Letitia looked startled, and shocked. So did Hermione.

“Disappeared?” Letitia stared at Barton; Christian could all but see the wheels in her mind churning. Then she sniffed and looked away. “I daresay he’s gone to the country to visit with friends. It is August, after all. I suspect, Mr. Barton, that your ‘disappearance’ is nothing more than that.”

Barton looked pugnacious. “Would you say his lordship normally leaves for country parties in a tearing rush late at night? With his man, who hadn’t had any warning?” When Letitia said nothing, Barton went on, “Because that’s what happened according to his landlord who lives downstairs.”

After a moment Barton glanced down, drawing all attention to what he carried in one hand; it appeared to be a cloth garment, folded many times. “And then there’s this.”

He shook out the garment, revealing it to be a gentleman’s coat. “Would this be one of your brother’s, your ladyship? Do you recognize it?”

Letitia frowned. She walked closer, considering the coat’s cut. “It looks like one of Justin’s.” Halting before the coat Barton obligingly displayed at arm’s length, she raised her brows. “Is it from Shultz?” She reached for the left lapel.

Barton whisked the coat away. “You might want to be careful about touching it, your ladyship. There’s blood on it, see-most likely your husband’s.”

Every drop of blood drained from Letitia’s face.

Christian was at her side instantly, before he’d even thought. “Barton.” The single word resonated with menace, yet was nothing to what he felt. His hands had fisted; he battled an urge to strike the runner. His tongue itched to tear strips off the man, but…they needed to learn what he’d discovered. “Did the landlord have any idea where his lordship was headed?”

He’d barked out the question. Barton stiffened; he wanted to refuse to answer, but didn’t dare. “No.”