Chapter 1 #2
Terrible images flashed in his mind, and white-hot rage began to coil in his belly. He breathed deep, forcing air from his lungs, wrestling with his meandering thoughts until they ceased.
Yet her face remained in his mind’s eye like the flare of the sun on a bright day. Open, lovely, everything reflected in her expressive moss-green eyes.
A new notion struck, pushing thoughts of her away. Did he even know the color of Miss Caulfield’s eyes? He’d spoken to her several times. He should, and yet he couldn’t recall.
“I say, Stonefield, are you quite all right?”
“Of course,” Atlas snapped.
Halford’s bushy white brows arched. “You look rather distressed.”
As soon as the words were out, both of them turned their attention toward the door of Atlas’s study. Someone had begun shouting on the other side of it, and Atlas recognized the voice.
A moment later, the familiar double-rap of his butler sounded at the door.
“Come,” Atlas barked, his emotions far less controlled than they should have been.
Barclay stepped into the room. “My lord, Sir Douglas Morgan insists—”
The elderly retainer didn’t get to finish his sentence. Douglas stormed in the room past him.
“I need to speak to you, Stone. Urgently.” Only after getting the words out did his long-time friend seem to notice the other man in Atlas’s study. “Forgive the interruption. The matter is of the utmost urgency.”
“Let us reconvene at a more convenient time,” Atlas said to Halford, who’d already gotten to his feet.
The nobleman didn’t look pleased about the abrupt dismissal, but he gave Atlas a nod of leave-taking. He gave Douglas a less amiable look and strode from Atlas’s study.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Barclay said from the threshold, his wizened face pinched in dismay.
“It’s quite all right, Barclay,” Atlas told him. “See that we aren’t disturbed.”
Barclay dipped his head once, then departed, shutting the door behind him as he did so.
Only then did Atlas notice the state his friend was in. Circles shadowed the skin beneath his eyes, his hair and clothes were disheveled, and there was a desperate look in his gaze.
“Good God, what’s happened?”
“I need your help, Stone.”
Atlas gestured toward the chair Halford had vacated. “Sit. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Douglas waved a hand at the chair, as if the prospect of lowering himself into it was almost offensive. “This must be handled with the utmost discretion.”
“You know that you can trust me.” Atlas had never seen his friend so rattled.
“It’s Philippa.”
Just the sound of her name sent a little shiver down Atlas’s back, and the anger he’d felt earlier turned to dread. “What about her?”
Douglas dragged a hand across his mouth. “She’s gone.”
Atlas gripped the edge of his desk. “Gone where?”
“Well, that is the question I need you to help me answer.”
Atlas ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at Douglas. “Are you telling me you cannot locate her? When did you see her last? Where was she going?”
Douglas shook his head. “No, no, she wasn’t snatched up off the street. She left of her own accord, and I suspect she had help from your cousin.”
Atlas flinched back. “Elizabeth?”
“It’s over Kelmscott, of course,” Douglas all but snarled, as if utterly frustrated with Atlas’s inability to grasp the situation.
“You forced her.” Atlas spoke through clenched teeth. “You told me you would not act unless you had her consent.”
When Atlas had heard that the marriage settlement negotiations were underway, he’d believed Philippa had finally acquiesced.
Kelmscott was an earl; she was the daughter of a baronet.
It was a good match in the eyes of upper crust society.
But, of course, that wouldn’t have mattered to Philippa.
He’d been a fool to believe Douglas’s assurances.
“I would never force her. She expressed her reservations and then seemed agreeable, so I moved forward.”
“And now she’s…what? Absconded? On her own?” Atlas waved a hand toward the window that looked out onto the fashionable Belgrave Square where his townhouse sat. “She’s out there on her own without any protection—”
“Yes, all right,” Douglas shouted. “Do you think I’m not mad with worry?”
Mad didn’t begin to describe the stew of feelings clawing their way through Atlas’s gut. “Did she leave any note? Any indication where she’s gone?”
Douglas shook his head. “The last thing she did yesterday was go to the modiste’s and Miss Ellsworth accompanied her.” He locked his gaze on Atlas’s. “I need you to speak to her. She knows where Philippa has gone. I’m certain of it.”
“Have you spoken to Elizabeth?” Atlas’s cousin could be sharp-tongued and disagreeable, especially when it came to protecting those she cared for, and he knew that her friendship with Philippa was as longstanding as his was with Douglas.
“I sent word and asked her to visit our townhouse. She did not reply.”
That did sound suspicious, and Atlas suspected if Philippa had set out on some grand plan to get away from London and the prospect of marriage to a man far too old for her, she would confide in Lizzie.
“I’ll speak to her.” Atlas’s heart still rattled in his chest. “You think she departed last night?”
Was she safe? Did she have a place to lay her head tonight?