Page 115 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Annette’s townhouse on Berkeley Square looked perfectly normal with lamplights glowing in the windows and not a thing out of place. Rowan didn’t stop to think. He hammered on the door until it opened.

A stiff butler raised an eyebrow. “May I help?—”

“I need to see Lady Winsley. Now.”

“I’m afraid Lady Winsley isn’t at home,” the man said smoothly. “If you’d like to leave a card?—”

Rowan grabbed him by the front of his coat and yanked him forward. “Don’t play games with me. Where is she?”

“Your Grace! Unhand me this instant!”

“I asked you a question. Where is Lady Winsley?”

“I don’t know!” The butler’s composure cracked. “She left this afternoon with a small bag. Said she’d be away for the evening but gave no destination.”

Rowan released him, stepping back. “Did anyone accompany her? A driver, a servant?”

“She drove herself in her own carriage. Quite unusual, actually.” The butler straightened his rumpled coat. “Your Grace, if I may say so, this behavior is?—”

But Rowan was already gone, leaving the butler staring after him in shock.

Back on the street, Rowan stood beside his horse, mind churning. Annette could have taken Selina anywhere. London was vast, full of hiding places, abandoned buildings, rented rooms where no one would think to look.

Think like her, he told himself.She wants revenge, wants to make him suffer. She’d choose somewhere with meaning, somewhere that would twist the knife deeper.

Somewhere connected to his father.

The memory hit him like a physical blow. He was maybe fifteen the first time it happened. His father vanished for three days on one of his usual drinking binges. Rowan had scoured half of London before finally tracking him down in a cottage just outside the city, drunk and rambling in the arms of his mistress.

Annette’s cottage. Their little secret.

Rowan swung onto his horse and kicked it into motion, heading for the outskirts of the city. The place was tucked away in a grove near a small village about an hour’s ride. If Annette was looking for somewhere private to stage her revenge, somewhere soaked in old bitterness, that’s where she’d go.

As he rode, Rowan’s mind filled with terrible possibilities. What if he was wrong? What if Annette had taken Selina somewhere else entirely, and he was wasting precious time chasing ghosts?

What if he was already too late?

He pushed the horse harder, racing against darkness and his own fears. The cottage had to be the answer. It was the only place that made sense, the only location that would satisfy Annette’s need for poetic justice.

Behind him, London’s lights faded into the distance. Ahead lay only darkness and the desperate hope that he wasn’t already too late to save the woman he loved.

CHAPTER 39

“You’ve made a mistake,” Selina said as Annette walked back into the room. “Rowan doesn’t care about me the way you think he does.”

Annette set a small leather bag on the table, then turned with a faint, amused smile. “Come now, my dear. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“It’s true. He sent me away, remember? Told me our marriage was in name only. If I disappeared tomorrow, he’d probably feel relieved.”

“He’d let anyone else go,” Annette said, moving to light another lamp against the gathering darkness. “His business associates, his servants, even his precious friend Felix. But not you. Never you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? I’ve watched him for months, seen how his entire world shifted when you entered it. The way he looks at you,” Annette said, her voice tight with bitterness. “Like you’re the only thing holding him together. Gerald never looked at me like that. Not once, not even when we were at our best.”

Selina shifted on the settee, trying to ease the pressure on her wrists. “Even if you’re right, this won’t end the way you want. You’ll be caught. You’ll hang for abduction, maybe worse.”

“Will I?” Annette laughed, the sound sharp in the small room. “Lady Winsley, grieving widow and pillar of society? Who would believe such a thing?”

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