saved the man.

“Sit here,” said Mrs. Sullivan, guiding Ina to a chair. “Now, will you tell me what happened?” she asked as gently as if she was speaking to a frightened child.

“I’m the one who’s hurt,” muttered Gowan.