Page 150 of The Lyon Whisperer
“Sally, is there anything else you can tell me that might shed some light on where she went? She took the dogs for their morning exercise, and then, what? Announced she wanted to go for a ride?”
“She only said she wanted a horse saddled. I knew something weren’t right, though, when…” She broke off.
“Sally,” he said, striving for a patient tone. “You knew something wasn’t right when…” He left off, hoping she would fill in the rest.
She gazed up at him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “On account of what she put on. She didn’t want me to help her dress, and I thought that was strange because riding habits are not the easiest garments to fasten, if you take my meaning?”
“What was she wearing when she left?”
She sniffled. “Widow’s weeds, milord.”
He cursed. “Saddle my mount.”
Lawrence leapt to do his bidding.
Chase searched his mind. It was clear she hadn’t intended a casual ride along the river. That meant she’d likely ridden into town, something he’d expressly forbidden her to do.
Her excellent equestrian skills notwithstanding, the solitary stretches of road between Wimbledon and London were notorious hideouts for highwaymen and bandits.
Why did she do it?
He jammed a hand through his hair as a hard knot of fear tightened his belly. “Sally, is there anything else you can think of that might provide a clue as to where she would have gone?”
“M-maybe what she asked me about before she left might tell you something.”
This was getting stranger by the minute. “What did she ask you?”
“Sh-she asked me about something she’d heard, milord, some gossip about a bet.”
Bloody hell.
The sound of pounding hoofs in the distance blotted out all thought save one.
He turned and squinted in the direction of the road where it curved from the highway onto the long stretch leading to Warren House.
A horse appeared. Its nose, its neck, then the rider. Whomever he was, he was large and male and most certainly not Amelia.
But he might offer a clue as to her whereabouts.
Chase set out on foot, moving toward the rider down the access road.
After a minute he recognized the man. The Earl of Fallsgate, Amelia’s father.
He stood and waited.
The earl drew the horse in when he neared Chase.
“Fallsgate,” Chase said.
“Culver.”
“Do you know where my wife is?”
“Bloody hell, man. Are you saying you lost her?”
Chase cursed aloud. “Why are you here?”
“I have some things to say to you—and my daughter.”
