Hawksley stood for a moment in numb shock before he turned and rammed his hand into the wall.
“Lord Doulton,” he growled in self-disgust. “He must have discovered our suspicions and is hoping to trade Clara for our silence. Dear God, what have I done?”
Fighting back the bile that rose to his throat, Hawksley struggled to consider what must come next. He would have ample time later to flog himself for his selfish stupidity. For now nothing mattered but finding Clara.
Absolutely nothing.
“We must begin a search immediately,” he commanded. “I will start with Lord Doulton—”
“Actually, I have hopes such a search will not be necessary,” Dillon interrupted. “Billy returned to warn me of Clara’s abduction, but he left John behind to follow the coach. He will return when he knows where she is being held.”
A measure of the tightness eased in his chest as he cast a rueful glance toward his loyal servant.
“Thank God my staff possesses a few wits even if their employer is a fool.”
Dillon’s expression eased to one of sympathy; perhaps the former thief sensed the raw, aching pain that throbbed deep in Hawksley’s heart.
“We will find her, Hawk.”
“Yes, we will. And then I will deal with Lord Doulton once and for all.” He clapped Dillon upon the shoulder. “You have done well. Fetch me the moment John returns.”
With a swirl of his greatcoat Hawksley turned to head down the narrow hall. He needed to collect his dueling pistols. They would ensure a far more lethal wound than Biddles’s small gun.
And a shot of whiskey would not come amiss.
And perhaps a heavy object to whack against his head for being such an unmitigated ass.
If anything happened to Clara . . .
His steps briefly faltered as that blinding pain once again wrenched through him.
If anything happened to Clara he could not bear to go on living.
Of that he was absolutely certain.
And he would have no one to blame but himself.
He turned to lean his shoulders against the paneled wall as his knees threatened to give way.
Stop this, Hawksley, he grimly commanded himself. Nothing is going to happen to Clara. Not if you have to walk through the very fires of hell to rescue her.
“So at last you return,” a too-familiar male voice groused from the door to the library. “And cast to the wind as usual.”
The prickle of antagonism that always signaled when his father was near raced over Hawksley’s skin as he slowly straightened to confront the unwelcome intruder.
“Father.” His own tone was cold. The very last person he wished to deal with at this moment was the Earl of Chadwick. “I would say this is a pleasant surprise, but we would both know that it was a lie, so why do we not just forgo the niceties and you can be on your way.”
The heavy brows lowered in an expression that the earl held in reserve for his younger son.
“I most certainly will not be on my way. Not at least until I have had my say.”
Curling his hands at his side, Hawksley forced himself to brush past his father and into the library. He could not afford to be distracted. Not now.
“Whatever you have to say will have to wait until a later date. I have no time for your tedious lectures this evening.”
Huffing with indignation, the older man followed closely behind.
“I have not traveled all this way to be put off.”
“No one requested you to travel here.” Reaching the desk, Hawksley pulled out his matching pistols and began to load them with practiced ease. “Indeed, I have never once invited you to do so.”
“Hawksley. What the devil are you doing?” the earl growled. “Do not tell me that you have embroiled yourself in some uncivilized duel?”
“I am going to retrieve my bride.”
“Bride?” Large hands abruptly landed on the desk and his father leaned forward to slay him with a murderous glare. “You cannot mean that shabby tart who—”
Hawksley was around the desk in the blink of an eye, grasping his father’s lapels to haul him forward.
“Never . . . never speak of Clara in such a manner again,” he gritted between clenched teeth.
The earl’s countenance reddened with fury, but there was the faintest hint of unease in his pale eyes. As if he were caught off guard at the realization that Hawksley would at last make a stand against him.
“Who is she?” he attempted to bluster. “Some penniless stray you picked out of the gutter?”
Hawksley narrowed his gaze as he gave his father a shake. “She is a lady in the finest sense of the word and far too good for me. But if by some miracle I can persuade her to have me as her husband, I will devote the rest of my life to ensuring she never has a moment of regret.”
“I forbid it, do you hear me, Hawksley?”
“You can forbid all you like, Father.”
“She will never be welcome at Stonecrest.”
Hawksley smiled with icy satisfaction as he dropped his hands. For years he had allowed himself to carry the wounds his father had inflicted. Nothing he had ever done had been good enough. Nothing could convince the aloof earl that his son could be anything but a disappointment.
Now he realized that it no longer mattered.
He did not need his father’s approval. He did not even need his love. Not when he had Clara.
She completed him in a manner he could never have dreamed possible.
“Nothing would please Clara more than to know she need never darken your door,” he informed the older man, his expression softening as he thought of his logical, practical, utterly delightful angel. “She possesses a fine distaste for your sort of pompous superiority. Did I mention she is quite the most intelligent woman I have ever encountered?”
The earl frowned, but Hawksley did not miss the faint tremor in his hands as he tugged his immaculate coat back into place.
Perhaps you are not quite so certain of yourself as you wish others to believe, he abruptly acknowledged.
“You do not fool me, Hawksley,” the earl at last managed to mutter. “This is nothing more than an attempt to punish me. You think that by embarrassing your family with such an obviously ill-bred chit, you will have had your revenge.”
Shoving the pistols in the waistband of his breeches, Hawksley gave a growl of disgust.
“God, listen to you, you starched prig. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing.” He stabbed a finger in his father’s flushed countenance. “I love Clara. I love her so much that I ache when she is not at my side. And you can make any damnable threat you want, but nothing will change that. She will be my wife. You can accept it or not. I do not give a damn either way. Now out of my way.”
Stalking toward the door Hawksley did not even pause as his father chased behind him.
“Where the blazes are you going?”
“I am going to fetch the only person in this world who has ever truly cared about me.”
Chapter Eighteen
The darkness stirred as Clara battled her way to consciousness.
And promptly wished she hadn’t.
Even before she was fully awake she could feel the heavy throb at the base of her neck. A dull ache that seemed to have settled in for a good long stay.
The temptation to slide back into the numbing blackness beckoned only to be sternly squashed. Even with her senses dulled, she could determine that she was laid upon an unfamiliar mattress and shrouded by the stench of stale air and mold.
It was imperative that she discover where she was and why she had been taken. And to do so as swiftly as possible.