Anthony rushed to Hudson, gripping him by the lapels. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” he shouted, shaking the young man. “I never would have let her return to that neighborhood if I would have known of the danger.”

  Merrick peeled him away. “Turning on one another and casting blame is pointless. We have to think how to get them back.”

  He knew Merrick had been an officer in the Peninsular Wars and would know how to keep a cool head during a crisis.

  “What do we do?” he asked. “I’ll pay anything. Everything. I can’t lose her. Them.”

  “We return to your house,” Merrick said. “The ransom note could come tonight or even tomorrow. This Farmon may wish to drive you to your breaking point before he makes known how much he wants for their return.”

  “It won’t matter,” Hudson said dully. “You can pay him a king’s ransom. He won’t release Laurel. He’ll keep her for himself. She humiliated him. He’s a vengeful bastard. He’ll never let her go.”

  Blind rage struck Anthony. He turned wildly, not knowing what to do. All rational thought fled as he thought of another man touching Laurel. A primal scream erupted, its piercing wail sounding inhuman. He fell to his knees, a wave of helplessness overcoming him.

  Everton helped bring him to his feet. Their gazes met. Determination flooded Anthony as a calm descended upon him. Years of honing his rage and directing it elsewhere finally took over.

  “I will fight to Hell and back—but I will bring them home,” he said.

  “We will return to your house,” Everton said. “Merrick will go and retrieve a few Bow Street Runners. We will wait together for the ransom demand.”

  “Merrick and I will follow whoever delivers it,” Lord Alford said. “We can be on opposite sides of the streets and trade off tracking the messenger. See if he goes back to this Farmon. Or learn if someone else is behind this scheme.”

  The men left the library without a word. Merrick peeled off from the others to make his way to the Runners’ headquarters in Covent Garden while the rest returned to the Linfield townhouse.

  When they arrived, Alford motioned to Hudson. Anthony knew they would wait outside at a distance in case the ransom note arrived before Merrick returned. Everton accompanied him inside.

  “Where is your aunt? Does she know anything?”

  “No. I merely told her Laurel and Hannah were delayed at the orphanage.”

  “It would be best to keep her in the dark,” the duke advised. “Think of something.”

  “I’ll go see her now.”

  He found Aunt Constance reading in her sitting room. She smiled. “There you are, Anthony. How are the girls?”

  “They are involved in a special project of the Duchess of Everton’s making,” he lied smoothly. “They are with her and several other important society matrons and will still be tied up for several hours.”

  “They won’t be attending tonight’s rout?”

  “No, Aunt Constance. I fear Her Grace will keep them busy well into the night.”

  “Oh, well. I have grown rather weary of attending so many society events in a row. I think I will take my book and read in bed all night.”

  “I may do the same. I see no point in attending the rout without Laurel or Hannah.”

  She smiled. “I’m so glad you and Laurel seemed to have come to an understanding, Anthony. She’s just lovely.”

  “She’s more than lovely, Aunt. She is the woman I love,” he said earnestly, his heart twisting, knowing that it was possible he might never see her again.

  Her eyes widened at his remark, a radiant smile lighting her face. “Oh, Anthony. I’m so happy for you.” She embraced him for a long moment. “It’s what I’ve always wished for you. To find happiness. Love. You’ll create a family all of your own.”

  “You are a part of that family, Aunt,” he said, his voice breaking.

  There would be no family—no children—nothing. Unless he got Laurel back.

  He left her and returned to Everton. “Aunt Constance won’t be a problem. At least for tonight.”

  “We should wait close to the front door.”

  “In here,” he said, leading them to a small parlor for visitors just off the foyer.

  The men sat in silence for some minutes before Everton spoke.

  “You seem a different man in recent weeks,” he noted.

  “I am. Now that I have Laurel in my life.”

  “I saw you kiss her at the Prattfords’ ball.”

  That kiss seemed a lifetime ago.

  “I did. Laurel thought a public kiss might start a bit of a scandal.”

