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‘And through Rafe you and through you me. He would not do that. You don’t know him, Edge.’
She held out her hand and his mind ran ahead to whatever rooms this Tubbs was organising for them, but he reined his worst instincts back—he had no time for this. His primary concern at the moment was to find Rafe. Then he would consider his future options, calmly.
‘There is still time for me to see the lawyers today. With any luck Rafe has contacted them and this discussion will prove pointless. Promise me you will not speak to your uncle about Rafe behind my back.’
‘Edge...’
‘Promise me.’
‘I promise I will not mention Rafe until you return.’
‘That is not what I asked.’
‘It is all I will promise at the moment.’
He knew that look—brows lowered, her lips pulling into a pucker that had nothing to do with an invitation to be kissed. She was mounting the battlements again. Somewhere from behind the front ranks of his annoyance he felt a smile forming.
‘Edge.’ The fight melted from her expression and she looked smaller suddenly. He wavered. He really did not wish to go to see the lawyers. He would have given a great deal to go with Sam now and slip into a nice hot bath and into...
There was a sharp hiss and the black cat emerged from beneath the chaise longue, wrapping itself about Sam’s feet and glaring at him. He glared back. What was it called? Inky. He felt he was sinking into some inky substance and it was time to extract himself.
‘Goodbye, Sam. I will return...later. In fact, I ought to go out to Greybourne as soon as possible and speak with the steward there. I might have to stay the night. I shall send word if that is the case.’
‘Of course. Do inform me if you find your brother.’ Her own voice was now as stiff and blank as his.
‘Sam...’
‘You should be off, Edge. It is already afternoon and you have a great deal to do.’
Oh, for heaven’s sake, just leave, man.
He left. He had no patience for himself or stubborn wives or glaring felines at the moment. He wanted peace and quiet.
Not very likely for the foreseeable future.
Chapter Nine
Jephteh’s staff glinted gold in the light of the torches, its tip hovering an inch from Leila’s heart. ‘You may be Queen of Sprites but you too will bow to Jephteh, Priest above all Priests.’
Leila swatted the staff away. ‘I am more likely to bow to a mule’s behind, you rotted carcass.’
—Captives of the Hidden City,
Desert Boy Book Four
The heavy rumble of carriage wheels slowed and Sam looked up from her drawing. It was a bad habit she’d developed since Edge walked out of Sinclair House two weeks ago and disappeared.
‘That’s old Freely’s carriage. He lives across the road,’ Lucas said and Sam detached her eyes from the window and turned to her brother.
He was standing beside Olivia, his hand absently toying with one of her red-brown curls as she bent in concentration over a stack of correspondence arranged with military precision on a large desk.
‘How do you know?’ Sam asked, trying to smile.
Olivia signed and put aside one document and glanced up at Lucas, her hazel eyes warming into honey.
‘He just does. All those years looking over his shoulder. He is like one of those old biddies who always seem to know what is happening on their street. I dare say you know where poor old Mr Freely has been.’
He tweaked her curl and bent to brush a kiss on her forehead.
‘Since it is Wednesday I presume he has been to visit his mistress in Kensington.’
Olivia’s eyes widened and he laughed.
‘Too gullible, love. I have no idea where he has been, nor do I care. All that concerns me is in this house and wherever Chase is off gallivanting with Ellie.’ He looked across at Sam again, his smile fading. ‘And Edge, of course. That concerns me.’
‘Lucas...’ Olivia placed her hand on his, but Sam shrugged and retreated to her drawing. No doubt Lucas would have dealt better with the shock of her sudden marriage if Edge had been there to take the brunt of his first reaction instead of disappearing for two weeks. In that respect she thoroughly agreed with Lucas.
Two weeks, punctuated by two notes. One to inform her he was going directly from the lawyers to Greybourne House in Hampshire. Another to inform her he was travelling north to Rafe’s house in Cumbria. Both signed ‘E’. Not even ‘Edge’. Not even ‘Yours’. Heaven forbid.
And now nothing for a week.
‘He will return. Edge is nothing if not conscientious.’ Oh, God, she was beginning to sound like Edge. She heard nothing in her voice of her loneliness or of the fear that this would be her future. That her marriage to Edge, despite the passion he’d shown and the care he’d taken of her, would end in cold distance. Instead of a home she might have trapped herself into worse loneliness than the one she’d been trying to escape.
