38. Chapter 38
In his haste to return to the castle, to get inside the stone fortress and assure himself that his wife and his sister, were safe, Sterling disembarked the coble and rode Zeus like the devil himself was at his heels. Once he reached the forecourt, he did not bother with the stables.
Just as soon as he laid eyes on Annabelle, he would return to care for his horse.
Pounding up the curving ramp, he felt like an utter fool, but reining in his panic at this point seemed nigh on impossible.
Especially considering that the last thirty minutes aboard the ship, a sick certainty had gripped his insides like a vise, leaving him vacillating between the urge to cast his oats overboard or swim for it to see if he could get here faster than the meandering fishing boat.
Of course she was inside. Packing, no doubt. Stewing over his decision to send her away, but inside. He’d told her quite plainly not to go out.
He threw open the front door—then froze. Babette, Chip, and Cogsworth hovered in the foyer, apparently waiting for him. Babette’s eyes, more stark than he’d ever seen them—even on that fateful night—met his.
“What is it? What’s happened?” he demanded.
Cogsworth gave Babette a speaking look before answering, though his own expression did not convey any sort of reassurance. “As to that, my lord, nothing’s to say anything’s amiss. It’s only that Babette has had one of her feelings.”
“Her feelings?” Sterling’s gaze traveled between the three servants. Then he narrowed his eyes on Cogsworth. The butler had not offered to help him from his greatcoat. Something was wrong. “Concerning what?”
“Lady Randall appears to have gone on a walk, and Lady Caroline, at the prompting of Babette, went out looking for her some twenty minutes ago. And she…er…took your rifle.”
From the words Lady Randall, his skin went clammy and his heart lurched, rising into his throat before plummeting to the ground. Fear, unlike anything he’d ever known, had his breath stuttering in his lungs. Annabelle…he’d known something was wrong. And now his sister’s safety was also at risk.
He pushed past them, making for his office. He was not at all surprised that one and all dogged his heels. But he was in no mood. He jammed to a halt. Turned to face them. “Kindly await me in the foyer.”
Not one argued. But their facial expressions said plenty. They were not pleased by his response.
Fair enough. He’d done nothing to earn their trust, thus far.
“I am collecting my pistol before leaving. Does that meet with your approval?” he asked with icy calm.
Chip and Cogsworth dispersed, heading back from whence they’d come.
Babette, however, remained.
He threw up his hands and marched on. Reaching his office, he headed for the glass cabinet on the wall where he kept his firearms. The rifle was, indeed, missing. He plucked out his pistol and turned to find Babette standing in the doorway.
In her hands, she held what looked to be a letter.
At Sterling’s arched brow, she bowed her head and extended it to him.
This was no time to be reading correspondence, he thought as he crossed to her and snatched the parchment.
Impatient, he unfolded it, scanned the elegant script. Felt his throat tighten ’til it was hard to swallow.
Hands shaking—for the love of God—he refolded the foolscap and tucked it into his inner waistcoat pocket. “Thank you. Where did you…er…”
“I found it on the floor near your desk when I was looking for milady. The top drawer was open. I think she intended to put it inside and must have dropped it for some reason.”
He glanced toward his desk that had once been his grandfather’s. Already knowing what he’d find—or wouldn’t—he stalked to the desk, slid open the top drawer. The letter from her father was gone.
Hell and damnation.
Cursing himself, he strode back to the door and out into the corridor. “Babette, wait.”
Halfway down the corridor, she turned to face him.
“Did you see anything? Do you have any idea which way she…?”
“Toward the kilns, my lord,” she said very gently, as if comforting him. As if he deserved it.
Sterling took off at a run.
Outside, he found Zeus—who’d only meandered to the stable doors—swung into the saddle and urged him into a gallop.
This was his fault. He’d left her here. He’d left her, issuing naught but a vague command to remain inside the manse. He should have locked her in her chamber. Should have threatened her. Or set Chip to guard her.
Or maybe—probably—he should have told her about the letter from her father—and of other, arguably more important, things.
Like how she tangled up his insides in the best possible way ’til he didn’t know which end was up.
How the mere thought of her made him smile—and made him burn.
How doing little things for her filled him nearly to overflowing with…
joy. Just to see the dazed pleasure they brought her, as if she did not know why he would wish to please her.
As if she had no notion how damned exquisite and rare she was.
He should have told her how much he loved her.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even considered doing so. Meanwhile, she…had. She loved him.
