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Uncharacteristic anger snapped through him, and with a swipe of his hands, the papers, the ink, and inkwell were pushed from his desk to the carpet. I am not chasing her, he silently snarled.
The facts were not to be distorted into foolish sentimentality. Their daughter needed her at home. No female was ever going to lead him around by the nose.
Did you willingly walk away or were you coerced, my wife?
The answer did not matter, for he would bring her home safely whichever scenario proved to be true. The only thing he needed to swiftly analyze and resolve was his reaction to the news that she had left. It was insupportable that he could feel this weak and dispossessed, that he could allow her to mean so much that for that moment he had been stripped of all rational thoughts. Emotions had ruled him, and the very awareness of it filled him with anger and discomfort.
He had lost sight of his innate control, and he had no idea how to regain it. She felt as necessary to him as breathing, and that very notion filled him with dread. Never should he allow himself to be so weak to another. The loss of his mother had destroyed something profound in the old earl, where even when he sensed death, he hadn’t been able to let her go. The man had left her a letter, and Hugh had shrewdly read it. In that final missive, his father had sworn his undying adoration for her and how much he had missed her every day of his life, and because his heart was hers, he never loved again or entertained the notion…even after every cruel and thoughtless agony she had inflicted.
I will never be that man. Yet here he was, his damn hands shaking because Phoebe had seemingly left their home. Utter fucking rubbish!
The emotional threat she represented tore at him. How had he missed the danger of her? Despite his father’s warning he had been so damned arrogant, so foolish that she did not have the power to affect his heart. Hugh had never imagined the emotions sweeping through him, the fear, the rage, the bitter bite of jealousy, to be possible.
He ruthlessly disciplined all the strange, complex emotions twisting inside until they were quashed back down and no longer troubled his thoughts. His heart calmed, the shaking of his fingers stopped, and his muscles relaxed.
This is what I’ve allowed you to do to me. Never again, my wife.
…
The rocking and jolting of a carriage over rough country road shook Phoebe awake. She did not rouse with a start, but a slow awareness that she was not lying under the large tree by the lake, and once again Hugh must have come for her while she slept. Except they travelled too fast, as if at any moment the equipage might careen out of control. Though she reposed on her side on the well-padded squab with a soft blanket covering her, there was an aching discomfort in her shoulders, an odd taste in her mouth, and she needed to badly attend to her body needs.
Her lashes fluttered open, and all her senses surged to life at the sight of the man sitting on the opposite seat. The Sparrow. A kiss of warning quivered down her spine, and her heart increased its tempo. With a gasp, she scrambled to sit up, wincing at the rush of tingles all over her body. Finally, she was in a sitting position, and she glared at the man who watched her with cool unconcern. She glanced around the unfamiliar carriage. “What is going on?” she demanded through dried, cracked lips.
He reached out, and in his hand
was a flask. “It is water. I imagine you might be very thirsty.”
She took it from him, quite aware if he had meant her grievous bodily harm she would not have woken just now. Phoebe took a sip of the refreshing water then a few more greedy gulps before she was satisfied.
“Have you gone mad?” Phoebe asked, knowing he had everything to do with her presence in this carriage. “What have you done?”
An audacious twinkle appeared in his eyes. “It was unfortunate, but this is a kidnapping.”
Panic crashed into her senses with the weight of a boulder. “A kidnapping!” Good heavens! She rubbed a painful ache at the back of her neck. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Hours have passed, I’m afraid.”
A rushing sensation went through her, leaving Phoebe a tad dizzy. Dear God! The single thought that eclipsed all others was that to her family she had simply gone missing. She had fallen into a routine with Franny where, despite having a nursemaid, Phoebe bathed and sang to her daughter every day before reading her a bedtime story. Then she would spend the rest of the evening with her husband.
What must they be thinking now?
Aghast, she drew the carriage curtains aside to see a dark, unfamiliar landscape. A hollow sensation invaded her midsection. “How did I get here?”
The man had the grace to look uneasy. “I have been watching your coming and going from a distance. I gathered your routine, and while you slept…I took you away.”
The sheer ease of his actions robbed her of breath. “Without me waking?”
He looked away briefly, and the feeling inside got heavier.
All the ways heroines had been taken in those gothic novels she read swarmed through her recollections. “You…you drugged me,” she said accusingly, pressing a hand to her chest.
Surprise flared in his eyes, confirming her fears.
“Have you no shame?”
His jaw tightened. “I was incredibly careful, and no harm was done. I made sure of that. My job here is to save you, and I did what was necessary to achieve that means. It was clear to me that you would not come willingly, and I had my directives.”
“Directives?” she snarled, gripping the edge of the seat in a white-knuckle grip. “Save me? How dare you! I was with my family! Did you even let them know you took me? Of course not! Or you would not have acted in such a despicable and clandestine manner.”
