She met Caroline’s confused gaze, sent a brief, silent-speaking message with her eyes, then beamed at the nobleman in welcome.
“Good afternoon, Lord Vane.”
He all but smacked his lips at the sight of her, reminding her of how she’d flirted so outrageously with the man in an effort to impress upon Sterling how very attractive other men found her.
“How wonderful to cross paths with you,” he said, his gaze roaming over her in a most egregious manner. Shame washed over her, imagining what Caroline must think.
Lord Vane went on. “And here Lord Randall had me convinced that you intended to leave as soon as the weather improved.”
“My plans changed when my cousin, Lord Randall’s sister, arrived unexpectedly,” Annabelle said, her cheeks locked in a frozen smile. “Allow me to introduce you. Lady Caroline Randall, meet Lord Vane, a frequent visitor to the island.”
“How do you do, my lady,” he murmured. He treated her with a good deal more respect, Annabelle noted.
Caroline dipped a curtsy. If she thought the interchange strange—and why wouldn’t she?—she gave nothing away by word or deed, bless her.
He switched his attentions back to Annabelle. “What a lucky surprise, my seeing you. Have you come to tour the priory? I am something of an expert in the abbey, if I do say so myself. I am happy to offer my tour guide services,” he said with an obsequious grin.
“That is most kind, sir, but I’m afraid we must decline. Lord Randall is expecting us, and we do not wish to keep him waiting. Isn’t that right, Lady Caroline?”
“Quite right,cousin.”
A hot flush stained Annabelle’s cheeks. She chanced a glance at Caroline.
The normally gentle woman aimed a most feral smile at the man. “A pleasure meeting you, Lord Vane.” The haughty disdain in her tone was unmistakable. “Good day.”
With that, Caroline tightened her grip on Annabelle’s arm and swept her into step beside her.
***
Sterling paced the length of his office. He had arrived back at the manse in a good mood. A fine mood.
He, along with Chip and several brawny local men he’d hired over the last several days had completed sealing up the kilns for the foreseeable future. Instead of the piles of brick and stone previously used, thick wooden doors with heavy keyed locks barred admittance to any casual passersby.
His wife, for one, would not happen inside the dank and dusty caves alone any time soon, to find herself terrorized. Neitherwould any n’er-do-well troublemaker enjoy a respite from the weather in the kilns.
Nor any jewel thieves, he thought with a brief snort of amusement—and he’d looked forward to saying as much to Annabelle the entire ride home. Looked forward to the spark of fire in her blue eyes when he teased her.
He’d looked forward to seeing her, period. She’d unleashed something inside him. Some long-dormant hunger he’d never known he possessed. He wanted to please her. To pamper her. To inspire a blush and watch it flood her cheeks. To see the shy smile that spread over her face when he did the least little thing for her enjoyment, like providing her with the rich cocoa she adored.Like bringing her to the height of passion.
And what a passionate creature she was. The mere thought of her heady response to him sent a thrill of heat rushing over his skin.
Discovering his so-called arrogant wife was not the spoiled debutante he’d assumed—not in the ways that mattered—had come as a welcome surprise.
In fairness to himself, she’d hidden that knowledge from the world by design. Annabelle held the ugly truths close, like jealously guarded secrets. He would unearth each and every one. Each and every one.
Such had been his thoughts when he walked through the front door of the castle.
But now, he was annoyed. He’d combed the house, aside from her private chamber and his sister’s, and had found neither hide nor hair of either woman. He’d searched the parlor, his office, the dining room, the library, and his bedchamber. Had both women opted to take an afternoon nap at precisely the time he was due to return?
“One would think at least one of them might greet me upon my arrival,” he muttered to himself, swallowing his pride and tromping to the back of the house toward the butler’s office.
Cogsworth had taken his greatcoat and gloves at the door. He’d said nothing of his wife’s whereabouts. But then, Sterling hadn’t asked.
He found the butler’s pantry open, and rapped on the door jamb.
Cogsworth sat behind his desk, scrawling in his ledger. He closed the book and stood. “My lord?”
“Do you happen to know where I might find either my sister or my wife?”
