Robertson walked back to the house in shock, a deep well of sadness bubbling to the surface. It must have been their carriage leaving that had woken him earlier. Olivia had left without a word of goodbye. Why would she do that? He had no idea, but now that she was gone, he saw no reason to stay any longer. He needed to round up Noah and Miles and head home.
It was time to get back to London, where he was in control and nothing could hurt him.
He was the Earl of Ice, after all.
Chapter 19
“Bloody hell, Robertson. Just tellher you love her,” Noah said as he plopped down in a wingchair at the club.
Robertson looked at his friend. “What?”
“You’ve been moping around for the past fortnight, and as far as I can tell, there’s only one reason why that would be so. You’re in love with Lady Armstrong.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I admire the lady, of course, but that’s all.” That night in the garden his anger had been so strong that he would have killed Armstrong if he weren’t dead already… maybe even her father too for putting her into Armstrong’s hands. When she had asked him how he felt, his primary emotion at the moment had been admiration… at her ability to keep going, keep facing the world despite what had been done to her. He wanted to support her and be her protector against people like Armstrong and Pressley. He wasn’t even certain he knew how to do anything different… but he’d hoped he’d made himself clear about his feelings for her.
“Robertson, you might as well face the facts,” Miles chimed in. “I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve never seen you like this, not even when you were courting Miss Grandier.”
“My previous courtship has nothing to do with this.”
“Exactly,” Noah said. “You were merely disappointed when Miss Grandier passed you over for Evans. This situation is entirely different. It’s a fiasco of your own making. So stop being a bloody fool and go tell the lady you love her.”
He looked between Noah and Miles. Were his friends correct? He never betrayed Olivia’s confidence about what had occurred, but his friends knew something awful had happened in the garden. They didn’t know exactly what beyond it involved Pressley. His friends were smart enough to put two and two together. He thought he’d been supportive of Olivia. Obviously, he was wrong if she’d leave without a word or even a note.
He picked up his whiskey and downed it in one gulp, letting the fiery liquid burn down his throat. When he made himself seriously consider what hisfriends had said, the truth knocked him for a loop. They were right.
He was such an idiot.
Slamming the glass down on the table, Robertson stood. “I have to go.”
“Hmmm…going anywhere in particular?” Noah asked with a chuckle.
“You really are a bloody arse, you know that?” he said.
“Oh, I know. It’s my specialty. Good luck with Lady Armstrong,” Noah said with a chuckle.
Without wasting a moment, Robertson raced back to the townhome. His friends were right—he was in love with Olivia. But had he ruined everything by not declaring his love that night in the garden when she needed to hear it the most?
It was too late to leave for Armstrong Manor this evening, but he’d get an early start tomorrow. When he walked into his bedchamber, Bryer was there.
“My lord, you’re home early. May I help you with something?”
“Yes. Pack a valise. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I accompany you?” Bryer asked.
“No. I don’t plan on being gone long.”
His loyal valet nodded and bustled around the room, packing a few things for him to take on the road.
There would be no sleeping tonight. His nerves were on edge. How could he have been so foolish? No wonder Olivia had left. He wasn’t there for her when she needed him most. He understood now what his rage had hidden from him then. She didn’t need his admiration. She needed his love. A love full of promise of the future, a love that could not be denied any longer.
When the first rays of the sun were visible, he dressed, grabbed the valise, and went down to the stables.
“Good morning, my lord. Perses is saddled and waiting for you,” the stablemaster said, taking his valise and attaching it to the saddle.
“Good,” Robertson said, vaulting into the saddle. He stroked the stallion’s neck. “Come on, boy, we have a lady to call upon, and there’s no time to waste.”
This early in the morning, it wasn’t too much of a hardship to get out of London. Soon, he was on the road to Armstrong Manor and on a pace to be there before nightfall. He wanted to gallop the whole way, but he had to be mindful of his stallion. The horse did not deserve any ill-treatment because he’d been a fool.
