He reviewed the events of that fateful night in his mind. When he thought clearly of the scene he’d witnessed in the library, it occurred to him that Becca had been pushing Roberts away. Why had he refused to believe that? Against his will, he remembered all that had happened afterward in their chamber. Shame washed over him afresh. How could he have used her so roughly? He’d stopped, but it had been a bloody close thing. My God, to think what he’d almost done to her! It was unforgiveable, and yet he prayed she would find forgiveness in her kind and generous heart. He had to make this right.
By the time he arrived at Kanewood the next evening, Geoffrey was ready to jump out of his skin. Before the carriage had even come to a complete stop, he jumped out. He ran up the stone steps and pushed open the door. “Becca!” he called. “Becca?”
Lady Margaret walked out of the parlor. “She isn’t here, Geoffrey.”
He spun around to face her. “What are you talking about, Mother?”
“She’s been gone all day.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” His mother wrung her hands. “When I didn’t see her at breakfast, I assumed she was still feeling ill. But when I went to her room—”
“She’s been ill?”
“Mildly, yes,” his mother answered.
A parlormaid walked past them, her head down and Geoffrey caught her attention. “Can you please send Mary to me? Lady Kanewood’s maid?”
“Nay, my lord.” The maid’s brow furrowed. “Mary left this morning with Lady Kanewood.”
“Damn it!” Geoffrey turned to leave, but his mother’s gentle touch on his arm stayed him.
“Geoffrey, where are you off to?”
“She’s left me, Mother.”
“You left her first, Geoffrey.”
Pain stabbed at him. “I know.”
Her lips pursed, but she said nothing more of Becca. “Why don’t you have something to eat, dear?”
“I have to find her, Mother.”
“Geoffrey, you can’t go racing about. It will be dark soon. The morning will be soon enough.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair in acute frustration. “Yes, yes.” He blew out a breath. “You have the right of it.”
The cook prepared him a platter and he ate in silence. Thankfully, Patricia and John had already taken themselves off to bed.
Geoffrey finished his meal and climbed the staircase, his steps plodding. Once more, he’d sleep without Becca in his arms. First thing tomorrow, he’d question the staff. He might have set Becca aside, fool that he’d been. But no one would keep her from him now.
Chapter 26
When Geoffrey awoke the next morning, his determination was strong. By lunch time, however, his results weren’t. No one on his staff knew where Mary had gone with her mistress, and the stables yielded more bad news. In Fields’s absence, one of the grooms had driven her. Apparently, none of the others knew of Lady Kanewood’s destination.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” one of the grooms apologized. “We have no notion where the Scot took her.”
“Well, isn’t there anyone who—” Geoffrey began. “Wait. A Scot?”
“Aye, my lord. McGinty was who took her. His wife is ready to bear him another youngun any day now. He’s gone home to see to her.”
Geoffrey dismissed the men, his mind working. The groom who’d driven her was Scottish. For some reason, that little piece of information seemed significant. “But why?” He filed it away in his mind to contemplate later.
After choking down his lunch, Geoffrey went into his study. Sitting down behind his desk, he reviewed what he’d already learned. Precious little, really. Becca was gone, and he had no idea where. Could she have gone to Raven’s? No. She wasn’t emotionally attached to her father, and Geoffrey couldn’t imagine she’d want to go there if she was upset. She’d taken Mary with her, so obviously she thought to stay away for a while. That fact cut him to the quick.
He sat up suddenly, an idea flitting through his mind. Her clothes! He’d ascertain what type of clothes she’d taken with her. Perhaps that would help point to her destination. He all but jumped out of the chair, bound for their chamber. He rounded the corner and took the steps two at a time. When he reached their room, he crossed to her vanity.
He’d never really paid much attention to the feminine notions that normally littered the top of it, but not much was there now, just some ribbons and hairpins. To the right of the mirror sat a velvet jeweler’s box. Recognition dawned on him as he opened the box. Inside lay the pearls he’d given her the night of the Winslow ball. He fingered them, thinking back to how perfect they’d looked against her flawless skin. She’d left them behind as she’d left him.
He snapped the lid closed and turned from the vanity, walking into her dressing room. While Mary kept the room well-organized, he still had no notion what was missing. He pulled open one of the drawers. Inside were only a few nightgowns, indicating that she’d taken several with her. How long did she plan to stay away? His attention turned to the dresses hanging in the large wardrobe. It appeared, to his untrained eye at least, that several were missing. His gaze fell on her formal gowns, his fingers absently caressing the smooth fabric. Something caught his eye. The provocative blush-pink gown hung in the wardrobe, bringing back memories to him in a rush. The thought of all those young pups drooling over her each moment he left her side now made him smile wryly. His reaction had been almost comical. He thought of the passion they’d shared on the carriage-ride home that evening, his blood warming at that memory. The entire time he’d known her she’d welcomed him and only him. She’d never flirted with the men currying her favor at the bashes, either. No, she’d just been the friendly open girl he’d fallen for at the inn. Her passion she’d kept for him alone. He was even more determined to find her. He had to. He’d finally realized what was missing from his life these past many years. And it was Becca.
