Page 104 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
He clasped his old friend’s shoulder. “Soon, this will all be over with. You can go on with your life and I can go on with mine.”
Joseph raised a brow. “And how do you intend to do that, Adrian?”
He had no good answer for that—somehow, it would involve Isobel, but he did not know in what capacity, and he didn’t want to think about the damage he had done to their relationship by sending her away—so he merely turned to leave.
“I’ll see you on my return. If I don’t return by daybreak, send the Runners in after me.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Joseph vowed.
Adrian nodded and stepped into the nondescript cab he had waiting for him, the worn black leather inside splitting. There was a musty smell there, too, one that made him think that this carriage had long passed the days in which it would be any use. Still, he knocked on the roof, and the driver flicked the reins, urging the tired horses into action.
The journey took almost half an hour, the streets thinning as they reached their destination—the docks.
The water of the Thames lapped quietly behind him, and Adrian strode into the darkness, to wait for Briggs.
Isobel arrived in London after a long day’s ride. It transpired leaving the house as a young lady without an escort was both notdone and put her in the face of some danger, but she had a pistol in her pocket—the one her mother had given her when she’d fled Scotland—and plenty of determination.
There was no world in which she would allow something as simple as convention to stand between her and what she wanted.
Which, in this moment, was Adrian. She wanted to see his face and know he was all right. To hear his reassurance that he would not put himself in danger or allow anything to happen to him.
Her heart ached as she trotted down Grosvenor Square until she reached Adrian’s house.
Herhouse, she reminded herself.
The butler, when he opened the door to admit her, gaped a little.
“I have returned home,” Isobel announced grandly. “Please send someone around for my horse.”
“I—” The butler closed his mouth. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Good. Now where is my husband?”
“I’m afraid I—” The butler broke off as Lord Rowton came striding down the hallway toward them. “Ah, my lord,” he said in relief. “Perhaps you can inform Her Grace where His Grace is.”
“Duchess.” Lord Rowton took her hand in his and brought it briefly to his lips. “Thank you, that will be all.”
The butler was dismissed and, after bowing, left them.
“Lord Rowton,” Isobel said, taking his hand in both of hers. “Where is Adrian?”
“Come with me. You must be freezing. Did you ride all the way here?” He looked at her in something approaching shock. “Youdid, didn’t you? Heavens above, Duchess, what were you thinking?”
“Oh, call me Isobel,” she said irritably. “For the last time, where is my husband?”
Lord Rowton chafed her hands in his as he led her to the drawing room, where a roaring fire had been lit in the hearth. Although spring had well and truly arrived, and was slowly turning into summer, there was a chill in the air.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Isobel,” he said regretfully.
Isobel yanked her hand free of his. “That wasnae a request.”
“If Adrian knew I had told you, he would never forgive me.”
“I will not forgive ye if ye do not tell me.” She stamped her foot. “I have been traveling all day. I am cold, I am tired, and thereis more mud on the hem of my dress than I care to think about. Now tell me where Adrian is.”
Lord Rowton cast his gaze to the skies in despair. “Lord save me from a woman like this.”
“Aye, the Lord might be yer next port of call if ye don’t think carefully,” she said, and removed the pistol from the pocket of her cloak.
