by Jaimey Grant
“No, we’re not,” Adam said with enough conviction to startle his listeners.
“You mean, you’ll not even try? What if she is hurt? What if she is lost? What if—”
“What if,” Adam said fiercely, “she doesn’t want to be found?” He leaned forward in his chair, the sudden anger in his eyes making Verena lean back. “You, of all people, Verena Westbridge, should understand the need for anonymity.” Then he rose to his feet and strode angrily from the room.
Verena looked a question at her husband. Connor stared at the recently slammed door and shrugged.
“I happen to agree with Adam,” Connor told his wife with a confused frown. “In theory.”
The maid’s room was duly searched for clues as to Bridgette’s disappearance and possible whereabouts.
A stone-faced Bates found Lady Connor Northwicke sitting in the library, staring morosely out the window. She looked up, worry mingling with hope on her beautiful face. With a bow and a flicker of compassion in his old eyes, the butler silently handed her a sealed letter.
“This was found hidden under a cushion, my lady,” he informed her stoically. He bowed again and withdrew.
Verena stared at her name, written in a delicate flourish on the paper, for a full thirty seconds before finally breaking the plain seal and slowly opening the parchment.
She read the flowing script once, twice, and a third time as tears started to her eyes and trickled down her face.
My dear friend, it read, By the time you receive this letter, I will have gone. Being unable to show myself in London, for fear of Discovery, I am forced to leave. I am sorry for the Pain my Leaving has no doubt caused you and hope that you will find it in your Heart to one day Forgive me.
Please believe that I value your Friendship and Trust you implicitly. I was often tempted to tell you the Truth of my past but the Danger to you was always too great. My very Presence in your home was too Dangerous.
Please do not try to find me, Doll. You will fail. I have become quite adept at hiding myself due to the Desperation of my Situation. Not even Adam Prestwich will find me this time.
Take care of yourself, my dearest friend. I will never forget you. But, please, try to Forget Me.
Yr. humble and obedient servant,
And loving friend,
Bri
Verena let the letter fall from suddenly nerveless fingers and dropped her head onto her raised knees. She wished desperately that there was something she could do.
Not even Adam Prestwich will find me this time.
Verena sat very still. What a curious thing to say. She reached down and retrieved the letter. Yes, that’s what it said. Not even Adam Prestwich will find me this time.
Why on earth would she single out Adam?
Verena got to her feet and decided to seek out her husband’s friend and put the question to him. She sent a footman to inquire about his whereabouts to be informed of his presence in his private sitting room.
Verena set out to the chambers allotted to Adam. She knew it was a trifle improper to visit a gentleman in his private chambers, but she was determined to get answers.
After knocking once, Adam opened the door. He stood staring down at her, one dark brow raised in question.
“May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Prestwich?”
His dark brows quirked at her formality but he bowed and moved aside to allow her entrance into his sitting room. He watched her pace nervously but made no move to make her feel welcome.
“What did you want to say, my lady?”
Verena stopped and regarded him seriously. “If a lady were to mention a specific gentleman in her correspondence, what sort of light would you place upon that?”
He stared at her in surprise. “It would depend much on how he is mentioned, I suppose.”
Verena bit her lip. “If he is mentioned just once, but in such a way as to convey to the reader that something of great import is missing?”
“Verena, cut line. What the devil is this about?”
“The servants set to search Bri’s room found a letter addressed to me,” Verena snapped back. “In it, she said, and I quote, ‘Not even Adam Prestwich will find me this time.’ What does she mean by that?”
Adam’s look became shuttered. “How the devil would I know what the woman was thinking? You seem to be accusing me of something, my lady,” he challenged softly.
“Who are you and who is Bridgette and what is she to you?”
Adam opened his mouth but an icy cold voice stopped whatever response hovered on his tongue.
“What transpires here?”
*
Eighteen
They both swung about to face Connor’s blank expression. Verena flushed with guilt when she realized exactly how improper it was to converse with a man alone in his private chambers. Adam, the nodcock, stepped quickly away from her, giving the impression of an intimacy that did not exist. Which, in turn, only fueled the sudden jealousy that burned behind Connor’s hard gaze.
Her husband maintained his calm and repeated his question. Verena flashed a look at Adam before she finally answered him.
“I was merely consulting Mr. Prestwich about a certain aspect of our departure.” Verena wasn’t sure why she lied. When she saw her husband’s eyes grow even more frigid, she wished she hadn’t.
“Indeed?” Connor murmured softly. “In his private sitting room?”
Verena looked away and tugged nervously at her pretty muslin skirt. “I know now that I should have waited and asked him later, but it was important.” Her voice trailed off.
Adam could have remedied the situation but he just stood there smirking, the makebate. Verena silently cursed him, even while she wondered at her own reticence.
The rage that crossed her husband’s features made her shiver, but it seemed directed at his friend rather than her. A small relief but a relief nonetheless.
“Verena, come.” He held out his hand and his wife took it with great reluctance. He tightened his grip and practically dragged her from the room.
