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For her own part, she would keep the truth locked away in her heart for the rest of her life. Just as it was with Arabella, no one must ever know. No one.
Twenty One
“Your Grace…Lord Manchester,” urged the insistent female.
Her voice grated on Roland’s raw nerves, and he turned away in protest.
Someone laid hands on him and shook him.
He cracked open an eye. “Bloody hell, woman! Leave me be!” He started to roll away again, but then stopped. If Nurse Hayes was here, then that meant he was not at home.
Everything flooded back in a rush. He sat up so abruptly the room spun, forcing him to brace himself for a moment until it righted itself. His head felt full of gauze, his stomach full of bile. “What time is it? Quickly!”
Nurse Hayes frowned. “Nearly nine, Your Grace.”
He could hear the disapproval in her tone. Muttering an obsc
enity, he rose, ignoring the shooting pain in his head. “Have a carriage sent around at once—I don’t care where you get it, just have one readied and brought around. Immediately.”
Something of his urgency must have translated, because she went at once to do his bidding.
Harriett had been here. They’d made love. He’d been a complete bastard.
On a desk. He’d taken her virginity on a desk. William’s desk. All at once he experienced terrible, crushing guilt—followed by a tiny twinge of shocked admiration. Had she really been so uninhibited?
I love you, Roland...
Even his brandy-soaked brain knew that was real. His heart soared. The woman who was to become his wife loved him!
He wanted to crawl out of his own flesh with impatience as he waited for the carriage. Despite his instructions to hurry, the ride home was interminably long. Alighting at last, he took the steps at a run and pounded on the front door. The second it opened he began bellowing for his valet, giving the poor butler a fright.
Two hours later, the door to Lord Dunhaven’s house closed in front of his face, leaving him standing on the stoop feeling a fool. Dunhaven was not at home. Neither was Harriett. He’d asked to speak with Lady Catherine, but she was also out. The man who’d closed the door would not tell him where any of them had gone.
Cursing, Roland returned to the Hospital, thinking maybe Harriett might return. Or that she might have sent a message.
Nothing.
He went to consult Rich, but his friend was also out. Fate, it seemed, had decided to leave him utterly bereft of counsel. After an afternoon spent in frantic, fruitless search of people determined to elude him, he returned to Harriett’s house and was told Lord Dunhaven and his daughters were out.
This time, however, Roland had an idea where they might be. Since becoming engaged, Catherine would be wherever Hammond was, and Hammond would be at the Arbuthnot ball. He didn’t bother to change, but went straight to the event.
Spying Lily, he stopped her. “Have you seen Harriett?”
She shook her head. “Cat just told me she is not here tonight.”
But she’ll know where Harriett is. “Where is she? Is Lord Dunhaven with her?”
“They’re over there,” she said, nodding to the right. “Is everything all right?”
“It soon will be,” he told her. “Excuse me.” He left her and went over to Harriett’s father. “Lord Dunhaven, I apologize for my abruptness but I need to speak with you in private concerning a rather urgent matter.” Upon receiving bewildered assent, Roland left the ballroom with him in tow. Finding a vacant salon, he ushered him in and shut the door.
“What is this about?” asked Dunhaven. “Has something happened at the Hospital?”
Roland’s face grew hot. It most certainly had. “Is Harriett well? She did not come to work today.”
“Indeed. She is quite well.” Dunhaven peered at him in obvious confusion. “But why should you have expected her to come today? She informed you yesterday she was leaving.”
“Leaving? She said nothing of the sort. Where has she gone?”
