Page 88 of Madcap with a Marquess
In that case, Rupert wasveryunfashionable.
And he didn’t give a bloody damn.
44
Franny
WatertrickledaroundFranny,through the strands of her hair, crawling over her scalp like little insects. She flinched, and the slight jerk of her arms caused a small splash in the shallow water. Her head ached something dreadful, and she couldn’t quite make out the shade of blue of the sky. She had thought it the most cerulean of skies when she had embarked on her ride, but it seemed hazy now, darker.
She squinted, and a sharp pain sliced through her head. Where was she? She wiggled her fingers, and they splashed lightly, sliding over slick rocks. She shivered, the cool water having seeped into her breeches, through her thin lawn shirt. She should get out of the water. It was a hot, breezy day. She would dry quickly.
She made to sit up but immediately stopped as pain radiated through her again. Something was not right. She reached up and delicately pressed her fingers over her aching head. She encountered something sticky in her hair, a spot extremely tender upon even the slightest of grazes. She lifted her hands in front of her face. Watered down red coated her fingertips, trailing down her fingers in pink rivulets.
Blood.
Her fingers swam before her eyes, their color becoming hazy, just as the sky had before. She tilted her head to the side and stared up the bank of the brush-covered ravine.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and the scene flew through her mind. The fox darting in front of them. Blaze spooking. Her attempting to get him under control. Blaze shying backwards. Rearing up. Her falling, in what seemed an endless fall, as even after she hit the ground, she kept falling. Until she landed here.
She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were suddenly excessively heavy. Perhaps, if she just rested her eyes for a short while, the pain in her head would recede. Perhaps, by then, Rupert would have found her.
Images of their heated argument flashed through her mind and, along with it, another streak of pain. His mother’s impending arrival. Her thoughts grew vague, fuzzy. Would he even deign to search for her?
And then her mind succumbed to darkness.
45
Rupert
Rupertpacedhisfrontdrawing room and glanced at his watch. Six o’clock. It had been just shy of three hours since the search party went out. And no word. Five hours since Franny had left for her ride. And who wasn’t out there searching with his servants? Him. He wanted to roar with frustration.
“Rupert, cease your pacing. The unrefined and vulgar pace. Gentlemen do not.”
A litany of curses flew through his brain, but he bit them back, halted before the window, clenching and unclenching his fists, his breaths coming short and fast. Pacing was what was keeping him from completely losing his mind. He was crawling out of his skin with panic. And the entire reason he wasn’t out there was because ofher. He shot a glare over his shoulder at his mother. She was happily knitting under a pile of blankets on a settee.
It had taken an inordinate amount of time to get Mother settled. He’d tried to focus on his mother’s initial comments to remain calm as the longest hour of his life had passed. Franny most likely stopped to partake in some sort of diversion in the field—a swim, a traverse in a meadow to pick flowers—and Blaze freed himself and trotted off. The stallionwasknown for being temperamental and misbehaving. As was Rupert’s wife. And she had been exceptionally cross with him when she’d left. He wouldn’t put it past her to go roll in the mud and greet his mother dripping in muck just to spite them both.
But once Mother had been settled and Frannystillhadn’t returned, panic had truly set in. He’d called for his horse and had been about to mount when a servant had come rushing in to alert him that his mother had fainted. He’d nearly laughed. He was truly fearing he was losing his mind. But this day was clearly testing how much strain a man could handle. And he wasn’t sure what it said about him, but his first thought had been that his mother had fabricated the incident. He was losing his bloody mind.
He’d returned to the manor to find his mother limp and lifeless on the floor of the drawing room. Some hot tea and a light meal later, and she was seemingly revitalized.An unfortunate consequence of traveling alone at my advanced age, she’d said. It had felt a lot like an accusation. Likeheshould have been with her and the fainting incident would have never occurred.
Multiple times since, he’d called for his horse. For his mother to promptly countermand his orders and remind him that if he were to ride out now, he wouldn’t be here when his wild wife made her way back home. And he was fucking torn. Because he didn’t want to miss his wife’s arrival. God, if she was injured, he needed to be here when she was brought in. He’d already called for a doctor preemptively. There was also a big part of him that didn’t want to risk the possibility of his wife and Mother ending up alone if he did ride out and she were to return. He could only imagine the carnage he’d come back to.
Bloody fucking damn it.
“My lord, Her Ladyship is approaching the kitchen gardens,” Sanderson said from the doorway of the drawing room.
Thank Christ. Rupert bolted past his butler and veered down the hallway toward the kitchen. His mother called after him, but he couldn’t make out what she said, nor did he care. Probably something about how gentlemen didn’t run. Well, this one bloody did. The only thing that mattered was getting to Franny as fast as possible.
Chest heaving, he blew through the kitchen door and then halted. He frantically scanned the area, desperate to lay eyes on his wife. His gaze fell on her, sitting pressed up tight against Billy Doherty as his horse led them to the Manor. A conflicting storm of relief and rage raced through him. She was well. She was alive. She was in another man’s arms.
Billy drew his horse to a stop, hopped down, and aided Franny to the ground. He murmured something to Franny, and Rupert clenched his jaw. But then Franny was walking. Walking toward Rupert. The suffocating weight that had settled over him lifted, and he finally was able to draw in a full breath.
That was when he noticed the limping. Footmen stood on either side of her, anxious expressions on their faces as they spoke to Franny. She waved her hands at them repeatedly, a scowl on her face. And then she looked up. Their gazes clashed. Her face turned to marble. And, once again, he couldn’t get enough air.
His wife was livid.
A shocked inhalation sounded from behind him. “Dear heavens!” his mother said. “Is she dressed in men’s attire? Rupert, how could you let your wife run rampant in such attire?” Revulsion bled into her voice. “And who is that man she was indecently sharing a horse with? He looks like a peasant! If word of this gets out, you will be a laughingstock of the ton. Oh, I can just picture Lady Billingsworth now. If she finds out, the entire ton will—”
