And it would be equally predictable for Spencer, who by now knew his scheme was collapsing, to set Collins loose on his enemies.

Considering those points, if Annabel was fleeing from Collins, she would never return to her family home and risk them. After all, she’d fled Lambourn House rather than risk Mother and the girls. Going to Chilworth Manor or Kennet Hall would require a public coach and waiting for the day of travel.

There was only one home remaining, though it was empty of anything but dust and shrouds. Jasper found himself hoping she considered Ramsbury House her home but praying she hadn’t gone there alone.

“I could run faster than this,” he grumbled as he looked out the window.

“That would be a fine news story. Armed Marquess Dashes through Piccadilly with Bastard Cousin in Frantic Pursuit.” Kit touched the barrel of Jasper’s pistol, encouraging him to lower it. “We also shouldn’t brandish our weapons out the windows.”

Jasper set the gun on the seat between him and Travis and dropped his elbows to his knees. Maybe they would move faster if he didn’t watch. And, indeed, it did sound as though the horses began to make better speed.

If Collins had followed Annabel to St. James Street, God only knew what they would find. If he had caught her before she’d reached the house, they might not find her at all.

Travis put a hand on his arm, which sent his heels to the floor. The clip-clopping steps ceased.

Three sympathetic, yet irritated, faces stared at him.

“Apologies,” he mumbled.

They made the turn from Piccadilly onto St. James, and Lawrence pulled the team to a stop. Kit put a hand to Jasper’s chest, making him wait until last to exit.

“Grown man,” he grumbled.

“Frantic husband,” Kit shot back.

It was a fair warning. As worried as Jasper was about Annabel, he had to keep his wits.

Their small group gathered a great deal of attention. Part of it was likely due to the coach, which was far too grand for a day in the park. Most of it, however, could be attributed to six armed men in the middle of the street.

“Travis and I will go through the back and up the servants’ stairs,” Stapleton said. He took the key Jasper offered—his mother’s spare. “Frederick and Lawrence, you’re responsible for keeping their lordships safe.”

It wasn’t lost on Jasper that his butler had resumed the role of commander and put himself between Collins and escape.

The older man put a hand on his shoulder. “She will be fine, sir. And he will not get past us.”

The remaining four waited until Travis had rounded the corner and disappeared down the alley. Then they walked at a painfully slow pace toward the house in the middle of the row.

As they drew nearer, Jasper grew transfixed by the spot in the pavement where he’d been standing as Raines approached, bent on harming Annabel. His still-soft scar itched under his shirt.

To their left, the door to Ramsbury House stood open. Kit put himself in front of Jasper and stepped forward. Lawrence stopped him, allowing Frederick to take the lead.

“Serves you right, Lord Warwick.” Jasper chuckled.

“Still in front of you.” Kit looked over his shoulder, a cocksure grin on his face.

Lawrence fell in behind, and the long barrel of his rifle floated into Jasper’s peripheral vision. “I know you’re worried about her, sir. But if I say fall, you do it.”

Jasper nodded and drew a deep breath as he stepped over the threshold.

A pistol lay on the floor between the library and the stairs, surrounded by a sprawl of rubble that had once been the bust of Plato. A large, bloody handprint circled the walnut orb at the base of the baluster.

Annabel had put up a fight. Jasper exhaled and smiled. Of course she had. “Stepping over the mess would have slowed her,” he said. “She went up the back stairs.”

“She did at that.” The voice came from above.

Collins wasn’t much taller than Annabel, which made her the perfect shield. Rather than a pistol at her head, he held his thick black cane across her throat.

She looked ready to chew nails. Her hands were fists at her side.

Jasper worked his tongue against his teeth to moisten his dry throat. Nothing would be helped if his command cracked in the middle. “Mr. Collins, release my wife.”

“I need you to listen,” the man shouted back, his words slurred. “And I think you’re more likely to do what I want if I have your lady wife with me.”

He weaved on his feet. Jasper wasn’t sure if was due to a day in the pub or the blow to his head, which left a bloody trail through his graying hair.

All Jasper needed to do was keep him occupied so he didn’t hear Stapleton and Travis on the back stairs.

And keep him from harming Annabel.

“All right.” Jasper tightened his hold on his pistol. “What do you want?”

“I want that bastard there out of Wales and leaving me alone.” He nodded toward Kit. “And he needs to take that French bitch with him.”

“You need to watch your language in front of the lady,” Jasper said. This was his home and his wife. He wasn’t going to cower and comply. “But tell me why, out of everything you could ask, you want that.”

“I had a good scheme there. No one was getting hurt, and we weren’t causing trouble for anyone but Her Royal Highness in whichever castle she wants. Men were able to feed their families and have a few quid in their pockets.”

“Until you blow the mine.” Kit’s words landed like stones.

“Closing an empty hole won’t do nobody harm,” Collins sneered. “We’ll have a few weeks on a picket line and maybe come out the better for it.”

Annabel flinched every time he spoke, which only served to make Collins tighten his hold.

“A mine is never empty, Abel,” Kit said. “You know that. And you also know that death adds legitimacy to any strike and urgency to any negotiations. Are you certain Spencer means to keep this bloodless?”

Collins blinked at them.

How long will it take Stapleton and Travis to get up the stairs? How will I know when they are there?

“He’s not a man to trust, Abel.” Kit sounded calm, but his hands were shaking.

“Says the man who wants to stretch my neck for murder.” Collins lifted Annabel’s chin to a height that made Jasper lose his breath.

Something in her fist caught the light, like jewels under a chandelier in a ballroom. That made no sense. The only jewels she kept at home were her wedding ring and her hatpin.

“Dear God,” Lawrence muttered. “She wouldn’t.”

She would, if pressed. The only option was to keep everyone, including Annabel, calm.