Page 173 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

“Hector?”

He was already moving.

“What happened?”

But Hector was gone.

He barely remembered crossing the hallway. Barely remembered stepping into the carriage. The only thought that remained was Jane. He had spent weeks believing he could protect her. Believing he could keep danger away from her.

And now... now he had walked directly into whatever Strachan had planned.

The ride back to Sunderford House felt impossibly long. Every second was a second wasted. His fingers tightened around the edge of the carriage seat. He refused to imagine what could have happened.

Jane was clever. She was brave. She had survived more than most people ever knew. But Strachan was not like the others. He was patient. Calculating. And he knew exactly where to strike.

The carriage finally pulled to a stop. Hector was out before the footman could announce him. He entered the house with enough force that several servants turned toward him.

“Your Grace?” The housekeeper hurried forward.

“Where is the duchess?”

The woman immediately looked troubled. That alone made his heart drop. “Your Grace...”

“Where is she?”

The housekeeper hesitated. “Her Grace received a note earlier today.”

Hector went still. “A note?”

“Yes. From Lord Zachary.”

His jaw tightened. “Continue.”

“She said it concerned matters regarding the estate accounts. She went to his townhouse.”

For one terrible moment, everything stopped. The note. The false meeting. Zachary. Strachan. The pieces fell into place with horrifying ease.

“How long ago?”

The housekeeper blinked. “I believe two hours; perhaps a little longer. Your Grace, I was going to explain that she?—”

But Hector was already turning. He did not wait. Did not ask another question. Did not allow himself to think.

Two hours. Two hours in Zachary’s townhouse. Two hours with a man who had already proven he valued power more than family. And a man like Strachan had found exactly the weakness Hector feared. He had gone after Jane.

The front doors opened as Hector reached them. “Your Grace?” The footman stepped forward.

“Prepare my carriage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And send a rider after Ambrose.”

The servant froze.

Hector’s voice lowered. “Tell him it concerns Strachan.”

The footman nodded quickly and hurried away. Hector stood on the steps, staring toward the street. Strachan had remained just beyond his reach. A shadow. A name whispered in rooms where powerful men pretended not to fear him. But now he had made a mistake.