Page 104 of Unmasking the Diamond
Luca’s mind spun. Every piece of the puzzle—the ledger, the factory, the disappearances—clicked into sharper focus. The secrecy between Dawlish and the duke now made perfect sense. But the realization came with a sting of self-reproach. How had he not seen this before? The connection had been in front of him all along. Was he getting sloppy? He used to pride himself on seeing what others missed. Yet since Charlotte… his thoughts had been anything but clear.
He clenched his jaw. Had he allowed himself to become distracted by love? And if that distraction had cost Charlotte her safety, he would never forgive himself.
A sudden, chilling thought struck him. What if Charlotte had been taken to The Chelmsford Asylum? The possibility lodged itself firmly in his mind, refusing to be dismissed. It would make sense—too much sense. The timing, the secrecy surrounding her disappearance, and the vile lengths some would go to silence her. His stomach turned at the idea of her trapped within those cold, oppressive walls, her spirit crushed beneath the label of madness.
But he couldn’t abandon his current course, not now. There were too many moving pieces, too many lives depending on swift action. Still, the thought gnawed at him, refusing to let go.
He exhaled sharply and made his decision. “Rupert,” he muttered under his breath, already formulating the plan. “I’ll send Rupert to investigate The Chelmsford Asylum.” The man was clever, resourceful—and unafraid of danger.
Alcott turned sharply towards him, his voice cutting through the fog of Luca’s thoughts. “We need to go speak to the duke.”
“If we do,” Luca said, forcing composure back into his tone, “we’ll be forced to show our hand.”
Holding his gaze, Alcott asked, “What choice do we have?”
Luca hesitated only a heartbeat, the weight of the decision pressing against his chest. Then he rose from his chair. “None at all.”
He could feel the pulse of dread and determination in every muscle of his body. If the Duke of Brackenford was behind Charlotte’s disappearance—or even knew who was—Luca would tear down every wall in London to get her back. He would not stop. Hecould notstop.
Hillstead folded his arms across his chest, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “I do hope this means I will get a raise.”
Luca shot him a glance that was half-irritation, half-gratitude. “If we get Charlotte back, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“A raise will do,” Hillstead said, his grin widening. “Perhaps my own secretary.”
“Done, and done,” Luca replied briskly, already coming around the desk. “Now go. Stake out Dawlish’s residence. See if you spot his mother or anyone out of place.”
Hillstead bobbed his head. “I’ll go now.”
As Luca and Alcott strode out of the office, urgency driving every step, his mind churned. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as they made their way down the stairs and out into the cool London air. Every theory, every lead circledback to one conclusion: Charlotte’s abduction was tied to his investigation. There was no other explanation.
But what if he was wrong?
The thought rooted deep in his chest like a shard of ice. If this was personal—if someone had taken her simply to hurt him—then he had led her straight into danger. The fear was nearly paralyzing, but he refused to let it take hold.
By the time they reached the street, a footman was waiting beside Alcott’s coach, his expression solemn. “My lord,” he said, addressing Alcott with a quick bow, “Malone spoke to all the servants, as you requested, and there is one who wishes to confess their involvement.”
Alcott’s head snapped towards him. “Very well. We will go speak to that servant at once. The duke can wait.”
Luca nodded in agreement, though impatience burned beneath his calm exterior. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
They climbed into the coach, and the door shut with a heavy thud. The carriage lurched into motion, merging into the clamor of London’s traffic. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestones filled the silence between them.
Alcott stared out the window, his features tight with worry. Luca sat opposite, his hands braced on his knees, every nerve stretched taut.
He had never felt more powerless. Each turn of the wheels brought them closer to the truth—or perhaps further from Charlotte. And for the first time in years, Luca hoped that his instincts were wrong.
Alcott reached beneath his seat and drew out a small wooden chest. The latch clicked as he opened it, revealing two gleaming pistols nestled inside. He removed one and extended it towards Luca.
“Just in case we need these,” Alcott said, his expression grim.
Luca accepted the pistol, its cold metal weight settling heavily into his palm. He turned it over, testing the balance. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did… he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d do whatever was necessary, even if it meant risking his own life, to bring Charlotte back.
“How certain are we that the duke is behind Charlotte’s abduction?” Alcott asked.
Luca exhaled, the breath leaving him in a weary sigh. “I’m not certain at all,” he admitted. “It could have been Miss Dawlish, her son, or someone they hired. The entire family is mired in secrets.”
“But the Duke of Brackenford owns the Ravenhurst Trading Company,” Alcott pressed. “Which means he’s ultimately responsible.”
