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“It’s locked in the will,” he said as they walked towards a small redbrick cottage. “I can’t touch it until the heir or the heiress is born before my next birthday, but I know the housekeeper will take you in as a favor to me.”

“Nathaniel—” she started as they stopped before a low door.

“Don’t,” he said. “There will be no more discussion.”

Sleuth agency…he thought again. He couldn’t imagine living in terror every day while his wife went out and put herself in danger. He’d lock her in here for the rest of her life if he had to. The very thought that he could now lose both her and the baby was like death to him.

He couldn’t lose them like he’d lost his mother. He just couldn’t.

“How long are we going to be here for, then?” asked Calliope.

The coldness in her words drained the color from the picturesque world around him, making the charming village appear bleak and desolate.

He knocked and the door opened. Mr. Howitt, the housekeeper’s husband, opened the door. He was of medium height but with a stout, solid build. Sparse strands of silver hair lay combed back, revealing a receding hairline. And deep-set gray eyes under bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows assessed Nathaniel with caution that shifted to recognition.

“Your Grace?” Mr. Howitt asked, frowning. “Goodness, I haven’t seen you for so long! Please, come in.”

He led them through a short hallway into the small sitting room. Mrs. Howitt hurried from their dining room, still chewing. Mrs. Howitt was of slender build, slightly shorter than her spouse, with a graceful posture cultivated from years of managing a household. Her face was framed by waves of soft gray hair tied back in a neat bun, and her bright blue eyes bore the gentle weariness of age. She wore a simple yet tidy blue dress, its faded fabric showing signs of frequent washings and impeccable mending.

“Your Grace!” she said with a warm smile. “Forgive me, we were just having dinner. What can we do for you? Are you back?”

“I’m afraid not yet,” he said. “But this is my wife, Calliope, the Duchess of Kelford. I was wondering if she could stay with you here.”

“Whatever do you mean, she can stay?” asked Calliope, staring at him. “Are you leaving me?”

He didn’t reply, couldn’t face the hurt in her voice. Of course he wanted to stay with her, knowing it may be months before he’d see her again. He wanted nothing more than to see her grow round with the life inside her, see her glow, feel that first kick, hear her talk about the baby and what she felt, and wait for it to arrive together.

And keep her safe.

But he couldn’t stay. His sisters needed him. Besides, the sooner he found Spencer, the sooner she’d be safe.

“Please, will you take care of the duchess while I’m away?” he asked.

He couldn’t look her in the eye knowing how much she must hate him for taking her freedom and independence away from her. If he saw that hatred in her eyes, it would shatter his heart.

“Of course we will,” said Mrs. Howitt. “But wouldn’t it be quite…modest here for a duchess? Your Grace, would you be comfortable?”

“I don’t mind the discomfort,” said Calliope. “I’m sure this will be perfectly pleasant. Especially since His Grace won’t keep me here for long…will he?” she asked him icily.

“I don’t know how long the investigation will take,” he replied, staring at the small watercolor of Kelford Manor hanging on the wall. “I will go and see that man at Portside tomorrow. I will return to you once I find your brother.”

“Nathaniel!” she cried, her voice ringing with indignation and hurt.

“Keep her here, Mrs. Howitt,” he said. “Do not let her out of your sight. Abigail, Her Grace’s maid, will stay with her. If you could find them both a room, I’d be most appreciative. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Then he finally had the courage to face her. He looked into her beautiful eyes for a long time, aching to take the woman he loved into his arms and kiss her. The thought of leaving her tore at his heart. He hadn’t spent a day apart from her for three weeks now, and had thought he’d spend the rest of his life with her like that.

But he knew if he did take her into his arms, he wouldn’t be able to leave her.

And he must leave.

Feeling like he had to physically tear himself away from her, he turned around and left the house. Her footsteps sounded after him, and he accelerated, running to the carriage like a madman. As though chased by death, he climbed into the carriage and shut the door, yelling for the coachman to drive.

In the descending twilight, he didn’t even look at her from the window. His heart was shattered. He hated to leave Calliope there like that, trapped, against her will, but he had no other ideas of how to keep her safe…her and the baby.

She was right. She was too fearless and independent, and had she stayed in London, she would still go investigating and putting herself in danger the second his back was turned.

The most important things in life for him now were her, the baby, and his sisters.