Blake cursed. Just how had she even learned about Mrs. Dove-Lyon? “We must stop her.”
“I’ve sent a man to delay her journey so that you have time to catch up.”
Blake hesitated. It had been years since he’d left this estate. Twelve, in fact. He didn’t like traveling. He liked London even less. His father had defiled that entire city with his seed. When Blake had retired to Dorset, he had sworn he would never set foot there again. Now, it seemed he’d have no choice.
“What about the viscount and Baston?
“Baston seems to be holding the viscount hostage. As of now, he does not know Lady Rosilee has left their estate.”
Meaning if he wanted to help her, he had a small window of time to catch her. “So, it’s not only a chase, but a race as well.”
“Do you not enjoy racing?”
“Not this sort of race!”
“Well, I’m afraid if you do not make haste, your chance to pay the lady back will be squandered and you shall suffer a life of regret. After all, I daresay you can provide a far better proposal than Baston or the veiled widow.”
Blake clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to lash out. It was true—he could offer her protection, a marriage of convenience that would save her from the likes of Baston and those daredevils that frequented the Lyon’s Den. But what kind of life could he truly promise her? A cold, isolated existence in a barren castle?
Besides, presently, they were strangers to each other.
And yet, the mere idea of her going to that debauched lair of vice, of some other man claiming her... set his blood boiling. He thought of Lady Rosilee—her fierce spirit that had captivated him all those years ago. The memory of the fire in her eyes, her bold rescue from the drunken duke...
Blake cursed under his breath strode from his study.
He had tried so hard to keep his distance, to convince himself that she was better off without him even when he felt desperate to approach her, to catch another glimpse of her. She deserved more than the broken man he had become. But he couldn’t sit back and allow a manhisman had hired to ruin her life.
“Ready my horse,” he instructed.
Bishop’s lips twitched into a grin. “Already saddled.”
Blake scowled at the man but said nothing.
“I’ve also readied the carriage,” Bishop said, following him.
“Why would you ready that?”
“Because I do not wish to accompany you on horseback. I much prefer the warmth of the carriage.”
“You are not accompanying me.”
“But I shudder to imagine what would happen if I am not there to provide sage advice and comfort when needed.”
Blake refused to argue with the man. “Fine, come. I shall drop you at the ditch from whence I picked you up.”
“Such cruel words.”
Blake snorted. “Send a man to inquire about her brother. If you can, retrieve him and escort him to Falconridge Manor.”
“Are you sure that is wise?” Bishop asked with a skeptical brow.
“Why would it not be wise?”
“Oh, I can list a hundred reasons, but I won’t.”
Fine. He would admit—itmightlook like just another kidnapping. To some. To the viscount. To anyone with a shredof sense. But Blake had never been one to concern himself with appearances. He was doing what needed to be done.
“Or do you want me to list out every single one?” Bishop added.