  Everton smiled. “Kissing your wife in public is exactly the right kind of scandal.” He paused. “Do you love her?”

  “Desperately. If I don’t get her back . . .” He shook his head.

  “We will. I know of this Julius Farmon and some of his business dealings. Together, we will see Laurel and Hannah returned and squash him like a bug.”

  “I want more than that,” Anthony said fervently. “I want him dead. If he’s touched Laurel—or Hannah—I will see him in Hell.”

  They sat again in silence until Merrick arrived, three Bow Street Runners in tow.

  “They’ve been informed of the situation and will take up a post outside,” the marquess said. “I’ll summon the others.”

  Before Merrick could leave, though, a maid entered. Anthony saw the note in her hand and snatched it. He read it and turned to her.

  “When did this come?” he asked, his voice calm though emotion rocked through him.

  “Some lad came to the back door and gave it to a scullery maid. She gave it to Cook. Cook gave it to me, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you,” he said, dismissing her. He knew by now the messenger would be long gone. He read aloud, “Five o’clock in the morning. The day after tomorrow. Twenty thousand pounds. Rotten Row. Come alone on foot. We’ll be watching.”

  It struck Anthony that the ducal carriage Laurel and Hannah had departed in had never returned. He wondered what had happened to the servants who accompanied them.

  The Runners introduced themselves quickly and then two departed with Merrick. Within minutes, the family members had returned.

  Waxby, the Runner in charge, said, “The others will keep watch on the house tonight, both the front and back doors. They will be replaced during the day and another shift will come on tomorrow night. Those will be rotated until we bring home your wife and sister, Your Grace. Lord Merrick shared your suspicions regarding Julius Farmon and I’ve sent two more Runners to keep watch on where he keeps an office. It’s likely he’s holding his hostages nearby. By reputation, Farmon is a careful man. He would not want them far from him.”

  Continuing, the Runner said, “I already have someone in place who will visit Farmon’s establishment and ascertain its layout for us. If he can, he’ll not only scout the location but try to glean any information he can. See if the women were sighted. Get into the upper story and basement if possible.” Pausing, he asked, “Are you willing to pay the ransom?”

  “Yes,” Anthony hissed. “I will go to my bank first thing tomorrow and make arrangements.”

  “It’s a good deal of money, Linfield,” Everton said. “I doubt a bank would have that sum on hand, much less be willing to part with it all in a single transaction. Requesting to withdraw so much might prove difficult—and arouse suspicion. It’s also my sister being held. Let me at least share in the cost. I can withdraw half.”

  Merrick and Alford said, “I’m in,” at the same time, and Merrick added, “A smaller sum will be easier for all of us to withdraw. Put together, we can make the ransom easily.”

  A wave of emotion rippled through Anthony. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Everton gripped his shoulder. “Of course, we do. We are family.”

  The support—and love—Anthony was being shown nearly brought him to his knees.

  “An excellent idea, Your Grace,” Waxby praised. “You can all go at separate times to make your withdrawals. Use different branches. One or two of you might even mention a business opportunity in which you’re interested in investing a large amount of capital.” The Runner looked to Anthony. “We’ll do our best to follow the money and see it returned.”

  “I don’t care about the money,” he said. “I will reimburse every man here if a farthing goes missing. I only want Laurel and Hannah back.” He swallowed. “And hopefully, the driver and footman that were with them.”

  “Now that we know the place the exchange will occur, I will scout it now and again tomorrow. I want to see the best areas to place agents. We’ll also have several men on horseback who will follow the carriage. We won’t let Farmon get away, Your Grace.”

  “I want him brought to me,” Anthony said firmly. “I will deal with him.”

  He wasn’t going to openly talk murder in front of these men.

  But he had no intention of letting Julius Farmon live.

  And every man in the room knew it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anthony finally rose. Staying in bed would be a waste of time. He’d only dozed a bit, not truly getting any real sleep. Hopefully, he would be able to sleep after all the arrangements had been finalized with Waxby later today. He needed his mind to be sharp and clear by tomorrow morning at this time.

