Finally, James whispered, “Especially Georgiana.”

Awareness flashed. Georgiana.

“Who is Georgiana?”

“My governess.”

They had found her.

The pleasure of the hunt surged, and Nick tamped it down, keeping his voice casual. “And how long has she been your governess?”

“Only a few weeks. But she’s a good one. She speaks Latin. And she knows a great deal about being an earl.”

Knowledge that comes from being the sister of a duke.

“What if she needs me and I am not there?”

The innocent question distracted Nick from his discovery. How many times had he asked himself the same thing when he was James’s age? What if his mother had needed him and he had not realized it? How could he protect her when he had no idea where she had gone?

He shook his head once to clear it. This was a boy infatuated with his governess—a different thing altogether. “I know it is difficult to imagine being away from the manor, but I am sure that she will be all right without you.” James seemed to want to disagree, so Nick continued. “She is well now, is she not? ”

“Yes—but … what if someone comes for her? ”

Guilt flared. Someone is here for her already.

“She will be all right.” At least he could promise the boy that.

James wanted to say more—Nick could see it. But he instead dipped his head to the floor and said, “I suppose. Perhaps … if I left … you could stay? Just to be certain that they are safe? ”

Nick considered the young earl, registering the concern in his eyes, recognizing it as the same concern he had seen in Isabel’s eyes the evening before.

What in the hell were they involved in? Who were these girls? Were they all aristocracy?

He sucked in a deep breath. If she had a houseful of daughters of the aristocracy, Isabel was breaking a dozen different laws of the Crown. She was in enormous trouble. More trouble than he could help her out of.

Nick moved to where his clothes had been pressed and a fresh linen shirt laid out for him. Lifting the garment, he turned back to James, who was eagerly awaiting his reply. “I shall stay long enough to make sure you are all safe. Is that sufficient?”

“You give your word? ”

“I do.”

James’s face split in a wide, relieved grin that reminded Nick of Isabel.

He couldn’t help but find pleasure in the boy’s happiness. “Now wait outside while I dress and you can show me your schoolroom. I should very much like to meet this governess of yours.”

A quarter of an hour later, Nick was following James through the upper corridors of Townsend Park toward the schoolroom.

“It’s on the way to the statuary—perhaps you could visit for luncheon. If you think you would like to, that is.” The boy had been chattering since Nick had met him in the hallway outside his bedchamber; it appeared that their earlier conversation had comforted James, and, while Nick had little experience with children, he was happy to provide a distraction for the child’s obvious concern.

Rightful concern.

Nick swallowed back his guilt. “Perhaps. We shall see how much work I have completed by then. But I will try.”

The answer seemed to satisfy James, and he nodded once, turning his attention to a nearby closed door, its dark wood making it barely discernable from the dim hallway. James placed his palms on the wide panel and pushed, revealing a bright, welcoming schoolroom beyond.

Nick followed the boy inside, intrigued. It had been many years since he’d had cause to set foot inside a schoolroom, but the space registered at once both foreign and familiar—from the Latin words posted around the room to the telltale scent of chalk dust playing in his nostrils.

In the corner, Isabel leaned over a large glass rectangle, a young, fair-haired woman looking on. Georgiana. Even if she had not held herself as the daughter of a duke—straight and true as though she were untouchable—Nick would have known her. She had Leighton’s coloring, the fair curls that sent women fawning over him and those honey-gold eyes that marked the Leighton line. She turned at James’s cry of good morning, her gaze instantly settling on Nick. He made a point to hide his recognition, but he saw the flash of fear in her eyes and immediately knew that Townsend Park was not snatching girls—but saving them. Georgiana was terrified of him. She knew who he was—if Isabel had not told her, his scar would have given away his identity—and she likely knew that he was a friend of her brother’s.

With a whispered excuse, she was gone, skirts flying out behind her as she rushed through a nearby doorway into an adjoining room. He watched her go, a strange emotion twisting in his gut.

Guilt.

He did not like it.

With conviction, he turned his attention to Isabel, garbed in gray muslin, reaching deep into a clear glass box, her head and one long arm submerged in the clear case. “Of all the—Why did I ever agree—The damned creature is, of course, as far from me as it can be.”

“Izzy!” James rushed over to pull on her free hand. “What are you doing? You’ll hurt him!”

“I will not.” The words carried up, out of the box, and Nick moved farther into the room to gain a better look at the structure, filled with rocks and greenery, like a tiny forest. There, through the glass, he could see the tips of Isabel’s fingers brushing aside leaves and pebbles and, finally, a thick branch. He watched as she turned a large stone until she could get a decent grip on it, clasping it tight. “I’ve got you!”

She righted herself with a triumphant grin, several long auburn strands of hair having escaped their moorings, giving her the look of an excited young country girl. Nick was immediately reminded of the evening before, of her kisses—so fresh and willing and eager. He watched, a smile playing across his lips, as she held her prize aloft, her height placing it far out of James’s reach.