Page 63 of Madcap with a Marquess
He stretched his neck from side-to-side. No matter. He toed another ball into place. His next swing would be better.
“My lord.”
Rupert jumped at his butler’s voice. “Yes, Sanderson?”
“You requested you be informed of Her Ladyship’s whereabouts. It appears she has ordered a horse to be readied.”
Rupert’s heart rate picked up.Everything is fine. She is just going for a ride. Get a hold of yourself.
“Thank you, Sanderson. I shall make my way over there.”
Sanderson gave a clipped nod and then hesitated.
Apprehension skittered through Rupert. “Sanderson…?”
“She was dressed in breeches, my lord.”
Rupert took off at full speed.
Rupert burst into the stables and hastily scanned the center aisle. A rich chestnut with white socks stood with leads secured to the knotted alder stall walls lining the aisle. A groom was settling a saddle on the stallion’s back. Rupert clenched his teeth and strode toward the horse and groom. His gaze darted around the barn, looking for any sign of Franny.
A flash of movement drew his attention, and his gaze fell onher, jet-black hair woven in a tight plait, brown boots leading to breeches that clung to those legs that went on for days, a loose lawn shirt doing nothing to hide her femininity. He growled low and rough. It rumbled from his throat like gravel. Hooves shifted nervously in the hay behind him. Franny’s head whipped toward him, and when her gaze caught his, she stilled.
He advanced, and her eyes widened. She stumbled backward, gaze darting around the stables. He knew the minute she caught sight of the tack room. She lurched toward it, but he was only a step behind now.
He strode inside and slammed the door, the iron hardware rattling. He caught up to her, chest bumping into hers, forcing her backward until she pressed into the wall next to the saddle racks. He drew in jagged breaths, the earthy smell of beeswax polish and leather filling his senses.
“Howdareyou try to leave me again.”
She shook her head slightly, but he gripped her chin, stilling her. He tightened his grip, and she swallowed.
“You won’t leave me, Franny. If I have to fucking tie you up, so be it. There is nowhere—nowhere—you can go where I won’t find you.”
“I’m not leaving you, Rupert.” She stared hard into his eyes. Those fathomless green eyes. Open. Honest.
Could he believe her? The thought of her trying to leave him again… His throat worked, growing thick like tar. He struggled to swallow, incapable of words. Maybe the tar would harden there in his throat, suffocate him, and end his misery.
“Rupert,” she said softly.
But he couldn’t. He justcouldn’t. His eyes burned. That familiar ball of pain, the one that was like a parasite determined to eat him from the inside out, built in his chest, in his gut. Since the beginning of their marriage, he’d been hit left and right by warring emotions, like the fists of a ruthless brawler intent on murder. And they were all barreling to the surface. Combining with the events of the past fortnight and slamming into him, knocking the breath from his lungs just like the time he’d fallen from the oak tree as a child.
Him rutting her like a beast.
Her destroyed back.
Her riding double with another man.
His angry outbursts and cutting condemnations.
Her on her knees behind the tavern.
Her leaving him.
He dropped his hand from her chin and backed away until his back hit the tack room door.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind raced. What would he even say? Apologize? Rail at her? Declare his love for her? His thoughts tangled in a knot so tight he couldn’t tell one from another. Ice streaked through his entire body, his insides curling in on themselves like dying vegetation in a winter frost. The pain, the love, it was agony.
There was too much feeling roiling inside of him, clawing and tearing at his insides, determined to destroy him. The muscle in his chest hammered, too fast, too erratic. He needed to leave. Before his ribs cracked, his skin ripped apart, and every volatile emotion roared to the surface. Before he fell apart.