Verena held back once they reached the relative safety of the corridor. “Connor, wait. I—”
Her husband turned abruptly and glared down at her for a long moment. Finally, he bit out, “Not a word, Verena.” Then he resumed his trek to their suite, pulling her along behind him.
He threw open the door of her room and marched inside, slamming the door behind them. Verena reflected a trifle irrelevantly that her husband didn’t seem to give a fig for appearances when he was angry. Surely, everyone in the castle heard that door slam!
Husband and wife stared at each other for several tense moments, one fuming, the other wary.
“What the devil is going on?” Connor suddenly exploded.
Verena took a step back. “What do you mean?”
His eyes opened wide in utter disbelief. “What do I mean? I mean, madam wife, what the devil is going on between you and Adam Prestwich?”
Verena was too stunned to answer. Her husband took her silence for guilt and slammed his fist down on a pretty little table that promptly broke under the force of his anger.
Shock held her immobile for a moment but then Verena released a strangled cry and darted for the door. Before she could reach it, a well-muscled arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back against a hard body. She tried desperately to break free, unable to bear the thought of this man beating her. Had she been wrong about him all along?
He spun her in his arms so she faced him. She opened her mouth to scream but stopped when she saw the expression in his eyes. He looked so sad, so miserable, that she reached out involuntarily and placed her hand on his face.
“God, Verena, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m just overwrought.”
Verena drew in a rather unsteady breath. “You are wrong if you think I am having an affair with your friend. Of course I am not.”
His face cleared, more closely resembling his usual good humor. “Thank God! Of all the men to lose
you to, I don’t think I could bear losing you to Adam.”
She started to smile but stopped as she became aware that she was pressed up against his muscular body so tightly that she could feel his heart beating against her chest. She looked up into his face and saw his eyes darken as he, too, became aware of their proximity. She watched his lips curve into a wicked grin as he lowered his head to hers.
Their lips met and Verena felt herself falling into a whirlpool of dizzying emotions. She raised her hands to his head and ran them through his thick hair. His tongue demanded entrance and she gave it willingly.
When Connor lifted his head for a moment, she saw the question in his eyes. She felt the usual twinge of fear, which made her hesitate.
Connor sighed. “Maybe when we reach London,” he said almost to himself. “We leave early on the morrow. We should arrive in about three days if we travel quickly.” He kissed her quickly and stepped away from her.
“Connor, I—”
He held up his hand. “Verena, this would be a bad time anyway.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself instead of her. He took her hand and looked at her intently, a half-smile on his lips. “Don’t look so upset. We’ll come about. You’ll see.”
She didn’t see, actually. But she let his confidence wash over her and reassure her. She nodded and he gave her an engaging grin.
“I must ride over to Dr. Steele’s before we leave.” He glanced at Verena as a sudden idea occurred to him. “Would you like to come with me?”
She was surprised and pleased by the invitation. She had to admit to a natural desire to meet the man who had played such an important role in Connor’s life. So, with a smile, she agreed.
“Good.” He paused on his way out the door. “Do you ride? I never thought to inquire before.”
Verena nodded, since she did know how to ride. She just neglected to inform her husband that she wasn’t very skilled or well practiced at it.
It didn’t matter, she told herself fiercely. He would only be disappointed in her again and that she didn’t want. No matter what happened.
An hour later, Verena was attired in a becoming riding habit of deep maroon, á la militaire style with a jaunty little shako perched saucily on her dark locks. She had a black cape on, one side thrown carelessly up over one shoulder. Gloves of soft kidskin covered her tiny hands and smart riding boots covered her feet. She felt very fashionable and hoped Connor would think so as well.
Upon reaching the stable yard she stopped in dismay, staring at the massive hunter Connor had had saddled for her and cursing her stupid pride. Surely the beast would kill her!
The horse was very pretty, she had to admit, solid white with a black star on her head and a flowing white mane and tail. She seemed placid enough, but she was so very large. Verena shivered and it had nothing to do with the winter chill in the air.
“Ready?” said a voice close to her ear.
Verena swung around to encounter the amused eyes of her husband. “You look terrified,” he observed, his smile wavering slightly. “You don’t really ride, do you?”
She looked for anger or disappointment, but his neutral tone told her nothing. His guarded eyes belied the smile on his face.
Verena looked down at the toe of the little boot peeking out from beneath her long skirts. “I do ride, Con. Just not very well. I never had the chance to practice much at Greendale even though I used to love to spend time with the horses. But when Carstairs found out, he cut me off.” She looked up at him. “I’m not scared of the animals. I’m just nervous of riding. That’s all.”
He searched her face for a long moment, a moment in which Verena fidgeted nervously, pondering the many things he could do or say that would destroy all the faith she’d placed in him.
Face clearing, he said, “It’s good that I chose Circe for you then. She’s placid but possesses enough spirit to keep you awake in the saddle.”
He took her hand and Verena experienced a surge of disappointment that he had said nothing about her fashionable appearance. She was doubly proud of her looks since she had had to dress herself and style her hair all without Bridgette’s help.
