Page 65 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

That was enough. Hector straightened. “I need information,” he said simply.

Ambrose sighed as though this were the most predictable outcome in the world. “There it is.”

Hale’s expression tightened slightly. “What?”

“Phineas Strachan,” Hector said.

The name did not echo in the room. Itstruck.

Hale’s posture changed instantly. Not dramatically, but subtly enough that Hector caught it. The shift of weight. The small pause in breath. The way his fingers tightened around the arm of his chair.

Ambrose noticed too, because Ambrose noticed everything when it suited him.

“Well,” Ambrose said lightly, “that went from pleasant to interesting rather quickly.”

Hale set his glass down. “Why are you asking about Strachan?” he asked carefully.

Hector did not move from the mantel. “Because I believe he is involved in my brother’s disappearance,” he said. Then, after a fraction of a pause, “and in the kidnapping of the Earl of Wynten.”

That last name made the room feel smaller.

Hale leaned back slightly, as though trying to put physical distance between himself and the implication. “That is a serious accusation.”

“It is an observation,” Hector replied.

Ambrose hummed softly into his drink. “A dangerous one.”

Hector ignored him.

Hale studied him for a long moment. Hector could almost see the man weighing loyalty against caution; old Cambridge ties against modern, political survival.

Finally, Hale exhaled. “Sit,” he said.

Hector did not.

Hale continued anyway. “Strachan is not a man who reacts well to humiliation,” he said slowly. “If Your Grace’s brother crossed him publicly, even once, that alone would be enough to earn his attention.”

Hector’s jaw tightened. “He did more than cross him,” Hector said.

Ambrose lifted a brow. “Do tell.”

Hector glanced at him once, warningly. Ambrose only smiled.

Hale, however, nodded for Hector to continue.

So Hector did. He told him what little the gaming hell dealer had revealed. Not in full detail, but enough.

Evan playing at advanced tables. Winning too often. Drawing attention he should not have drawn. The shift in his behavior afterward. The paranoia. The careful way he began avoiding certain rooms, certain corners, certain people.

And then Strachan.

The name again, like a bruise pressed too hard.

Hector’s voice remained steady, though something in his chest tightened as he spoke it aloud again.

“He was seen at the table with him,” Hector finished. “Shortly before Evan vanished.”

Hale’s expression darkened in thought. “And you believe Strachan followed him?”