As he left the dressing room, something nagging at the back of his mind struck him. A Scot! A Scotsman had monopolized her attention for a bit that night, causing her some distress. The man had told her of a woman, his lord’s wife, who greatly resembled Becca. Hadn’t Becca told him later that the woman’s name was the same as her mother’s?
What was the Scotsman’s name? Mc-something … McCall … McClair! Could she have gone to Scotland? He’d return to the stables and question the men once more.
Pleased to have a course of action at last, he fairly ran for the stairs. He nearly crashed into his mother at the top. As he began to rush through an apology, the melancholy on her face struck him.
“What is it, Mother?”
“I was visiting with Ann. The poor little thing misses Rebecca terribly.”
“She isn’t the only one.”
“Rebecca spent many hours with her, Geoffrey,” Lady Margaret went on, a small smile on her face. “Mrs. Riley told me that Rebecca had been there yesterday morning.”
“Mother, do you think she may have told Ann where she was going?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. She and the child have become quite close. In fact, she was talking about Rebecca just before her nap. Something about heather.”
“Heather?” Something niggled at the back of his mind. The groom who had driven her was Scottish. Now Ann talked about heather?
His mother shrugged. “Perhaps—”
Before she’d finished her sentence, Geoffrey left her to run up to the nursery. When he opened the door, Mrs. Riley had just set out Ann’s afternoon snack.
She straightened, obviously surprised to see the earl standing in the doorway. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Hello, Mrs. Riley.”
His gaze darted about the room and the nanny regarded him for a moment.
“Is there something you need?” she asked.
“Is Ann about?”
Mrs. Riley nodded. “Yes, my lord. She should be in presently.”
Ann skipped into the room, coming to a stop when
she saw her uncle there.
Geoffrey saw the child tremble, and crouched down so as not to appear so large to her. “Hello, Ann.”
“Hello, Uncle Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey looked pointedly at the nanny. Obeying his unspoken request, she left the room. Ann walked over to the little table and sat. She picked up her milk and drank, staring at her uncle over the rim of the glass.
Geoffrey folded himself to sit on one tiny wooden chair. “Ann, did you see Aunt Rebecca yesterday?”
“Oh, yes.” Ann nibbled on a biscuit. “She was sad.”
Geoffrey’s heart lurched at that little declaration. “Do you know what made her sad?”
Ann looked at him as if he were simple. “She was sad about going away. I tried to make her feel better.”
“I’m sure you did, sweetheart.”
Ann nodded regally. “Auntie likes very much to read to me, Uncle Geoffrey.”
“Yes, I know.”
She smiled back at him and he let the child eat her snack for a short while.
“Ann,” he asked finally, “did Aunt Rebecca tell you when she would return?”
Ann shook her head, sadness in her eyes. “No. Won’t you go get her and bring her back?”
“I would, but I don’t know where she went.”
“She went to Scotland, silly,” Ann said absently, turning her attention back to her biscuits.
Geoffrey straightened in his chair, struggling to keep his voice level for the child’s sake. He’d suspected as much, but to hear it from Ann was astounding. “How do you know that?”
“She told me.” Ann shrugged. “There are lots of green hills there, Uncle Geoffrey. And purple heather growing everywhere.”
“Is that right?” He stood then. “I’ve enjoyed our visit, Ann.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and left the nursery. Without any further delay, he went back to the stables to question the men once more.
* * * *
The early part of Becca’s day passed in a very pleasant fashion. After breakfast, she’d strolled the courtyard with her father. He was incredibly huge, taller even that Geoffrey. But she’d soon put that fact aside as she accustomed herself to his presence. His brogue was musical to her ears, his booming laugh refreshing.
“Tell me, lass,” he said, his expression grave. “Tell me you forgive me?”
She didn’t wish to speak of it again, certain the subject caused him as much pain as it did her. The look in his eyes, green and so like her own, showed his intent as well as his regret.
“Lady Charlotte told me about the danger to the both of you. I understand.”
“But do you forgive me? ’Tis a far different thing, my girl.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I do.”
Upon hearing her words, his big shoulders slumped in relief.
She decided to broach the subject they’d all been avoiding since her arrival. “But you must promise me something.”
“Anything, Rebecca,” he said.
“We need to clear this matter up—so that you and my mother may come back into England without fear of arrest.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“Father, you did nothing wrong. My—Thomas has held this over your head for almost twenty years.”
“Ach, lassie, he loved your mother, too. So much time has passed.”
“Precisely. It’s time to put all of this in the past. I was never very close with Thomas, but … that is, I believe he does care for me.”
“You shouldn’t have to speak on my behalf,” her father bristled.
“Never mind. I will make this right. Not just for you and Mother. But for my baby.”
