Page 141 of The Lyon Returns
“My wife. It seems she loves me.”
Gwen stared outher bedchamber window to the street below. The joy that had filled her after reading his journal had given way to a bone-deep fear. Gideon had been gone for hours now, and a strongsense that something had gone very wrong had her by the throat.
He said he left to visit one of the stakeholders responsible for her troubles, but how long could it take to deal with a stodgy old curmudgeon? Surely he would have dispatched with that hours ago.
The sound of carriage wheels coming near had her leaning half-out the window like a fishwife. A black-lacquered carriage pulled by a set of stately, matching greys halted on the curb before the townhome. As she watched, a young boy, an urchin by the looks of him, dropped off the rear platform and trotted toward the alley. What the devil?
Whose carriage was this? Gideon’s brother’s, perhaps? An acquaintance of Gideon’s? Whosever it was, the occupant may have brought word of Gideon. She raced to her chamber door and down the stairs intending to summon a footman to investigate.
Upon reaching the base of the stairs, however, a footman coming from the back of the manse hurried toward her.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but a young boy just delivered this note for you.” He handed her a folded scrap of foolscap.
She unfolded it and read.Madam wife, kindly meet me in the carriage outside. I have a surprise for you—G
A surprise? In a stranger’s carriage? No matter. Relief at his return had her hastening out the front door. Hurrying down the walkway, she noted the groomsman standing beside the vehicle. The carriage step had been placed and the door left open. Inside the carriage cab, all was darkness.
The first whisper of wrongness swept through her, and she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the manse. Perhaps she ought to bring a servant with her.
A firm hand gripped her arm. Startled, she shifted her gaze forward as the groom, she now saw, began dragging her toward the waiting carriage. “Beg pardon, ma’am, but my master says he wishes to speak with ye’.”
“Take your hands off me at once,” she demanded, trying to dig inher slippers. The soft leather made no purchase on the stone path.
She drew in a breath to scream for help and found a meaty hand clamped over her mouth. She bit into his palm.
The groom yelped. In the next instant, he wrapped his strong hands around her waist, lifted her in the air, and shoved her into the pitch-dark cab, where she did scream, but she feared the interior cushions and drapes muffled the sound.
She twisted around to leap from the carriage as the door closed in her face.
Fear exploded through her. She groped blindly for the handle, then heard the distinct cock of a pistol. Her mouth went dry.
“Kindly do sit down, Mrs. Devereux. I only wish to have a brief chat, and after all, Gideon will be joining us at our destination.”
She knew that voice. Turning her head, she squinted to peer through the darkness at the seated man.
The carriage jostled as the driver, presumably, climbed atop his perch. A moment later, the wheels bit into the cobblestones and the vehicle lurched into motion, tossing her ignominiously onto the empty bench.
“What is the meaning of this?” She righted herself as an oil lamp flared to life, revealing her captor, Mr. Brice Tyrell.
“A surprise, as my note indicated. Are you not surprised?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
By the timeGideon reached the mews behind his townhome, a cold sweat dampened his clothes. Something was very wrong. He had to get to Gwen. Had to see her with his eyes. Admit to her how he felt. Everything would be all right, then. It had to be.
Halting his mount, he tossed the reins to the emerging groom and leapt to the cobbled street. He ran the short distance of the alley to Portman Square. Fear had him in a death grip, stealing the moisture from his mouth so he could barely swallow.
He flung open the front door, eyes searching for Higgins who, oddly, stood at the ready in the foyer.
“My wife—” Gideon began.
“The mistress, she’s gone,” Higgins blurted.
Gideon froze. “What do you mean,gone?”
“A boy came to kitchen door, from the alley side. He delivered a note for her. Not a minute later, he knocked again with one for you. By then, Mrs. Devereux had already gone out the front door. She vanished. She did not even have the benefit of her pelisse, sir, nor her gloves.” The old butler wrung his hands, his expression, wretched withself-recrimination.
But Gideon was to blame. He had failed to protect her.
