by Stacy Reid
“Will you speak!” Caroline cried, her hands pressed against her chest.
“She was in the arms of a gentleman, your lordship,” he said stiffly. “She was being held intimately, and…her ladyship’s head rested on his shoulder. I…I was uncertain at the moment what I witnessed and turned away to offer her ladyship privacy. However, the carriage left, and it is now close to dinner time, and her ladyship has not returned. It has been hours, my lord. I, then, thought it prudent to inform you, though it is not my place to comment on her ladyship going and coming. I…I thought you would want to know.”
Caroline gasped and whirled to face him.
He lifted his hands. “Dismissed.”
The butler shuffled out, leaving an awful silence behind.
“He must have mistaken the matter,” Caroline said softly, tears springing to her eyes. “Perhaps she had to leave.”
“Without a farewell?” And in the arms of a man, with her head resting on his shoulder. Hugh was aware of the slow drumming of his heart.
“Did she…did she know our mother left in a comparable manner?” Caroline whispered, looking ashen. “That her lover came for mother in a carriage and she left without looking back?”
The awareness pressed like heavy stones against his chest, crushing and powerful. The anomaly of the sensations had Hugh freezing. Except his damn heart raced a furious pace, and he distantly became aware of Caroline moving closer to him, her lips moving. He did not like the sensations coursing through him one bit; they felt foreign, not a part of him or something he could control.
“It is not prudent to consider every situation through the eyes of what our mother did.”
Yet it would be foolish to dismiss all the lessons the old earl had taught him, and his own experience. His throat ached, and his hands, held so stiffly at his side, trembled as he rose them to sign, “I will be going to London.”
Caroline’s face creased in surprise. “London! Are you certain that is where Phoebe went?”
“I am certain.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He quickly relayed the information to his sister. “That is where her brother lives.”
Her eyes went wide. “But why would she ever go to him? Without thinking of Franny or you. That does not sound like Phoebe, Hugh!”
“Perhaps she was not willing.”
Caroline sent him a pitying look before shuttering her expression. “She…she was in the man’s arms, and he took her into the carriage. Based on Mr. Gervase’s account, that was from this morning. Over five hours have passed.”
“Franny will feel adrift without both our presence for a while.”
“You…you are bringing her home then?” Caroline asked with such hope it jolted him.
“I wasn’t aware there was another option.”
She bit into her lip. “Mother…she tried to come home a few years ago. Father…the old earl would not let her. I know if he was here now, he would tell you not to chase Phoebe and to let her go. I…I simply wasn’t sure what you were going to do.”
“Franny needs her mother. Of course I will bring my wife home.” Hugh also added, “She has not yet fulfilled her obligation in helping you to launch into society. She is not yet free to repay her debt of honor in this marriage of convenience.”
His heart still raced, and a weak-kneed feeling assailed him that had still yet to abate. Hugh was painfully aware that as he signed, his fingers had trembled, and he could not control his reactions. Or the sense of disquiet deepening in his gut. Or the doubt pressing against his heart.
“And do you need her, too? Are those really the only reasons you would go for her?”
“Of course I do not need her. If not for Franny’s sake and yours and William’s, would it matter?”
A wounded look appeared in Caroline’s eyes, but Hugh did not stay to ponder the matter. With rapid strides, he exited the drawing room, heading to his library. Once there, he drafted several notes to his solicitors in London and to his man of affairs. The Winthrop townhouse in Grosvenor Square, which had been closed for more than a decade, needed to be opened and fully staffed by the time he should arrive in London. They had only a few days to get everything tip top, and no expenses should be spared in making the townhouse presentable.
Once there, he would retrieve his wife and deal with the matter of her unexpected leaving.
Never chase after a woman. The old earl’s warning slid under his defenses like a well-aimed arrow. That is the surest way to give them too much power, my boy, and then before you know it, you are in a trap that you can never recover from.
Uncharacteristic anger snapped through him, and with a swipe of his hands, the papers, the ink, and inkwell were pushed from his desk to the carpet. I am not chasing her, he silently snarled.
The facts were not to be distorted into foolish sentimentality. Their daughter needed her at home. No female was ever going to lead him around by the nose.
Did you willingly walk away or were you coerced, my wife?
The answer did not matter, for he would bring her home safely whichever scenario proved to be true. The only thing he needed to swiftly analyze and resolve was his reaction to the news that she had left. It was insupportable that he could feel this weak and dispossessed, that he could allow her to mean so much that for that moment he had been stripped of all rational thoughts. Emotions had ruled him, and the very awareness of it filled him with anger and discomfort.
He had lost sight of his innate control, and he had no idea how to regain it. She felt as necessary to him as breathing, and that very notion filled him with dread. Never should he allow himself to be so weak to another. The loss of his mother had destroyed something profound in the old earl, where even when he sensed death, he hadn’t been able to let her go. The man had left her a letter, and Hugh had shrewdly read it. In that final missive, his father had sworn his undying adoration for her and how much he had missed her every day of his life, and because his heart was hers, he never loved again or entertained the notion…even after every cruel and thoughtless agony she had inflicted.
