“Are you saying you believe someone intends to steal from your father?”

The lady nodded. “Precisely.”

She’d been so adamant that there’d been a threat lurking at her door, and he’d been insistent that there hadn’t. He’d been so hell-bent on convincing her that her concerns were the product of a lady with an overactive imagination.

With a curse, Val went racing. Reaching the front door, he yanked one of the panels open.

Horace instantly came bounding inside, panting and barking, and they were panicked, whiny sounds heralding doom.

“Where is she?” Val demanded, even as he knew the creature couldn’t answer, yet needing to ask anyway.

Nudging Val’s hand with his nose, Horace did a circle about his legs.

Turning on his heel, Val raced back to his office with Horace keeping close to him.

Fear and desperation made Val’s breath come noisy and hard. He reached his desk and fished out the pistols from his case. After loading the powder, he tucked one of the pistols into the waistband of his trousers and drew on his dark jacket, immediately covering up the stark white fabric of his lawn shirt.

Grabbing the other pistol, he set out, sprinting back to Myrtle’s household.

Bypassing the front doors in favor of the servants’ entrance, Val paused when he reached the residence.

Silence filled the air.

A silence so thick it rang in his ears as the only otherwise sound in the dead of night, that silence punctuated by Horace’s slight panting.

Val looked down at his dog and touched a finger to his lips, urging him to keep quiet.

Holding his pistol close to his chest, Val did a search of the courtyard, sweeping his eyes over the shadows and sharpening his ears, listening for the hint of . . . something.

He reached behind him and pressed the door handle. It gave in an instant; the hinges squeaked noisily as he shoved it open, hinting at servants who’d proven neglectful in their duties of greasing them.

Val frowned.

He motioned with his left hand, and reading that unspoken command, Horace trotted inside, his nails clicking damningly loud upon the rough hardwood floors.

Val followed his dog in and drew the door closed behind them.

He blinked several times to adjust his gaze to the inky darkness, looking about the room.

At some point, Myrtle had banked the fire, leaving the kitchens nearly black.

As he walked, he passed the same wooden table where they had sat and eaten her birthday cake, speaking about her wishes and her future. And he attempted to tamp down the fast-growing dread for her.

It was an emotion he’d expected to never again feel for a person. It was why he’d kept to himself and not forged any meaningful connections with anyone.