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“Thank … you.”
He was oddly touched, more than he would have expected. The embrace may have been uncomfortable, but the sincerity behind it settled somewhere warm inside his chest. He had grown fond of Abbott during their interactions, and the younger man’s loyalty to Brendan, and now to Julius himself, spoke well of his character.
Abbott finally lowered him back to the ground, then turned sharply away, a fierce flush climbing his cheeks. Julius doubted the solemn heir made a habit of such demonstrative gestures and appreciated the depth of emotion it must have taken to prompt it.
“We were all anxious after your note,” Abbott said stiffly. “When Gwen returned with news you were alive …” He trailed off, unable to continue.
Brendan nodded. “It is true. We had runners out trying to find you, but we feared attracting attention. We dared not expose you to further danger.” His voice dropped. “The blood on that note … Blast it, Julius, I thought I had gotten you killed.”
“I am made of resilient stuff,” Julius said lightly, though he could not quite meet Brendan’s gaze.
His friend shook his head, no smile to be found. “Nay, Julius. This is no jest. If Miss Gideon had not been there, if she had not fought off the attacker or tended your wounds afterward, you might not be standing here now.”
Julius looked away. He knew it. Every hour since the attack had reinforced the same truth. Audrey had saved his life. More than once. And now, he owed her a solution, a future, a way to escape the scandal their time together would inevitably produce.
But the right path remained elusive. He had sworn never to marry, and yet offering her anything less than respect, protection, and a proper marriage rang hollow. He would not condemn her to a compromised reputation and a half-life, not when she deserved so much more. But what was he offering, then?
Seeking a reprieve from the weight of those thoughts, Julius shifted the subject.
“Has anything occurred since we last met?” he asked. It was strange to think it had been less than a week since the Ridley library had been disturbed by the intruder.
Brendan’s throat bobbed as he hesitated.
Abbott answered for him. “An intruder broke into Filminster’s study. Michaels fought him off, but he was injured.”
Julius straightened in alarm. He had known Brendan’s cantankerous butler for years and often needled him into lively rows, if only to break the man out of his habitual belligerence. In other words, Julius was fond of the old curmudgeon.
“Is he … well?” he asked, voice taut. He braced for the worst. Michaels was no young blade, and a hired ruffian could easily inflict lasting damage.
“Michaels is recovering,” Abbott replied. “He was back on his feet, against doctor’s orders, by the next morning. I have one of the footmen reporting to me, and I instructed him to ensure Michaels takes it easy.”
Julius exhaled in relief. “So ten hours of work instead of twenty?”
Brendan grinned. “Most likely. I told him no more than four or five hours, so ten seems a fair guess. He is determined to have Ridley House prepared for the renovations with Barclay Thompson when he returns to Town. And he insists on training the new staff himself, poor devils.”
“The man takes his work seriously,” Julius said with a snort. “Unlike myself.”
“He is serious about the Ridley family,” Brendan said. “I always assumed his grumbling meant he disapproved of me. But now I realize that is merely his way. He is loyal.”
A man I can respect.
Julius paced the length of the tack room, boots scuffing faintly against the flagstone floor. The lack of progress was intolerable. They knew the culprit must be Stone, Montague, or Scott, but that was all. No further proof, no signs of motive or method. Just shadows and speculation.
“This is so frustrating,” he growled. “There must be a way to push this investigation forward.”
“Not if it gets you killed!” Abbott snapped.
Julius halted, arms akimbo, and let out a slow breath. He could not act as he had before, not recklessly, not with Audrey’s safety on the line as well as his own.
“I will remain in hiding, at least for the time being,” he said. “If the killer thinks he must silence me, then perhaps he will make a mistake. A desperate man often does.”
Brendan nodded. “Agreed. You must stay out of sight.”
“But,” Julius said, a familiar gleam in his eye, “we must devise a way to draw him out. He must believe he is still in control, that the noose is not yet tightening. We need bait.”
Abbott scowled. “You are not to gallivant off and do something bird-witted again, Trafford!”
Julius raised his brows but did not rise to the bait. He was not accustomed to answering to anyone, but this was no longer a solitary endeavor. Audrey was with him—brave, clever, infuriating Audrey—and he would not endanger her through folly.
