Blame It on Bath Page 0,108

chest.

It did not.

At first he felt nothing but a stark, frozen numbness. It quickly wore off, burned away by fury. His hands shook as he folded the letter and forced it into his pocket, but his steps were steady as he went back down the stairs and through the hall past his brother.

“Where are you going?” exclaimed Charlie, as Gerard threw open the front door and strode out, hatless and coatless.

“To kill someone,” he replied grimly.

Chapter 26

It was a brisk walk to the White Hart Inn. Charlie caught up to him as he turned up Barton Street. “What happened?” he demanded, breathing hard. “And must we run there like a pair of footmen?”

“You don’t have to come at all.”

“Edward would draw and quarter me if I let you commit murder.” Charlie muttered a quick apology to a pair of gentlemen Gerard had roughly brushed past. “And who is the poor devil?”

“Lucien Howe.”

He felt Charlie’s keen glance. “London is whispering that he’s on the verge of ruin.”

“How thrilling it will be to tell them you witnessed his ultimate fall.”

“I’d rather not, particularly not in a court where any judges might be listening. Why are you planning to kill Howe?”

Gerard just shook his head. He couldn’t even say it out loud. Without pausing, he fished the note out of his pocket and handed it to his brother. Charlie inhaled sharply as he read, then returned it in silence. He didn’t say another word of protest about Gerard’s purpose.

They turned another corner, toward the crenellated towers atop the Abbey Church, which loomed over the buildings lining the street. The White Hart Inn stood opposite the church. Gerard headed directly for it, and a few minutes later was shown up to Lord Howe’s room; it seemed he was expected. With Charlie still dogging his heels, he pressed a coin into the porter’s hand and dismissed him, then knocked on the door.

Howe’s face lit with satisfaction at the sight of him. “Ah, de Lacey.” He gave a little bow. “I thought you might call on me.”

“No doubt.” Gerard tossed down the offensive letter. Unsealed, it flipped open so he could read it again: If you wish to know where your wife is, call upon me at the White Hart. “Where is she?”

“Katherine? Perfectly safe, I’m sure.” Howe smiled, but only for a moment.

After a week struggling to sort out his feelings for Kate, and discovering that they ran deeper than he’d realized, Gerard was in no mood for Howe’s prevarication or manipulation. He’d been fair—he’d asked politely first—and that was as far as he could restrain himself. He clipped Howe on the chin with a swift right, stepping into it for good effect. The viscount’s head snapped up with a satisfying clack of teeth on teeth. “Where?” he repeated, fists still raised in threat. Howe stared at him in horror and staggered away, throwing up his hands protectively as Gerard lunged after him, catching him by the throat with one hand and the lapel with his other. With a thump he shoved Howe backward into the wall behind him, forcing the shorter man up onto his toes.

“Where is she?” he demanded again.

“Let me . . . down,” wheezed Howe, clawing at Gerard’s grip on his throat.

Gerard gave him a sharp shake, and Howe’s head cracked against the wall. “Where’s Kate? I’m not a patient man.”

Howe’s alarmed gaze darted past him. “Help!”

“I don’t think he needs my help strangling you,” said Charlie in a bored tone. “But if you don’t answer his question, I’ll gladly give it.” Gerard gave Howe another thump against the wall for emphasis.

“Cobham!” squeaked Howe. He was an unhealthy shade of purple now. “She’s only gone . . . to Cobham!”

Gerard loosened his grip on the man’s throat. “Where the devil is Cobham?”

“Near Hungerford,” he gasped. “A few miles off the Bath Road.”

“Why?” growled Gerard.

“She went with her mother! Cobham is Mrs. Hollenbrook’s home.”

Gerard scowled but reluctantly released Howe, thrusting the man away from him. “You’ve got a dangerous disregard for your health, Howe, sending me a note like that.” Then something struck him, and he frowned again. “Where’s her note? My footman said she’d left one. And how the bloody hell did your letter come to be in its place?”

Massaging his throat, Howe backed warily away to the desk in the corner. He groped around for a moment, then held out a sealed letter. “The upstairs maid switched them for me,” he said a little hoarsely, as Gerard snatched the letter