After the Abduction Read Free Page B

look to the older man. He quickly added, “Mr. Llewelyn Pryce, mind you, so don’t be aiming any fists at me.”
    Rosalind gripped Griff’s elbow. “My husband won’t be aiming fists at anyone else today, I assure you. I’ll see to that.”

    For once, Griff had the good sense to suffer the rebuke in silence, though not without frowning.
    Juliet thought it politic to step in, especially since she couldn’t catch Lord Templemore’s eye. “But we do need to speak to your lordship about a matter concerning Morgan Pryce. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it if you’d hear us out.”
    Lord Templemore refused to acknowledge her in any way. Instead, he cast Rosalind and Griff a considering glance. “Very well. Though I believe this conversation should take place in more…ah…private surroundings.”
    “Yes,” Griff agreed at once.
    “If you’ll follow me…” Lord Templemore said and gestured toward the house.
    They all trooped off toward Charnwood Hall. Seething with indignation at how blatantly his lordship ignored her, Juliet fell back to observe him from behind. His attire was as sober as Morgan’s had been: a suit of drab and a plain silk waistcoat with a cravat tied in a simple knot. He walked with Morgan’s self-assured gait. And when his uncle spoke, he cocked his head to listen exactly as Morgan had done with her a dozen times or more. But perhaps identical twins would share such mannerisms. She didn’t know.
    Once they reached the side door leading into the house, he stood by to let them all enter first. She passed close enough to smell him. Lord help her if he didn’t smell exactly like Morgan—of saltpeter blended with iron and smoke, the smell of Hephaestus, the God of Fire.
    Then they passed into a great hall, and she dragged in a sharp breath.
    The God of Fire had a substantial arsenal, didn’t he? Hung in menacing row after row on one long wall were swords, daggers, halberds, and a variety of firearms—muskets and blunderbusses and wicked-looking dueling pistols. The servants must be in a perpetual terror whenever they dusted them. She certainly would be.

    Had he designed all those pistols? It wouldn’t surprise her—she could see him as Hephaestus, laboring over his implements of fire in a hidden forge beneath the earth. No wonder he—or his twin, if he was to be believed—had thought it amusing to associate with smugglers. “Planning to start a war soon, Lord Templemore?” she asked as he led them down the gauntlet.
    He stared straight ahead. “They are daunting, aren’t they? They’re not all mine, however. My grandfather acquired the bulk of them years ago. He collected weapons—they were his passion.”
    “And pistols in particular are yours,” Griff remarked.
    Lord Templemore cast him a cryptic look. “I take it you’ve heard of my hobby.”
    “More than a hobby, from what I understand.”
    He shrugged. “My grandfather piqued my interest in guns when I was young. Then my father gave me a Manton flintlock when I came of age, which cemented my lifelong fascination.”
    “Manton, eh?” Griff said. “I’ve been going to his former employee, James Purdey. Purdey has invented a new vent plug—”
    “Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Lord Templemore broke in. “Forsyth says…”
    When they went on to discuss firearms and their relative merits, Juliet’s mind remained caught by two words. Manton flintlock. Two years ago, Morgan had commented on someone’s having “two Manton flintlocks” when he was helping her escape the smugglers. How many men would note the make of a weapon when surrounded by danger? And would both twins know so much about guns?
    Rosalind fell back to walk alongside her. “Men are such boys—prattling on about their favorite pistols and gunsmiths as if they spend their days fighting battles in thestreets. Griff rarely shoots a gun, and then only at partridges. Yet from all his talk you’d think he was a soldier.”
    When Juliet said nothing,