I will never be that man. Yet here he was, his damn hands shaking because Phoebe had seemingly left their home. Utter fucking rubbish!
The emotional threat she represented tore at him. How had he missed the danger of her? Despite his father’s warning he had been so damned arrogant, so foolish that she did not have the power to affect his heart. Hugh had never imagined the emotions sweeping through him, the fear, the rage, the bitter bite of jealousy, to be possible.
He ruthlessly disciplined all the strange, complex emotions twisting inside until they were quashed back down and no longer troubled his thoughts. His heart calmed, the shaking of his fingers stopped, and his muscles relaxed.
This is what I’ve allowed you to do to me. Never again, my wife.
…
The rocking and jolting of a carriage over rough country road shook Phoebe awake. She did not rouse with a start, but a slow awareness that she was not lying under the large tree by the lake, and once again Hugh must have come for her while she slept. Except they travelled too fast, as if at any moment the equipage might careen out of control. Though she reposed on her side on the well-padded squab with a soft blanket covering her, there was an aching discomfort in her shoulders, an odd taste in her mouth, and she needed to badly attend to her body needs.
Her lashes fluttered open, and all her senses surged to life at the sight of the man sitting on the opposite seat. The Sparrow. A kiss of warning quivered down her spine, and her heart increased its tempo. With a gasp, she scrambled to sit up, wincing at the rush of tingles all over her body. Finally, she was in a sitting position, and she glared at the man who watched her with cool unconcern. She glanced around the unfamiliar carriage. “What is going on?” she demanded through dried, cracked lips.
He reached out, and in his hand
was a flask. “It is water. I imagine you might be very thirsty.”
She took it from him, quite aware if he had meant her grievous bodily harm she would not have woken just now. Phoebe took a sip of the refreshing water then a few more greedy gulps before she was satisfied.
“Have you gone mad?” Phoebe asked, knowing he had everything to do with her presence in this carriage. “What have you done?”
An audacious twinkle appeared in his eyes. “It was unfortunate, but this is a kidnapping.”
Panic crashed into her senses with the weight of a boulder. “A kidnapping!” Good heavens! She rubbed a painful ache at the back of her neck. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Hours have passed, I’m afraid.”
A rushing sensation went through her, leaving Phoebe a tad dizzy. Dear God! The single thought that eclipsed all others was that to her family she had simply gone missing. She had fallen into a routine with Franny where, despite having a nursemaid, Phoebe bathed and sang to her daughter every day before reading her a bedtime story. Then she would spend the rest of the evening with her husband.
What must they be thinking now?
Aghast, she drew the carriage curtains aside to see a dark, unfamiliar landscape. A hollow sensation invaded her midsection. “How did I get here?”
The man had the grace to look uneasy. “I have been watching your coming and going from a distance. I gathered your routine, and while you slept…I took you away.”
The sheer ease of his actions robbed her of breath. “Without me waking?”
He looked away briefly, and the feeling inside got heavier.
All the ways heroines had been taken in those gothic novels she read swarmed through her recollections. “You…you drugged me,” she said accusingly, pressing a hand to her chest.
Surprise flared in his eyes, confirming her fears.
“Have you no shame?”
His jaw tightened. “I was incredibly careful, and no harm was done. I made sure of that. My job here is to save you, and I did what was necessary to achieve that means. It was clear to me that you would not come willingly, and I had my directives.”
“Directives?” she snarled, gripping the edge of the seat in a white-knuckle grip. “Save me? How dare you! I was with my family! Did you even let them know you took me? Of course not! Or you would not have acted in such a despicable and clandestine manner.”
Her mind reeled with anger and a piercing disquiet. The implication sat heavy in her bones. It was already late into the night. She had not been there to put Franny to bed. And Hugh… God, what must he be thinking?
The viscount leaned forward. “Lady Phoebe, your family is in England and very worried. The duke himself told me you should be returned at all costs. Let me urge you to—”
Her hands flew, and she slapped his face with all the fury burning in her heart. “You will turn this carriage around immediately!”
He leaned back, seemingly uncaring she had slapped him. “I am regretful to say I cannot agree to that. We are very soon to be in England.”
She pushed the curtains aside. “I cannot credit your words or actions.”
“We have been travelling nonstop. Only to swap out a team of horses a few times. We travelled through the night and the day.”
A full day had passed. “Why would you do this?” she demanded hoarsely.
“You can take it up with your brother and the duke, your father.”
She closed her eyes, a tear leaking forth.
“Come, Lady Phoebe, this does not call for tears. I am returning you home to your brother, and I will do so safely. You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.”
“I became unsafe the instant you drugged me,” she snapped. “You, sir, are a despicable bounder. My husband will come after me.”
“Then let him come,” he said coolly. “It would be interesting to see the manner of man who would steal a young girl away from her family and have little care for her to return to them.”
