Page 80 of A Remarkable Rogue

“Was?”

“It was caught up in the fighting during the last troubles there. Braxton’s men captured the town and destroyed everything…every house and barn, every shop and mill. The villagers were locked inside the church to keep them out of the way, all the shutters and doors barred from the outside.” Clayton’s eyes followed the movements of the groom as he tended to his tired horse. “The soldiers moved on, but two officers circled back to the church that night. Instead of setting the villagers free, they set fire to the church. The entire village—including women and children—were burned alive.”

Good God.The pieces began to fall into place. “Braxton was one of the men who set the fire. That’s what Scepter used to blackmail him.”

Clayton gave a sharp nod. “If the War Office ever learned of what he’d done, he’d have been stripped of his commission and forced out of the army in disgrace. His career and reputation—his life—would have been ruined.”

“How did Scepter learn of it? Braxton was too smart to share damaging secrets like that with anyone.”

“He didn’t have to share. There was a witness. The other officer who was with him.” Clayton slid him a dark look. “Major Jonas Langley.”

“Langley?” Nate frowned, unable to place the name.

“Younger brother of Charles Langley, Marquess of Hawking.” Clayton squinted into the sun to hide his frown “He was killed a few weeks later in the fighting and never made it home to England. But I think he sent off a letter to his brother about Bois Saint-Louis before he died.”

“And Scepter found out from Hawking.”

“I think it’s more than that. The marquess is the second most important official in Parliament and the lord who would most likely assume leadership if the prime minister were ever assassinated.” Clayton paused, but the intensity that radiated from him was palpable. “I think we’ve finally found one of Scepter’s leaders, if not the man directing it all.”

“Then you should be in London arresting him.” Worry rose inside him. “Why are you here?”

“Because I discovered something else.” Clayton wore that same look of grim determination Nate remembered from before every battle they fought against the French. “Aren’t the marquess and the baroness close friends? Perhaps close enough that he would know about this place?”

Nate shook his head. “No one knows the boy’s true connection to Lady Rowland.” She’d hidden his identity too well for too many years. “All the staff were hired locally two years ago when…”

Nate’s blood froze. His mind spun as it made all the connections between the Marquess of Hawking and Sydney. He knew—Christ, he knew!

Caroline Jenner. The governess who had once worked for Hawking’s family.

“Sydney!” Nate bolted for the rear lawn.

The garden was empty, and the blanket where she’d been sitting was bare. No Robbie on his pony, no Beasley or Miss Jenner. No Sydney.

They were all gone.

“Sydney!”

He held his breath and strained to listen. Only silence answered him.

Then—a muffled cry came from the oak trees beyond the lawn. Nate rushed forward and slid his knife from its sheath as Clayton followed behind him, his hand on his pistol.

Beneath the trees, the pony pulled frantically at his bridle as it struggled to free itself from the reins, which had been tied around a low limb. Beasley lay beside him on the ground, tied and gagged. The governess was missing.

Sydney and Robert were gone.

Twenty-Four

A large hand yanked off the flour bag from over Sydney’s head, and she stared into the pockmarked face of the kidnapper who had come after her and Robbie at Oakwood.

Frantically, she darted her gaze around the dimly lit and shuttered one-room cottage where they’d brought her, only letting herself breathe again when her eyes landed on Robbie as he huddled in the corner, terrified but unharmed.Thank God.

“You can take the ropes off her,” a quiet voice said from behind him.

Miss Jenner.

“She’ll be less trouble that way,” the woman told the kidnapper. “And she won’t run away, not as long as we have the boy.”

The governess stood on the other side of the small cottage. Her hands weren’t tied, and Sydney couldn’t remember the woman screaming with surprise or trying to run away when they’d been attacked. Not once.