His eyes teared up and she found herself enveloped in a crushing, loving hug. She didn’t know if she had any sway over Thomas, but she would try her best. For all of them.
Now she stood in the guest room she’d been given, readying herself for tea. Being English, Becca’s mother still insisted on tea each afternoon, much to Laird McClair’s chagrin. Becca had found her first smile as she listened to them bicker over the ritual, warmth in their voices.
Her dress was of rose-colored silk, one of the first Geoffrey had given her. She regarded herself closely in the cheval glass, seeing both of her parents’ features evident in her reflection. She ran her fingers through the curls at her temple, her mind working. Her mother had told her that Thomas had named the inn for her. The ton had bestowed the nickname “Raven” upon her very shortly after her debut, because of her raven-black tresses. When Charlotte had returned to the holding with McClair, he renamed his family home for her, as well.
Becca thought back to how Geoffrey had always professed to love her hair. He’d always called her beautiful. Had his love for her been that shallow? He’d cast her aside so easily, perhaps it had been only her looks that had held his heart. Her stomach clenched at that thought. She ran her hand gently over her abdomen. She would have to be strong for her child. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. And she would love it enough for two parents, even if she had to do it alone.
Sighing, she turned away from the mirror and went downstairs to tea.
* * * *
At Kanewood that evening, Geoffrey paid little attention to his dinner, his mind on the morrow. Fields had promised him he’d learn where the McClair holding was and Geoffrey trusted the man at his word. He noticed then that John never appeared for the meal.
“Where’s my brother, Patricia?”
“It seems he had some appointments to keep in London, Kane.” She sipped at her wine. “It’s a shame you came back so soon. You could have kept an eye on my husband for me.”
Geoffrey started at her choice of words. He’d told Chester and Leed that he’d do just that and now John wasn’t at Kanewood.
“Don’t you usually accompany him on these trips?” Lady Margaret asked.
Patricia bristled. “He shall not be gone long, Lady Margaret,” she responded sharply.
His mother arched her brow at the woman’s reaction, but held her tongue.
“Which is it then, Patricia? Will he be gone a while or back shortly?” Geoffrey asked. “What, precisely, keeps John in London?”
She pursed her lips. “He will be back when he returns. I trust my spouse, Kane.”
The dig missed its intended mark but still stung. He should have trusted Becca. That was the truth of it. The remainder of the meal passed in uncomfortable silence, though he still found it preferrable to Patricia’s venom.
Much later, Geoffrey stood at the window in his study on the main floor, looking out at the dark landscape. His upcoming trip distracted him, preventing the hope of getting to sleep tonight. He poured himself a brandy and swirled the liquid in his glass, trying to puzzle through all that muddled his mind.
A knock sounded at the door. Geoffrey went to it, thinking it could be Fields with information for him. He pulled the door open and blinked in surprise. Patricia stood there in her wrapper, the collar closed tightly under her chin.
“Patricia, what are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She strolled into the room. “I knocked on your chamber door, but there was no answer.”
“You went to my chamber?”
“Yes.” She turned slightly to gaze at him over her shoulder. “I needed someone to talk to.”
He closed the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed. “What did you wish to discuss?”
“I was lonely, Kane.” She crossed over to stand very close, nearly touching him. “You must be lonely without Rebecca.”
Geoffrey straightened, putting some distance between them, but she promptly bridged the tiny space he’d made and loosened the collar of her wrapper, showing him quite a bit of her bosom.
“Kane.” She pressed herself against him. “I can make you forget all about her.”
“I don’t want to forget about her.”
“You cast her aside.” She caressed him
through his breeches. Her gown was open to him now, showing him she wore nothing beneath. She nibbled on his ear. “I have acquired many talents since our engagement, Kane. More than Rebecca, I daresay. Let me show you.”
She knelt down to unbutton his breeches. He grabbed her fingers then, nearly crushing them.
“Get up,” he barked.
She blinked up at him and stood, placing her hands behind his neck.
He grabbed her roughly and pushed her away. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re my brother’s wife!”
She simply shrugged, closing her wrapper with an imperious toss of her head. “I thought we could make each other feel better, that’s all. But I can see you’re as passionless as you were all those years ago.”
His eyes narrowed. “I only have passion for my wife. A whore like you would never entice me.”
“Whore!” She ran at him, her hands in fists as she pummeled his chest.
He easily stopped her assault, holding her away from him. “Don’t think to try this again, Patricia.”
She looked into his eyes and must have finally grasped his anger. He opened the door and watched as she walked out. She stopped in the doorway, turning in a last show of defiance. “Your bed will be cold and lonely, Kane,” she warned. “And then you will come to me.”
With that she left, presumably for her and John’s chamber. What kind of marriage did those two share? He shuddered in disgust at her attempted seduction. He couldn’t believe he had almost married that bitch. Judging from what he had found out about his brother—they deserved each other.
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