Page 90 of How to Tempt a Duke

He threw open Eleanor’s secret door, then his, and stopped.

Lord Ledsey stood on the opposite side of the large bed, looking down at something Charles could not see.

What the devil was Ledsey doing in his chambers? The Lord’s attention snapped to Charles. “Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

Her.

Eleanor.

Dear God, no.

The maid’s gasp sounded behind him, followed by the pattering of her footsteps over thick carpet. She had evidently made the same assumption as him, and would surely be going for help.

Ledsey nodded at Charles. “Close the door and lock it behind you.”

Charles hesitated. He didn’t want to close the door, or lock it. He wanted to spring across the room like a savage lion so he could tear the blackguard’s throat out and ensure Eleanor was safe.

But he was no lion. He was only a man, helplessly standing too damned far away to protect her.

“Do not test my patience, Your Grace.” Ledsey sneered out the title. “Close the door.”

Charles pushed the secret door closed, but did not lock it, and hoped Ledsey would not notice. Charles put his hands up in surrender and moved deeper into the room.

“What is the meaning of this, Ledsey?”

He was nearly around the bed when his gaze fell on the splash of vibrant red hair against the blue carpet and the glint of the pistol held in Ledsey’s grip.

Anger erupted through Charles with brilliant intensity. “Let her go.”

He stalked around the bed and drew to an abrupt halt when he came to Eleanor, lying with her back against the thick carpet, rigid and stiff.

Eleanor. His wife.

A panicked jolt shot through his heart. He could not lose her. He would not lose her.

“I want the journals. And the key.” Ledsey’s stare flicked to Eleanor, but he did not appear nervous, merely watchful.

Charles had opened his mouth to reply when Eleanor spoke.

“You couldn’t have known about the journals...or the key...unless...” She gasped.

The realization slammed into Charles at exactly the same moment. “It was you who drugged me that night. You took the journals. You put that bottle—”

Ledsey smirked. “Yes, it was me. The previous Duke made it so easy, with all these passages and hidden rooms. I was able to wait for you to fall asleep, then I crept in and took them. Clever of you, though, hiding the key.”

“How do you even know about the journals?” Eleanor’s voice was sharp with demand—certainly not the voice of a woman being held at gunpoint.

“How do I know about them?” Ledsey stared incredulously down at her. “My father was in the Adventure Club. He’s the one who found most of the artifacts. Your fathers took them from him. They basked in public adoration while he was relegated to the shadows.”

His upper lip curled back in disgust.

“Who do you think wrote about their misdeeds? He told me about the journals, about the Coeur de Feu, but I didn’t know about the key.” His face twisted wryly. “He must have written the journals and made the key on his last trip to India, just before he died.”

Charles didn’t answer. In truth, the names of the members of the Adventure Club were kept anonymous, with the exception of his and Eleanor’s fathers. The other members hadn’t been as wealthy, as famous or as influential, and clearly their names had faded, leaving no connection to the acquired accomplishments.

“The Duchess and I have recently learned the sordid details of those discoveries,” Charles answered. “But sinking to this level, where you are threatening a woman, will never elevate your standing with anyone. Least of all me.”

“I want the Coeur de Feu.” Sweat was beginning to bead on Ledsey’s brow.