Meanwhile, he’d bungled things again, leaving his sister no choice but to take up the role of protector. All because he’d been too slow to figure out who was behind the seemingly unconnected events since Annabelle’s arrival.
If anything had happened to her or to Caroline…No. He couldn’t think like that. He would find them. Bring them home. And then he’d never let his wife out of his sight again.
Not that he deserved her. But he’d fix that. He’d make sure she never doubted his love for her. And he’d kill anyone who tried to harm her or take her from him. She was his.
***
The moment they spilled from the kiln, Caroline and Annabelle ran for the access road leading back to the castle. Annabelle had so much to say, and even more questions. But for the moment, talking would have to wait.
Not to mention it was all Annabelle could do to breathe. Walking briskly downhill toward the kilns was a feat on the uneven ground, but manageable. Running uphill on the gravel road, at dusk, took all she had.
Abruptly, Caroline grabbed her wrist. “Come.”
She jerked her off the road and onto a narrow foot path that shot straight up hill forcing her to scrabble with her hands to keep from losing her footing and tumbling backward.
Finally, they crested the hill. And there, nibbling some grass, was Daisy, Caroline’s favored mare from Sterling’s stable.
Annabelle bent at the waist, hands on her knees and gulped air. “You…brought…a horse.”
Caroline, breathing equally hard, sent her a beatific smile. “I did.”
The moment she could manage, Annabelle straightened, then staggered forward to wrap her sister-in-law in a tight embrace. “Thank you. Thank you. I can never thank you enough.”
Caroline held her close. “It’s nothing that you wouldn’t do for me.”
Annabelle swallowed, gathering her nerve. “Was this…was this how it was with Gaston? Did he try to force you, like Vane?” She could hardly say the words aloud.
Caroline went utterly still. Then she leaned back and met Annabelle’s eyes in the growing darkness. “Sterling…He didn’t tell you.”
Annabelle knew the statement for a question. She shook her head.
“When did you work it out?”
Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them away. “Just now, I’m embarrassed to say.”
By unspoken agreement they took each other’s hands. “Embarrassed? Whatever do you mean, Annabelle, dear?”
She heaved a sigh. “It was all right there, wasn’t it? I knew his temper. Knew he was drawn to your gentleness. Forever he’d been discouraged from having female maids clean his rooms. Did he attack you?” She felt sick at the thought.
Caroline’s expression turned shuttered. “It…wasn’t like that. Not exactly.”
Horse hoofs, pounding furiously over the earth and coming from the direction of the castle, had both of them hurrying toward the edge to the hill they’d just climbed.
“It’s Sterling,” Annabelle said. “He’s looking for us.”
In unison, they waved their arms, yelling for him.
In the next instant, horse and rider changed course to charge up the hill toward them.
In seconds, Sterling was out of his saddle, racing for Annabelle.
He swept her into his arms, squeezing her tightly enough to crush the wind out of her one minute, then the next, holding her at arm’s length and scanning her head to foot and back again.
“Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse with emotion.
“I’m…y-yes,” she said, then cursed her own weak nature as her face twisted and tears threatened. She fought them for all she was worth and managed a reasonably sober, “We are both fine, however—”
“What happened to your dress? Your hair.” His voice went eerily flat, and even in the vanishing light, Annabelle saw his features harden into granite.
Then she remembered her husband’s vow against risking life and limb over any woman. He might be angry, but he was no fool.
Still, she forced a light reply. “I was trying to tell you—”
Hands flexing on her shoulders, he turned his head toward his sister. “Caroline, are you all right?”
“Yes, Sterling,” she answered gently. “And, as you can see, Annabelle is safe. Let us go home and talk.”
His jaw flexed and he turned back to Annabelle. “You crossed paths with Lord Vane, did you not? He did this to you.”
She looked to Caroline for assistance, and with surprising gentleness, Sterling cupped her chin, and guided her face back to his. “Answer me, darling.”
“Yes. B-but he’s gone. And…he did not…that is…” She bit her lip.
He held her gaze. “Where has he gone, darling?”
“Away. Far away.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the small slip where the boat she’d noted previously had been, and where a large sailing vessel now moored. “Or soon will be,” she added, her voice rising an octave as he turned to look in the direction she’d inadvertently revealed to him.
“Caroline, escort Annabelle home. I’ll join you shortly.”
“Sterling—” Caroline began, but Annabelle cut her off.