Ewan handed the note back. “Read it.”
“Me?” Arthur pointed a finger at his chest. “Uh, yes, sir.” He opened the note, breaking the seal with a look so guilty he might have been pilfering jewels. Arthur cleared his throat. “It says, ‘Mr. Mostyn, please come directly. There is an urgent matter we must discuss.’”
Ewan snatched the note out of the footman’s hand. The pounding in his head doubled, the thuds of pain coinciding with the hammering of his heart. He scanned the letter, some of the words jumping out at him. Then he looked up at Ridlington’s servant. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, sir. I was sent to fetch you.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t—”
Ewan slammed the footman against the door none too gently. “You know something. Is it Lady Lorraine?” Don’t let it be Lorraine.
“I don’t know for certain,” Arthur squeaked.
“Guess.”
“I think it has something to do with her.”
Ewan released the footman, who straightened his livery coat. “Nell was frantic this morning and closed herself in Mrs. Davies’s room. Then Mrs. Davies and Mr. Bellweather and Nell all scurried upstairs like the house was on fire. Only it weren’t.”
“Wait.” Ewan shut the door and dressed hastily. He didn’t bother to shave, and he was pulling on his coat when he opened the door and walked past Arthur. The footman ran after him. Knowing the footman would have come on foot, Ewan hailed a hackney and gave the jarvey Ridlington’s address. It was not yet nine in the morning, but London’s streets were bustling. The journey seemed interminable, and Ewan’s head felt as though it would roll off his shoulders every time the conveyance bounced.
Finally, they arrived, and Ewan was out of the cab before the wheels had come to a stop. He didn’t knock on the door, but shoved it open and seeing no one, yelled, “Ridlington.”
The butler appeared at the top of the stairs, a frown on his face. Ewan didn’t give a damn if he’d broken every rule of etiquette. He would see the duke now. “Where is His Grace?”
“In the drawing room, Mr. Mostyn.” The butler started down the stairs.
Ewan held up a hand. “Stay there.” He took the steps two at a time, and when he reached the top, he did not wait to be announced. He opened the drawing room doors and stepped inside.
Fear gripped his chest like an iron waistcoat when he saw the duke and duchess of Ridlington. They sat in silence, hands clasped, while their eldest son, Lord Perrin, paced the room. When Ewan entered, Lord Perrin pointed an accusing finger at him. “Where the devil have you been?”
Ewan ignored him, looking from Lorraine’s mother to her father.
The duchess raised a bejeweled hand. “Charles, do not make a scene.”
Ewan’s gaze locked on the duke. “Where is she?”
The duke’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’ve heard?”
Ewan hadn’t heard. He’d said the first words that popped into his mind, but he had hoped he was speaking out of fear. Now the fear became something tangible. An iron cravat clamped on his neck. He could not swallow. He could not breathe.
Lorraine was gone.
Eloped? No, she wouldn’t. She’d told his cousin her affections for him had changed. Lady Lorraine might be impulsive, but he didn’t think her fickle. Had she gone to St. James’s again and this time met with trouble en route?
“Tell me everything you know,” Ewan demanded.
“If you’d been here, you would already know,” Lord Perrin sneered. “And Lorrie wouldn’t be missing.”
Ewan was a man with an abundance of patience, but at the moment it was fleeing him fast. He gave the duke a hard look. “If you’d like your heir to keep all of his limbs, Your Grace, you’d better make him shut his mouth.”
“I’ll make you shut your mouth.” Perrin started for him, but the duke rose and the action halted his son.
“That’s enough, Charles. Mr. Mostyn does not answer to you. He had no obligation to be here last night. This is not his fault.”
Ewan couldn’t help but feel it was. Lorraine was his responsibility. He should have stayed near. If anything had happened to Lorraine, anything at all, Ewan would kill the person responsible and then spend the rest of his short life blaming himself.
When his son retreated, the duke looked at Ewan. “Mr. Mostyn, we had a quiet night. We dined at home, as we planned, and Lady Lorraine seemed tired and retired early, perhaps half nine.”
“Yes, it was half nine,” the duchess said. “I remember the clock had just chimed the half hour.”
The duke nodded. “Her maid helped her prepare for bed, and then Lorrie dismissed her. Nell says she went to bed. This morning when she went to wake my daughter, her chamber was empty.”
A thousand thoughts tumbled through Ewan’s mind. He was no detective and had no way of sorting them out. He did know Lorraine. “Where is her dog?”
“What has the bloody dog to do with anything?” Perrin asked.
Ewan whipped around and slammed his fist into the man’s temple. The marquess crumpled. The duchess gasped, but Perrin didn’t rise.
“Forgive me,” Ewan said, feeling the vise on his throat loosen the tiniest fraction.
The duke held up both hands. “I supposed he asked for it.”
Ewan thought he’d asked for much more than a blow to the head. He’d asked to have his nose broken, but Ewan didn’t think the duchess would forgive blood on her carpets.
“The dog?” Ewan reminded him.
The duke’s brows drew together. “I don’t know. Bellweather,” he said to the butler, who stood at the drawing room doors gaping at the fallen Lord Perrin. “Go fetch Lady Lorraine’s maid.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Ewan paced the room while they waited. The duchess remained on the yellow chintz settee, and the duke stood beside the gold chaise longue. No one seemed too concerned about the unconscious Lord Perrin on the floor beneath the ormolu side table. Ewan stepped over the prone man and went to the windows. He parted the heavy gold drapes and peered out onto Berkley Square. He hadn’t noticed the cold earlier, but now he noted the men and women passing by were bundled warmly, despite the fact it was almost summer. The wind blew leaves across the brown grass of the park, just a few yards away, and the sun was hidden behind a gray fortress of clouds.
Finally, the door opened again, and Ewan watched Nell curtsy to the duke and duchess. Her gaze flicked to the marquess on the floor, but she hastily averted her eyes.
“Thank you for coming, Nell,” the duchess said. “Now that you’ve had a few moments to look through Lady Lorraine’s room, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
Nell cleared her throat. “Yes, Your Grace. None of her dresses are gone. Before—” Her gaze darted to Ewan.
“You may speak in front of Mr. Mostyn, Nell,” the duchess assured her.
Nell nodded. “When she tried to elope, she packed a valise with her favorite dresses and books. This time she left everything here. Wherever she is, she’s still wearing her night rail.”