Then he stepped hastily through the rubbish-strewn back yard. Cutthroats and criminals roamed this district. Hearing a scrabbling noise, he nearly leaped out of his skin. But it was only a rat scuttling through the shadows.

Maybe he oughtn’t have run from the ball. Maybe he should’ve brazened it out. But it was futile to imagine he could withstand Clayton’s interrogation. Richard’s bowels turned watery at the very thought of his cousin’s wrath.

All was not lost, he reminded himself. If the duke wanted the boy back, he’d have to comply with the directives in the ransom note. Richard had intended to use the ransom to pay back the moneylender, but all that had changed now. With his pockets flush with banknotes, he would hightail it out of town, perhaps hide out in Scotland or Portugal or some other godforsaken place where Clayton couldn’t track him. He’d stay away until the heat died down and his mother could smooth things over for him.

The back door opened at a push of his hand. Entering a murky passage that stank of cabbage and other foul odors, he headed toward the glow of light at the front of the house. There, he suffered another shock.

The hulking groom sat at the table playing cards with the boy. Leo’s midsection was bound to the chair, leaving his hands free. Bert tilted back his curly black-haired head as he took a long pull on a blue gin bottle, which explained why he hadn’t even heard the approach of an intruder.

Richard slapped the black mask over his face and tied it behind his head. “What the devil’s going on here?”

Spewing a mouthful of gin, Bert sprang up. He wiped his sleeve across his wet lips. “Wasn’t expecting ye till the mornin’, milord! Do they already know the lad’s gone? Did ye get the blunt early?”

“Don’t call me that.” Milord, for pity’s sake! Richard saw no need to have his identity irrefutably confirmed in front of the enfant terrible. “And yes, his absence has been noted. But the banks aren’t open at this hour.”

“Bah,” the groom said, sitting back down, his rough features etched with discontent. “The duke must have a heap o’ gold in his safe to pay the ransom.”

“What’s a ransom?” Leo asked.

“Be silent,” Richard snapped, tilting his head down to view his nephew’s inquisitive face through the eyeholes of the mask. “It’s no concern of yours.”

“You look like a robber in that mask, Uncle Wymark. I ’member you almost ran over me with your horse, but Mr. Duke saved me.”

Ice shot down Richard’s spine. There went his last slim hope of escaping recognition and spinning a tall tale to explain his abrupt departure from the ball. In the unlikely event he was caught, of course.

He tore off the useless mask and flung it away before scowling at the groom. “Why didn’t you keep him locked in the bedchamber as I told you?”

Bert shrugged. “The tyke said he weren’t sleepy. Don’t see how it matters if he’s upstairs or down, so long as he’s tied up. Besides, it’s mighty dull sittin’ here alone.”