Page 27 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
Where he had failed to save her.
No wonder William had found it difficult to be in the house. Even now, years later, Adam felt the stifling press of guilt on his soul, the sense that he should pay penance in some way.
But this was his home, and he would not let the past dictate his future. If he was going to be a successful duke, he must conquer his demons, no matter what it took.
“Well,” he said, closing down the topic of conversation, “then it is a good thing I do not have his reservations.”
The meeting lasted another half hour, during which Adam was tempted to rip his hair out, and when he emerged, the house was silent. There was no bashing of the piano, no tuneless singing—he had to bite back a smile at the thought; her motives were hopelessly transparent—and no other deliberate provocation.
His smile dropped at the recollection of how she had left the house. Alone, without so much as a maid to accompany her. This area was not dangerous, but she had made herself a possible target.
All to spite him.
This, no doubt, was his punishment for having failed in the past. Or, at the very least, his punishment for having married a lady who did not want to marry him.
“Mrs. Pentwhistle,” he called as the housekeeper passed him by. “Have you seen Her Grace this morning?”
“I believe she left to visit the village.” Mrs. Pentwhistle’s face softened into a smile. Like most of the servants, she had been part of his father’s household and had seen him grow up into adulthood. “What a delightful lady she is, Your Grace, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
He grunted, staring at the front door as though he could bring Emmeline back through the force of his will alone. “She has a mind of her own.”
“Oh, but that isn’t such a bad thing. You know, your mother always used to put your father in his place. The only one who could do that, mind you.” Mrs. Pentwhistle paused, lost in thought. “Really, Her Grace resembles your mother in several ways.”
“She does?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. It’s wonderful to see her bring this house to life again.” Her smile turned a little teasing. “And it’s wonderful to see how taken you are with her.”
He finally tore his gaze away from the door. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it’s plain as the nose on my face that you have atendrefor her, Your Grace, if you don’t mind my saying so. And I can see why. She’s a remarkably pretty lady, is she not?”
“She is,” he said, deciding that confiding in his housekeeperpreciselyhow beautiful he found his new wife was not a wise move. “Alert me when she returns to the house if you please.”
Mrs. Pentwhistle practically beamed. “Of course, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”
“And have her sent to my study.” His first instinct was to request that Emmeline be brought to the library, but the last thing he needed was another confrontation with those damned cats everywhere. “I would like to speak with her alone.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall have her sent to you immediately.”
He nodded briskly and returned to his study again, attempting to lose himself in his work. When that didn’t work, he moved to the billiard room and played with half an ear out for Emmeline’s return.
Whenstillshe hadn’t arrived and it was beginning to get dark, he strode to the stables and ordered for his horse to be saddled. If she was not in the village, he would organize a search party, and he hated to admit it, but his chest squeezed at the thought that she was missing.
No matter how much they did or did not get along, she was his wife, and he was to share a life with her, one way or another. His role was to be her protector, and he would find a way of protecting her even if it killed him.
He had the sneaking suspicion it might.
Just as his horse was saddled and in the courtyard, ready to canter out onto the lane, he heard her voice.
“Splendid,” he heard her say, her melodic voice carrying on the breeze.
Anger burned through him, and he jumped off the horse. “Stable him, Lochlan,” he said, handing the reins to the groom and striding in search of his errant, missing, infuriating wife.
She was talking with Mrs. Pentwhistle, her cheeks flushed from the exercise and her eyes sparkling. He stopped abruptly, gutted a little by her smile the way a fish might be gutted by a hook.
She was devastatingly beautiful when she beamed like that, with nothing but joy on her face.
She had never once looked at him like that.