And another disquieting fear lanced deep inside. Would you come for me, Hugh? Surely, after everything they had shared, he would not think she had simply left him and her child. She dearly hoped he was not that bacon-brained! Still, the dire warnings the old earl had left in his letter had her heart shaking.
Do not give him the opportunity to doubt your loyalty and you will not suffer heartache. Pushing aside her misgivings, Phoebe folded her arms in her lap and glared at her captor. Civility obliged her to politely say, “I have urgent needs I must attend.”
“There is an inn only a few minutes out. We will rest there for an hour while you tend to your ablutions and eat a meal. It is a fine inn, exceptionally clean and run by a good friend of mine.”
She heard the warning in his tone. Phoebe was not silly enough to run away in the night in the middle of God knew where alone. The safest course would be to arrive to her brother’s in London and then immediately return home to her husband and child. Once Richard saw that she was fine, all this nonsense of stealing her from her own husband would be resolved.
…
A couple days later, Phoebe lifted her hand and knocked on the drawing room door in her brother’s townhouse in Mayfair. She had arrived with the viscount late last night under the banner of darkness and secrecy and had fallen into bed a few minutes later. Where that wretched bounder had taken himself after, she did not care to speculate. She had been exhausted and dirty from travelling, but her brother had not been home. It seemed he had not expected her arrival.
It was Evie who had woken Phoebe an hour ago to a profusion of hugs and relieved laughter. Her sister-in-law had always been an astonishing beauty and renowned in the ton for her elegance and sense of style, but this morning she had glowed, and Phoebe had been thrilled to see Evie’s belly was rounded with child. The distemper of stomach which had been plaguing her had lessened along with the worry that she might lose her child.
They had spoken for several minutes, and though Evie’s startling green eyes had glowed with curiosity, she had held it in check admirably. After she had departed, Phoebe had taken a quick bath and had been astonished to see that several of her gowns and riding habits that she had left behind were in her brother’s residence. After dressing in a peach day gown, which fitted a bit snugger around the bosom, and with her hair artfully coiffed, she made her way downstairs, determined to secure a carriage to travel home today.
“Come,” her brother said at her second knock.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, hoping to stop the twisting nerves writhing inside. Phoebe opened the door and faltered briefly. Her mother was there!
And to Phoebe’s shock, the duchess appeared almost anxious. Much must have changed since Phoebe had left London, because before her mother would suffer an apoplectic fit to be in the same room with her own son.
Her mother’s hand tightened on her teacup, and relief lit in her eyes. Phoebe blinked, wondering if she had imagined such a reaction. Evie stood, a smile curving her mouth, her gaze warm and welcoming. Then Evie lifted her chin toward Richard. Schooling her expression into polite interest, Phoebe walked over to Richard, who stood facing the windows to a side garden.
“Richard,” she said softly.
He tensed briefly before turning around. His golden gaze scanned from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes. Her brother was very self-assured, arrogant, and had garnered a reputation in the ton for being decisive and ruthless. Observing him now, there was an air of danger around him—it was there in his stillness and how he searched her features trying to determine if she was harmed.
“I am frightfully well, considering,” she said with a small smile.
Whatever he saw reassured him, for he closed his eyes briefly in relief. Then he opened his arms wide, and she walked right into them, hugging him fiercely.
“You are home now,” he muttered, releasing he
r. “All will be well. I missed you, poppet.”
“I missed you, too, Richard, so very much!” She took a steady breath and said, “But my home is in Scotland, and I mean to return immediately.” That pronouncement had silence falling in the room.
Richard frowned, then his expression shuttered. Her brother could be fearsome when needed, especially with the scar on his left cheek. Once she would have felt intimidated by his uncompromising mien, but Phoebe felt different now, as if the pain and uncertainty of the last few months had reshaped her into a different creature and she only now realized it.
Tipping on her toes, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Then she went over to her mother and dipped into a curtsy. “Hallo, Mother,” she said, surprised that the anger and pain she had expected to feel were silent.
The duchess’s lips tightened. “Do you know how worried we all were, Phoebe?”
She sauntered over to the sofa and sat. “The circumstances called me to leave London with all haste.” She cast a sweeping glance over Richard, Evie, and her mother. “It pains me that I caused you worry, but I had to protect the life of my child.”
A violent flush mounted her mother’s cheek. “You had it, then?”
Phoebe ignored her by leaning over to pour herself a cup of tea. “I got your letter, Richard, and I replied informing you that I am well and explained my circumstances, leaving nothing to the imagination. Why did you send someone to kidnap me from my home? Arrangements must be made immediately for me to return, starting my journey this evening. I promise I shall come for a longer visit when the time is suitable.”
“It is my job to protect you,” he said, his voice low and assessing. Her brother stared at her as if he did not know what to expect. “I was also out of town these few months and only a few days ago received your most recent letter.”
“I see.”
“I would have still instructed the Sparrow to bring you home even if I was in possession of it, though.”
