“Ah, there you are, Clayton. Do compliment that French chef of yours on the excellent crab fingers, though he might add a little less cream next time. I’ve the merest touch of dyspepsia, but I find that it improves if I take a little promenade before finishing my meal.”

“Pray stroll to your heart’s content, sire,” Hadrian said smoothly. “Now, if I may beg your pardon, Miss Fanshawe is feeling faint. I must escort her outside at once for a breath of fresh air.”

Natalie clutched Hadrian’s arm and strove for a weak, swooning look. “Too much excitement, I fear. We’re not used to such grand balls in America.”

The prince granted permission with a royal wave of his sausage fingers, and she and Hadrian made their escape onto the deserted balcony without further ado. But the delay had cost them. He dashed to the railing to peer down into the large garden. “Bloody hell! He’s making for the gate!”

He raced down the stone steps with Natalie close behind him, hampered somewhat by her skirts. She spied a shifting movement in the shadows ahead before the creak of hinges disturbed the night air. “Stay here,” the duke ordered over his shoulder before sprinting after the fugitive.

Natalie ignored the directive, lifting her hem to dart down the path. She reached the darkened mews behind the house in time to hear the rattle of wheels and the swift clopping of hooves.

Hadrian came jogging back and passed by her without stopping to speak. She was forced to run alongside him. “Is he gone, then?”

“He’s in his phaeton, the one with the yellow wheels. By God, I’ll find the bastard if it’s the last thing I do.”

Twin lanterns marked the wide door of the brick stables, and the duke vaulted ahead of her to vanish into the building. She entered to the familiar smell of hay and horses, to find Hadrian already leading his bay gelding from a stall as a groom scrambled out of the tack room, lugging a saddle. The duke arranged the bridle, slipping the bit into the horse’s mouth.

Natalie dashed down the row of stalls to find her chestnut mare. As she reached for the half-door, Hadrian stopped her with a glare. “No! You’re staying here. You aren’t dressed for riding and it’s far too dangerous.”

She parted her lips in a retort, then clamped her teeth, recognizing that a quarrel would only slow him down when time was of the essence. While the servant completed the saddling and tightened the cinch, Hadrian disappeared through another door and returned a moment later with a small pistol, which he tucked into his coat. He swung into the saddle, looking incongruously like a pirate in elegant evening clothes.

His fierce gaze bored into her. “I’ll find him, Natalie.”

Then he flicked the reins and rode out, vanishing into the darkness.

The instant he was gone, she opened the stall door and led out the mare. Blast the man, she would not sit idly while Leo was in grave danger. She could ride as well as Hadrian, and if she’d survived a bloody massacre in the wilderness, then she could face down a weakling like Wymark.