Page 43 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“I’m not in the mood for business proposals.” He swung back toward the door and stepped through.
They followed.
“It’s not precisely a matter of business,” Mrs. Smith said.
“Some might call it that,” Mr. Smith said.
“Though we are not so uncouth,” Mrs. Smith assured him.
The inn was still and abandoned so early in the morning, though it would soon be crowded and busy. He wanted to be out before then. He made his way up the stairs, took them two at a time then froze at the top when he realized he wasn’t alone.
“Shit.” He turned slowly and found two pairs of eyes blinking up at him. “What do you two want again?” He couldn’t let them near the room. Persephone was in there, likely pouting, and they’d know his story about Jane wasn’t true. He wasn’t about to ruin Persephone’s reputation, that honor she held so dear. “Wait for me in the private parlor below.”
Their smiles brightened, and they scurried away as mouselike as they’d followed him. As if he were a bit of succulent cheese.
Persephone would like that image. He’d tell her.
But when he reached their room, she was gone.
Worry hit him like a bolt of lightning and left him feeling sick. She’d been accosted on the way back from the cemetery. She’d been upset with him, crushingly angry with him, and he’d been disgusted with himself, frustrated with her for not understanding, but he should never have let her go off alone.
Then he saw the note—folded and blindingly white against the beaten dark table top. He knew without reading it. He didn’t want to fucking read it.
But he did.
Victor,
I stole some of your money for the mail coach.
It may come as a shock to read this, but I feel you need to hear it.
I love you. Odd, yes? Three days we’ve known each other. I suppose I give my heart away too easily. I’ve always been a bit of a fool.
Persephone
Three little words almost strangled him, stole the air from the room, knocked his legs out from under him.
His legs?
Yes, even those. He was slumped on the floor against the bed. No idea when that had happened. Probably when he’d read those three little words.
I love you.
Damn her.
I love you.
He pushed to his feet and gathered his belongings. She’d taken nothing but a few measly coins from his purse. She should have taken all of it. He could make more. She… she was on the road alone.
“Damn you, Persephone.” He said it as he swung out of the room and stomped down the stairs. He could catch up to her. He could try at least.
“Oh, duke!” Persephone’s father.
“Where are you going?” A light, irritating chuckle. Her mother.
Victor stopped, looked over his shoulder. He’d forgotten about them.
Persephone’s parents waved at him from out of the inn’s private parlor.
