Page 6 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

"Follow me."

They entered the study, a masculine chamber lined with dark polished wood and tall bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. A broad mahogany desk stood before the fireplace, while two deep leather chairs faced the flames, and a globe rested upon a side table beside silver decanters. Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, shutting out the grey London afternoon, while portraits of Pierce's ancestors watched from the walls with stern expressions.

Pierce took the letter from his desk and handed it to Nathaniel without a word. He poured a generous measure of brandy into each.

Nathaniel unfolded the letter and read it slowly, his green eyes narrowing as he reached the final line. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"I do not know," Pierce replied, handing him one of the glasses. "It arrived today. There is no marking upon the seal, nothing to identify the sender, and Mrs. Norris received it with the ordinary correspondence."

"Odd and callous," he added after a moment, his mouth tightening. "I assume it is nothing but a joke." Yet even as he spoke, Pierce knew he did not entirely believe his own words.

Nathaniel took a sip of brandy and considered the message again. "It may be," he said, lowering the glass, "as the ton did not treat you kindly after Augusta vanished. They all blamed you." His tone carried none of the careless humor he usually employed when discussing society, and Pierce's jaw tightened at the memory.

"Indeed they did," Pierce replied quietly. "You were the only friend who stood by me and helped me look for her."

He could still remember those months with uncomfortable clarity, the endless searches, the inquiries made at inns and coaching stations, the desperate hope that had slowly given way to exhaustion.

"Yes, for months and months we searched," Nathaniel said. "Yet I thought the idle gossip had died down and people had moved beyond it." He looked at his friend carefully. "It has been two years, Pierce. Surely no one still cares enough to trouble you with such nonsense."

Pierce took a drink, allowing the warmth of the brandy to settle in his chest before answering. "So is this a joke in poor taste, or is it real?"

Nathaniel frowned. "You should dismiss it as nonsense."

Pierce looked towards the fire, watching the flames move behind the iron grate. "I cannot yet ignore the possibility that someone knows the truth about Augusta."

Nathaniel straightened, his expression becoming more serious. "But her own father delivered the news to you that she perished. Do you not believe him?"

Pierce's fingers tightened around his glass. "At the time, I did," he admitted, his voice low. "But it has always haunted me. There was a funeral and a gravestone, but her father shut me out. I was only told that she perished in childbirth and that the child did not survive."

Nathaniel slowly set his glass aside and crossed the room, placing one hand upon Pierce's shoulder with unusual solemnity. "I know you, Pierce," he said quietly. "Once something is planted in your mind, you do not let it go."

Pierce looked at him, saying nothing, because he knew his friend was right.

"So you know what you have to do."

Pierce's brow furrowed. "What?"

Nathaniel's mouth curved into a faint smile. "You host the ball."

Pierce stared at him as though he had suggested they invite the Prince Regent to conduct the investigation personally.

Nathaniel continued regardless, his confidence returning. "If there is something to learn, you will get your answers. And if there is nothing, then you have nothing more than a pleasant party and a chance for me to seduce the eligible debutantes."

Pierce's eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps a few bored wives as well," Nathaniel added with a shrug.

Pierce glared at him.

* * *

Unlike his guests, Pierce wore no costume. He had deliberately chosen to remain unmasked, preferring to observe the people moving through Ravenfield Manor rather than become part of the spectacle himself.

From the edge of the ballroom, he watched couples glide beneath the glittering chandeliers. Every mask concealed a face, but Pierce had always been more interested in what people revealed through their behavior. He made his rounds with measured patience, searching for anyone who appeared to be watching him too closely or behaving as though they possessed some secret knowledge about Augusta.

He had barely crossed the ballroom when Lady Samson intercepted him, her smile bright and unmistakably flirtatious.

"Your Grace," she said, lifting her fan as she examined his face, "I have always thought your eyes extraordinary."