Thoughts of her missing friend made Verena’s brow pucker, a dark shadow on an otherwise bright day.
Bridgette fled her thoughts when Connor helped her mount Circe. As his gloved fingers slid over hers, he paused, staring at her face until she blushed. Smiling, he pressed his lips to the tiny bit of exposed skin at her wrist. Surprised, breathless, she settled into the sidesaddle as comfortably as possible, her mind a whirl of emotions and her fingers tingling.
While Connor mounted his own horse, the stable boy handed Circe’s reins to Verena. She favored him with a blinding smile that had him nearly tripping over his own feet on his way back to the stables.
Connor’s chuckle drew her eye. He sat atop Mercury, laughing at the stable boy’s reaction to her guileless charm. Verena didn’t know what to think and said the first thing that came to mind.
“I’m ready.”
Her words should not have caused the arrested expression that crossed her husband’s face. But then, what did she really understand of men? Her father, her brother, and a complete stranger were the only ones she’d ever really known. They were hardly ones she could look to for guidance in the strange behavior of men. Unless, she thought cynically, one wanted to know all the negative aspects of a gentleman’s character.
Lips quivering, threatening to turn down at the corners, she forced them the other way, favoring Connor with the same smile she’d bestowed upon the servant.
Connor drew his horse alongside the waiting Circe. He leaned closer to Verena and whispered, “If you continue to smile like that, all my father’s male servants will have to leave.”
Verena inhaled sharply. “Why?”
“It is impossible for a man to work when faced with an angel, you see.” And then he kissed her, on the lips, in full view of anyone who happened to be glancing in their direction.
She blushed as he drew away. “Shall we?” he asked lightly. She nodded and they set off.
They walked out of the stable yard and rode a little in companionable silence. Verena looked around at all the surrounding countryside and, despite the naked trees and bland vistas that indicated winter snows lay just around the corner, experienced such a feeling of peace that she thought she might cry. Her problems faded just a bit, her mind allowing her a bit of relief from almost constant worry.
“What is it?” her husband asked, probably noticing the tears in her eyes.
Verena smiled and shook her head, one hand straying automatically to twist in her horse’s mane. “I’m just so happy here,” she replied honestly. “I never thought I would ever be happy, so even the smallest things are so very wonderful.”
Connor said nothing to her impulsive confession and for a moment, she wished the words unsaid. Then he smiled and she felt the hard knot in her stomach recede, leaving behind a warm glow that had nothing to do with the mild weather.
Beginning to feel more at ease in the saddle than she could ever remember being, Verena needed little urging to kick her mare into a canter. They moved along quickly and soon reached a pretty little thatched cottage on the outskirts of the Denbigh estate.
Connor reined in and slid from his mount. Verena placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders and allowed him to help her down.
His hands on her waist caused a funny shiver in her middle. Her feet touched the ground but he didn’t release her. Looking up, she narrowed her eyes. What was he about? They stood in full view of the house, where anyone within could see them. Yet, her husband, proper gentleman that he was, remained with his hands improperly at her waist, smiling down at her as if he knew the sudden desire she felt, the sudden desire to have his lips on hers. He pulled her closer, bringing their bodies flush for a moment. As his lips drew nearer, a voice hailed him from the cottage. Connor stepped away with a sigh that echoed in his wife’s mind.
He he
ld out one hand and said, “Come. I will introduce you to the good doctor.”
Dr. Garrett Steele was a surprise to Verena. Tall and infinitely good-looking, he appeared more a lord than the son of a vicar he was reputed to be. He had thick dark red hair that curled all over his head in artistic disarray, his clothes were of the best quality although a trifle provincial in cut, and he quite simply did not act like a country doctor. And Verena estimated he had only half a dozen years on her husband.
He bowed and favored her with a genial smile. “I am delighted to meet Lord Connor’s beautiful wife. He speaks of nothing else since he brought you home.”
Verena blushed and sent her husband a surprised look. She murmured something acceptably polite and lapsed into silence.
A stable boy rushed from behind the house to take the horses, listening carefully to the instructions Lord Connor gave him. Really, gentlemen were so particular when it came to their horseflesh!
Connor took his wife’s elbow and propelled her toward the house. After leaving their hats and coats with the maid at the door, the doctor led the way into a light airy drawing room decorated in shades of blue.
After requesting tea and cakes from one of his few servants, Garrett sat down across from Connor and asked if all was well.
“Of course! I brought Verena to make your acquaintance since she has already heard so much about you. She once expressed an interest in my habits of doctoring my tenants myself.”
Verena seemed to come to life at this. “Oh, yes! On the road to Denbigh he told me about a certain Mr. Black and his wife. I was amazed and very impressed.”
The good doctor blinked at her dazzling smile. He glanced at Connor who smiled knowingly. “Yes,” Garrett finally replied, “I remember that. Connor was the only one available who was qualified enough to deliver the baby and handle any complications. I was busy at the time, if I recall correctly, delivering twins on the other side of the estate.”