  He shaved and dressed on his own and slipped down the stairs, knowing at some point today he would have to tell Aunt Constance something. What, he hadn’t the foggiest notion. He cut through the kitchen and left the townhouse using a rear door. Waxby had scheduled a meeting of all the men at Everton’s residence for six this morning. The Bow Street Runner thought it wise for them to meet somewhere different in case Anthony’s house was being watched. The less Farmon knew of their activities, the better.

  He set out for his brother-in-law’s on foot, walking for less than five minutes before arriving. He entered by a back gate and froze in his tracks.

  His carriage sat in the yard behind the house.

  Anthony ran to it and flung open the door. No one was inside the vehicle. The slim ray of hope vanished. It had been foolish to believe Laurel and Hannah would be inside. Grimly, he went to the back entrance and stepped inside, moving through the kitchen and heading straight to the library. Though he was still half an hour early, the entire room was already filled with family members and Waxby. Another man, unknown to him, stood in a far corner, warily watching the group.

  Everyone greeted him with firm handshakes and reassuring grips to his shoulder. Anthony took a seat, looking to Waxby.

  “I have much to report, Your Grace,” the man in charge began. “First, your abandoned coach was found in Hampstead Heath yesterday. I had it brought here. Inside it were your driver and a footman.”

  “Alive?” he asked.

  “Yes. They were brought to headquarters and questioned. The footman remembers nothing. He was struck on the head from behind and knocked unconscious. The driver was ordered down from his seat at gunpoint. He gave a good description of the two men involved in the kidnapping. One is Braxton, who serves as Julius Farmon’s right-hand man. He’s known to be savvy—and brutal. The other one is Sims. He’s used strictly for his muscle. Not a brain in his head. Both servants were bound hand and foot and left in the coach the entire time. The driver was able to tell us that both Her Grace and Lady Hannah had been placed in the vehicle once they left the orphanage, and the coach only traveled a short distance. Your driver thought they parked in an alley since the brick building was so close to the carriage that it was hard to get the door open the entire way. The women were removed and taken inside.”

  “Where are my servants now?” Anthony asked.

  “They are at one of the safe houses we use from time to time,” Waxby said. “I thought it best not to return them to your household. Too many questions. We don’t want word of the ladies’ abduction to get out and cause a fly in the ointment.”

  “What about Rotten Row?” Hudson asked. “You said you would look it over and decide where to station your agents.”

  “I did that personally,” Waxby confirmed. “We will have two Runners there and another three on horseback at a greater distance. They will move into position at midnight tonight, so they’ll be there well before the five o’clock exchange. We also sent two men into Farmon’s saloon last night.”

  Anthony’s gut tightened.

  “One was able to slip downstairs into the basement and found nothing. He did, however, meet Mr. Johnson.” Waxby turned and motioned over the stranger.

  He saw the man was younger than he’d first thought, probably not even twenty years of age. He had brown hair and a lean, wiry frame.

  “This is Mr. Johnson,” the Runner said. “He works for Farmon.”

  A wave of rage surged through Anthony. It took him a moment to control it. He wanted to jerk the man off his feet and throttle him simply for being associated with Julius Farmon.

  Johnson looked at Anthony. “I’m a good man, Your Grace. I took the only job I could find as a barkeep for Farmon. I seen too many things I don’t like the six months I’ve been employed there but I have a younger sister I need to feed.”

  “Mr. Johnson has cooperated with the Runners, Your Grace, in the hopes that you will find him and his sister employment elsewhere. I told him we couldn’t guarantee it but that you owned many properties and would be grateful for his assistance in getting your wife and sister back.”

  “Whatever you want,” Anthony promised. “You may stay in London at my townhouse. Go to one of many country estates. Work in any capacity you choose. Just tell us what you know.”

