Katherine tensed and repeated her question. “What do you want?”
“Just a little time with the young duke,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “Nothing more.”
She swallowed the lump of fear that arose at the mention of her brother—confirmation that Shelbourne had been behind the kidnappings the whole time. She felt so foolish for trusting him, for reaching out to him after Frederick went missing—the very man responsible! “You will never get to him.”
Shelbourne’s smile was disturbingly confident. “We have means of persuasion, my dear, that have proven to be quite effective. One way or another, the boy will soon be in our hands.”
Anger burst in her chest. “What could you possibly want with him? He’s a child.”
“Ah, but the duke is not just any child, is he?”
Katherine clenched her teeth. The arrogance and sly pleasure in the man’s voice was infuriating. “I don’t understand.”
Shelbourne sighed. “You see, my dear, the prior Marquess of Warfield was quite helpful in recommending your father for a special task we needed completed. The old man claimed Charles Blackwell would be easily biddable. He was wrong in that but he was correct in your father’s talents. No one has been able to replicate your father’s results and we are running out of patience.”
Steeling herself for the answer she already knew was coming, she met Shelbourne’s emotionless grey gaze. “Did you kill my father?”
He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Your father’s death was an unavoidable consequence.”
Grief and anger burned hot in her blood, but the man across from her didn’t seem to notice as he continued. “We couldn’t allow your father to destroy the work he’d done. After months, he’d finally managed to create the proper formula. The potion did everything we needed it to. And then he dared take it away from us. Unfortunately, his notes have not done a whole lot of good since our people have been unable to do anything with them. Every attempt has failed to produce the results your father reported. It has been infinitely frustrating.” He smiled. “Luckily, before his untimely death, Warfield managed to recall that the young duke was known to be quite a genius. Surpassing even his father.”
The way he mentioned her great-uncle’s death had her suspicious that he’d somehow arranged for his demise. She couldn’t bring herself to mourn the prior marquess when he had betrayed them so completely.
“You’re making a grave mistake,” she warned.
“I don’t think so. In fact, if he’s even half as clever as he’s reported to be, I have every confidence your brother will solve all our problems.” Shelbourne’s expression turned darkly forbidding. “Especially once he understands what will happen to his sister if he doesn’t.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
A stir at Shelbourne’s front door drew Mason’s attention. Peering through the darkness, he cursed his wretched view. A hideously painted black carriage had pulled up a short time ago, and he’d had to reposition himself farther away in order to continue watching the townhouse.
He thought he caught a glimpse of the lavender gown Katherine had been wearing, but from his current angle, he couldn’t tell what was happening. If she’d decided to leave the party early, he wasn’t about to complain.
Unfortunately, due to all the other vehicles lining the road, it would take a few minutes to have Newton drive the carriage up from where he was waiting down the lane. With a muttered curse, he started toward the house. As soon as he was close enough to confirm it was Katherine in the doorway, he turned back to give a wave, hoping Newton would see it and pull the carriage up to meet them.
He looked back to the townhouse just in time to see two men carrying Katherine’s slumped form down the down the steps, straight to the waiting black carriage.
What the—
Shock and rage claimed him in a chaotic explosion, bursting from his throat in a primal roar that echoed through the night as he bolted into a dead run.
He watched in horror as the carriage lurched forward. He wasn’t going to reach it. They were getting away!
Another sound of raw fury forced its way up from Mason’s chest. Stark terror twisted through his stomach. Though every primitive instinct urged him to keep after her, he’d never catch them on foot. Heart pounding, he prayed for the first time in his life as he begged whatever power was in control that Newton had seen his wave. He glanced swiftly over his shoulder to see if the Northmoor carriage was near. Instead, a curricle pulled by two horses approached at a reckless speed before coming to an abrupt stop beside him.
The Marquess of Warfield stared at Mason from the driver’s perch with eyes that glittered strangely in the dark. Mason had known a few men with eyes like his—frozen, emotionless—but none with this man’s sharp intensity.
“Get in.”
Mason didn’t hesitate. He leapt into the swift two-wheeled vehicle. The second his arse landed in the seat, Warfield flicked the reins and they started off. The black carriage was already slipping into the darkness ahead of them.
“Faster, dammit,” Mason growled. He didn’t trust the man beside him one fucking bit and had no idea why he’d inserted himself into this rescue, but as long as they were following Katherine, he’d have jumped in with the devil himself.
The man beside him gave another flick of the reins and the curricle leapt to greater speed, forcing Mason to focus on keeping his seat.
“If we lose them, I’ve an idea where they’re likely to be going. Though...if I’m right, it doesn’t bode well for your lady.”
Warfield’s voice was starkly controlled despite the breakneck pace they were keeping through the streets.
Mason turned a glare on the man. “What d’you know of it?”
Without shifting his focus from the street in front of them, Warfield replied, “Lord Shelbourne, the gentleman
