Page 73 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
“So.” He came to stand beside her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I discovered him doing something that he wanted to keep hidden, and he attempted to silence me.” As though sensing that what she had said was outlandish to the point of stupidity, she frowned and muttered, “But what was he attempting to achieve?”
“Think,” Adam said, perching on the bed and taking her hand in his again. “If he had been here, do you not think he would have called the physician himself?”
She shook her head obstinately, her face creased into a frown. “I know what I saw, Adam. Nicholas washere. And you may not believe me, may not believe that he was here, or that he pushed me down the stairs, but I was there, and you were not.”
“I’ll ask the servants,” he said heavily.
If this was true… but he couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. Nicholas was his oldest friend, a connection to his brother that he could not bear to relinquish.
Besides, he knew the man. That was the consequence of being friends for so long, and he knew Nicholas would never intentionally try to injure someone, especially to the extent of pushing them down the stairs. That was a step altogether too far.
“You won’t believe me.” Tears streaked down Emmeline’s face, and she turned her head away, her face crumpling. “I see now that you won’t. Oh, I wish I had never come here.”
“I’ll call for the physician,” Adam said, making for the door. “Rest, Emmeline. I’ll be back for you soon.”
“But you won’t believe me,” she whispered as he left the room.
After conferring with the physician, who suggested that she might indeed be confused and prescribed a tonic for her, Adam strode down the corridor to where he hoped he would find the butler.
Instead, he found the door to the servants’ quarters ajar, and he heard voices. He paused at the mention of his wife.
“I heard she’s accusing the Viscount Sarron of pushing her down the stairs,” a maid whispered and giggled. “As though such a handsome man could do something so heinous.”
“I hardly blame her,” another voice said heavily. “It’s hardly as though she’s happy here.”
“Well, no, to be sure. I suppose when her original plans fell through, she was obliged to go to greater levels. Accusing the Duke’s best friend of attempted murder, though…” The maid sucked her teeth. “I can only imagine how desperate she is to escape.”
“The Duke isn’t so bad,” a small voice said.
“Not so bad, but not so good, either,” the maid said. “Could you imagine being married to him? He would do nothing but scowl. And she’s so pretty and kind. Never has a bad word for any of us.”
“Perhaps she’s trying to hurt herself,” the second voice said. “And when she didn’t hurt herself badly enough, she decided to accuse Lord Sarron.”
“Do you think the Duke will send her back, then?”
“I hope so, if at least for her sake and not our own.”
“Excuse me, what’s this?” Mrs. Pentwhistle snapped, and there was the sound of shuffling. “Is your job to stand in a stairwell and gossip? Move along before I have something more to say about the matter.”
Adam forced his feet into motion, even as his mind spun, trying to find a positive way to frame their comments.
That was, of course, not possible. Emmeline had been miserable with him—he had known that from the very beginning. But at the very beginning, denying her had not felt as though he was ripping his own heart out. She had been right to call him cold—he had been. Uncaring of her and her position, knowing that she was unhappy but unprepared to do anything about it.
Now she had pushed things dangerously far in her bid to be free of him.
Very well, he would grant her wish. If all she had wanted was to go back to her family, then he was certain he would not prevent her.
The castle would be a cold, dark place without her, and she would take the colors with her, but he was no longer prepared to be selfish, especially if it meant she would go to such lengths.
“Pack my bags for London,” he said to his valet once he returned to his bedchamber. “William spent most of his time there, and I have slacked on my efforts to look for him.”
The valet frowned. “Your Grace?”
“I am going to London,” Adam said crisply, ignoring the lurch in his chest and the ache in his gut. “Was that not evident enough? For the foreseeable future, I will be spending my time at the townhouse.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the valet said. “And Her Grace?”
