Little more than a month ago, he had been a free man. He had married Clara very hastily. Was he regretting it now? Had proposing to her suddenly become the worst, most impulsive mistake he’d ever made?
Glancing up at the coachman, who was oblivious to her at the moment, she tried to decide what to do. She had always been understanding when it came to her husband’s grieving heart, but this was too much. He was now taking advantage of that understanding, and she couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore. She wasn’t a saint. She was a woman with passions and fears. Did he ever think of that? No. He was presently kissing another woman’s hand right under her nose—a woman he had admitted was the greatest love of his life.
It was just as Mrs. Gunther had said it would be.
Could Clara live like this? Could she survive a marriage that would cause heartache day in and day out? If it wasn’t Daphne, it was Gillian or Lady Cleveland or a score of other beautiful huntresses, all of whom wanted a share of her husband, and Clara wasn’t sure she could ever learn to trust him enough not to let them bother her.
She couldn’t go on like this.
A hackney cab came toward her, and the need to escape this pain and anger displaced all sense of reason. She stepped forward and waved a hand. The cab pulled to a stop in front of her, and she got in. As soon as she closed the door, she looked up at her coachman, who glanced down at her. He lurched forward in his seat, but it was too late for him to do anything. Her cab was driving away.
She was glad. It was time Seger knew that she was not his ever-faithful crutch. It was time he fretted aboutherfor a change.
Seger walked back to his coach. He couldn’t wait to see Clara and prevail upon her the genuine truth that he wanted no woman in the world but her, and that he now had concrete proof that she was telling the truth about Gordon. He would assure her that he would deal with Gillian and Quintina at once.
When he approached the vehicle, his driver rose to his feet at the reins. “My lord....”
Seger raised a hand. “Not now, Mitchell.”
Not giving the driver another thought, Seger opened the door of his coach. His eyes darted from one seat across to the other. Clara was gone.
He stepped back and looked up at Mitchell. “Where is the marchioness?”
The man’s face was lined with worry. “Begging your pardon, my lord. She slipped out of the coach so quietly, I didn’t notice until she was driving away. She got into a hack, my lord.”
Panic ignited in Seger’s veins. He made a fist and pressed it against the side of the coach. “Which way did she go?”
The man pointed. “That way.”
Seger ran around the back of the coach to try and see down the street. “How long ago?”
“Just a few minutes.”
There were a number of carriages in the street. There was very little possibility of finding hers among them.
Seger bolted around the back and got in. “Take me back to Rawdon House.”
He said a prayer that she had simply gone home.
Chapter 23
Seger pushed through the doorof his London house and did not stop to remove his hat or coat. He dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and went straight to Clara’s boudoir.
“Clara!” He knocked once on her door and entered, only to find the room empty. He then went to his own bedchamber and looked there, then headed for the drawing room.
He stopped in the open doorway when he saw Quintina and Gillian both sitting demurely in chairs, embroidery on their laps and a tray of tea and scones on the teacart.
“Seger, you look troubled,” Quintina said sweetly. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Did Clara come home?”
She laid her embroidery aside and stood. “No. Why? Gracious, I hope she hasn’t gone off with that deplorable Mr. Tucker again. Is that what has you worried? How can we help? Gillian, did Clara mention anything to you? Did she say where she was going this morning?”
Gillian opened her mouth to reply, but Seger moved fully into the room and stopped her with a look. “Don’t even bother.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gillian said, as if she were bewildered by his tone.
He stood before his stepmother, glaring down at her coldly. “Clara is not with Gordon Tucker, nor did she ever receive him in this house.”