  Waxby nodded and Johnson said, “I seen your wife and sister when they were brought in yesterday afternoon. I’d just come on duty and was out dumping rubbish. Sims drove the carriage away while Braxton took the women inside to Farmon’s office. I followed at a distance. I knew something wasn’t right. The way they were dressed. They weren’t sporting girls for upstairs.”

  Johnson paused and took a deep breath. “I waited down the corridor until Braxton brought them out. Their wrists were tied. He led them upstairs.”

  “Do you know where they are? What room?”

  “No, Your Grace. I returned to the bar and went back to work. It weren’t right, though. They were ladies. I felt bad for them. So when the Runner came around, asking a few questions, I knew I had to help. Farmon’ll slice my throat, though, if’n he figures out I’ve talked.”

  “Mr. Johnson has already provided us with a diagram of the entire layout of the building,” continued Waxby. “If we attempt to rescue the ladies, we wouldn’t be going in blind.”

  “Is that a possibility?” Everton asked. “Or too great a risk?”

  “It will be up to His Grace to decide what action we take,” the Runner said. “I believe we need to prepare as if the ransom is to be paid. Have the four of you go to the bank and withdraw the funds. Have my men in place at Rotten Row.”

  “How many do you think Farmon might bring tomorrow morning?” Anthony asked. “If several men accompany him, it might be a good time to strike at the brothel. Especially at that time of the morning, the clients will have gone home. The whores would have gone to bed. There’d be no customers in the saloon. It would be the perfect time to attempt a rescue.”

  “It would,” Waxby agreed. “If Farmon doesn’t move the women. I seriously doubt he’ll be involved in the ransom drop.”

  Hudson spoke up. “I’ve already told you, Farmon has no intention of bringing Laurel or Hannah to the park. He’ll want the money and keep the women, whether at his brothel or somewhere else.”

  “Some kidnappers demand the exchange of money and don’t bring their prisoner to the meet. Instead, they share where the abductee can be found. Sometimes they are there. Sometimes they aren’t,” Waxby said, his voice deliberately neutral.

  “If Hudson is right and Farmon has no plans to relinquish them, then he might move them while the exchange of money takes place,” Anthony pointed out. “He would think we believed Laurel and Hannah would be at Rotten Row to be traded. If he planned to move them anywhere, that would be the perfect time to do so, especially with no traffic on the streets. Either we could wait outside for a bit and catch them being transferred, or it would be the perfect time to enter his property and save them.”

  “There can be no we, Linfield,” Merrick said. “You need to be at Rotten Row. Leave it to the rest of us to—”

  “Wait,” Alford interrupted. “This Farmon doesn’t move in society. He’s never seen Linfield. Even if he had, I doubt Farmon will be at the exchange. Let me go in Linfield’s place. We’re approximately the same height and build. We both have blond hair. I can play Linfield and deliver the ransom so he can go to the brothel with the rest of you.”

  “You would do that?” Anthony asked. “It could be dangerous. The kidnappers could take the money—and kill you.”

  “You must be there when Laurel and Hannah are found. They’ll need you after the trauma they’ve faced,” Alford said. “There’ll be Runners about who can protect me.” He paused and confessed, “Besides, if it had been Leah and Catherine taken, I would be out of my mind. I would want to be there when they were found. I know any man here feels the same and would gladly take your place. I just happen to resemble you the most from a distance.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Anthony realized just how united this family was. How close their ties and loyalty lay with one another.

  And he was a part of it now.

  He offered Alford his hand. “Thank you.” He looked around the circle. “Thank you all. I now understand the deep connection and strong bond we have, linked by blood or marriage. Together, we are stronger, better men. For ourselves and our families.”

  “We will go forward with our plans then,” Waxby said. “Lord Alford will take His Grace’s place tomorrow morning, with the funds in hand that the four of you will withdraw sometime today. I’ll have men stationed in and near Rotten Row. I’ll also arrange a separate mission at Farmon’s saloon.” He looked to the barkeep. “Johnson, you need to remain behind after closing tonight. Be our eyes and ears inside. You’ll also unlock the door and allow us to gain entry in case the women aren’t brought out.”