Stapleton, a shotgun in his lap, gave a long-suffering sigh. “Sir. I could hardly lock her in her room like a child.”
Jasper didn’t blame the man for his impertinence. He’d asked the same question at least twice since they’d all climbed into the carriage, not to mention shouting it while standing in the hall.
“Tell me again.” Anything to keep his mind from what could happen to Annabel as they crept down Piccadilly toward St. James Street.
“The…lady knocked on the back door, brandishing your card and demanding to wait until you returned. Since your mother and sisters were expected home, I thought it best to ask Lady Ramsbury for assistance.”
So he’d asked Annabel to meet with Sally in the drawing room, which still smelled of cloying roses.
“After a few moments, she showed the visitor out the way she’d come. I thought the meeting had gone well—they both seemed in good spirits, as much as I could tell—but then your wife went upstairs for her hat and coat.”
And said she was going home.
It was easy to believe she’d been upset after meeting a doxy from the docks who bore his calling card. He’d spent precious moments raging that she’d assumed the worst of him—again.
But then he’d calmed and seen past the superficial. Sally wouldn’t have come to Mayfair on a lark, and the only connection they had was a knowledge of Collins.
If Kit’s campaign to split Collins and Spencer had worked, it would be predictable for the man to travel from Wales to London and confront his partner in crime.
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.
