“I think just the downstairs. They wanted to let us—and you—know what happened before too much time had passed.”
How much time? How long had Anne been gone? He stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” Beatrix asked from his left. Selina stood to his right.
“Are we even sure Mallory took her? He wouldn’t hurt her, I don’t think.” Hell, could he really be certain of that? The man had murdered his own flesh and blood. Rafe felt sick.
As Rafe struggled to draw a breath and calm his racing pulse as well as his careening insides, a footman in sharp blue livery walked straight toward him. Good, Ripley had already engaged the retainers. Perhaps they’d found her!
“Mr. Mallory?” the footman asked.
“Yes?”
“I’ve a message for you from Miss Pemberton. You’re to meet her at the folly.”
Rafe’s heart beat even faster. “Where is that?”
The footman pointed away from the house down a hill. “It’s not terribly large, but you can’t miss it. Would you like me to take you?”
“No. I need you to find Lord Northwood and Mr. Sheffield or Lord Rockbourne and tell them we’ve gone to the folly to find Miss Pemberton.”
The footman nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
Rafe spun about and strode toward the hill.
Selina and Beatrix had to practically run to keep up with him. Hell, why wasn’t he running? They’d reached the top of the hill, and he broke into a sprint, letting gravity help him along the way.
“Rafe, wait!” Selina called, but he didn’t slow.
At the base of the hill, he caught sight of the pale stone of the folly. It was smaller and far less ornate than the one at Ivy Grove. This looked more like the partial ruins of an abbey that Henry the Eighth had destroyed.
“Anne?” he called as he arrived at the folly, his chest heaving.
A dark figure stepped out from behind one of the walls, his hand arcing up. Rafe ducked and drove forward with his shoulder, catching the man in the groin. The brigand collapsed with a grunt, but another took his place, his arm coming down and the blade in his hand glinting in the moonlight. Rafe tumbled to avoid the blow and immediately rolled to his back. The floor of the folly, made of flat rocks pieced together, did not make for a soft landing.
He stood over Rafe and snarled, brandishing the knife as he bent. There was a flurry of activity then, of dark red and turquoise skirts swirling and multiple bodies moving. The man above him groaned and pitched forward. Rafe rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding his falling body.
Jumping to his feet, Rafe whipped his knife from his boot and started toward another villain. Glancing around the folly, he counted four men on their feet with the fifth on the ground. Plus Selina and Beatrix, who were wielding their own knives.
“Come at me!” Rafe yelled, trying to distract the men from his sisters. And yes, Beatrix was his sister in every way that mattered, in a way that blood, such as that which he shared with his uncle, did not.
Two of the men turned their attention to Rafe. One called, “Flank him!”
Rafe was ready for them. He held up his right arm as a shield while wielding the knife in his left. That his left was his dominant hand usually gave him an advantage, as his opponents weren’t expecting that.
Holding off one with his arm, he lunged toward the other, aiming his knife for the underside of the man’s chin. While the one man’s blade sliced through Rafe’s sleeve and nicked his flesh, he caught the other’s jaw. Unfortunately, he moved fast enough to avoid real damage.
With a low growl, Rafe threw his leg out and tripped the man who’d cut his arm, sending him to the ground.
“Rafe, I have a pistol!” Beatrix shouted.
“Use it!” he called.
The report of the weapon filled the night air as one of the men fell to the stones.
Suddenly, there were more people, and a moment later, the remaining three brigands were on the ground.
Harry stood over them, pistol in hand. “You’re all going to face the magistrate. I work for Bow Street.”
One of the men swore.
Rafe moved to stand next to Harry. “Where is Anne?”
The trio stared up at him but said nothing. He bent down and grabbed the one on the left by the front of his coat. “Tell me where she is, or I will cut out your entrails and make you eat them.”
The color drained from the villain’s face as he looked wildly toward Harry. “Ye can’t let ’im do that.”
“I don’t think I can stop him. After all, he’s only trying to prevent you from escaping. Who are you working for?”
“No one,” snapped the man in the middle.
Rafe dropped the first man and transferred his attention to the one who’d just spoken. “You just happen to find yourself dressed like Quality in the middle of a ball to which you weren’t invited with the intent of luring me away.” He put his foot on the man’s neck. “Who are you working for?”
“I’d tell him if I were you,” Harry said blandly.
Eyes wide, the criminal blurted, “Lord Stone. He took the chit with him.”
Rafe pressed his boot down. “Where?”
“Ivy something,” the man croaked.
“Ivy Grove,” Rafe said as he turned and started from the folly.
“Wait!” Harry called, grabbing him by the arm. “You can’t go alone.”
“I don’t care who comes with me, but I’m going now.”
Anthony and Jane arrived with their host, Ripley. The latter man frowned as he surveyed the scene in the folly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“Ripley, we need horses,” Harry said.
The marquess nodded. “Tell the head groom at the stable I said to saddle whatever you need.”
Rafe started toward the house. He was only vaguely aware of the stable’s location, but he’d find it. He ran, but not at the sprint he’d used to get to the folly.
“This way,” Harry said, bumping his arm as he ran by.
Following him, Rafe was heartened to see that not only Harry had
