Page 65 of Charity

Lynton hurried toward him. “What the hell are you doing? Put them down.”

He stared at his father and shrugged. “I intend to get my Agatha back by any means necessary. If I have to murder someone again, I certainly will not hesitate.”

“Murder?” His father’s eyes grew wide. “For God’s sake, shut your mouth. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Oscar ignored the warning. He was thinking clearly. He was attempting to remember every detail from when Agatha put her hand on the gate until he’d lost sight of the carriage. Two men inside with her, another two whipping on the glossy dark carriage, but no crest or identification of any kind on the doors. The carriage had been expensive but unknown to him. All he had to go on was that skinny, toothless fellow and his burly companion. Would such a filthy combination be easy to find?

“What the devil is going on?” The Duke of Staines bellowed suddenly. “Why is he bleeding? Redding, get in here!” He pushed his brother aside to make way for his servant.

Although Oscar would much rather be on his way, he let Redding inspect the wound. Could Staines help him? The duke was known to have his fingers in many pies. Perhaps he could be useful.

Redding demanded supplies to dress the wound, and George, who’d hovered nervously behind the Duke of Staines when he’d first arrived, had them already.

Redding nodded his thanks. “This will sting, my lord.”

Oscar gritted his teeth as brandy was poured over the wounds. The pain amplified his anger. He would make them suffer if one hair on Agatha’s head was harmed.

Staines set his hands on his hips. “I have yet to hear an explanation.”

Oscar scowled. “Someone has taken my future wife. Agatha Birkenstock was abducted not thirty minutes ago.”

Staines drew closer, peering over his servant’s shoulder, his hand resting lightly on Redding’s back. “Be as quick as you can, Redding. We’ll need your expertise to find her before any harm is done.”

Redding nodded, but ignored his master’s lingering touch while he cleansed the wound and then checked for embedded glass shards.

When he was done, Oscar flexed his fingers a bit. There was some pain, but the firm bandage helped. “Thank you.”

Redding met his gaze. “Everything you remember. From the beginning, my lord.”

So Oscar told them everything he remembered, and when pressed, about the first attack in the park too. When he was done, he glanced between Redding and his new uncle. But they moved aside to confer in private.

His mother approached him and laid her hands over his uninjured arm. “So brave, my Oscar. You should have told me.”

“Not brave, Mother. Utterly desperate. I couldn’t bear to lose Agatha then, and I certainly cannot now.” He kissed her brow. “Excuse me, I must go.”

“Be careful. Bring her back safe, and send word to me here if you need me.”

“I will.” Oscar untangled himself from her embrace, tucked his pistols into his coat pockets, and approached his uncle. “I’m ready.”

“As am I,” his father agreed.

Staines looked at his brother. “You stay here in case our girl finds her way home. Keep Essy calm if you can.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Staines clapped Oscar on the back. “Redding has an inkling, and his inklings are surprisingly accurate. Come on. We have a bawdy house to wage war on.”

“Damn it,” Lynton argued. “Stop mollycoddling me. I’m not a child.”

Staines approached his brother and set his hands on his tense shoulders. “No, you are still a man of God, and as such, you should not be put in a position to fire upon someone, should such an action be required. You have no experience with any of that, and I’d rather keep it that way. I may not have agreed with your choice of profession, but I envy you your pure heart. If it helps, you can sermonize at me later as much as you want. We three can manage and do what becomes necessary.”

“Despite them taking Agatha, I fear this has something to do with Oscar.” Lynton clutched his brother’s arm. “He could be in danger, too.”

“Oh,” his mother moaned, as she tumbled to the ground in a faint.

Lynton rushed to her side and pulled her into a sitting position on the floor.

Staines pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now why did you have to say that out loud? I thought you had better sense.”