Page 75 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

In his haste to meet the Duke, he had not realized that she followed him upstairs.

He rubbed a frustrated hand down his face while Fangsdale comforted his wife. Distantly, he could hear the man’s soothing words drawing his wife out of the panic that had seized her at the thought of her sister missing and in danger.

Percival didn’t blame her. The same fear had gripped him when he first realized that his sweet, soft, beautiful Louisa was stuck in the hands of some criminal, possibly injured, in danger—or even worse, maimed.

His mind wandered in many directions as he wondered who on earth could possibly hate him or his wife enough to punish them this way, because while Louisa was the only one who was abducted, he might as well be, with the way he was going out of his mind with worry.

Now, he understood how disastrous love could be. Trying to live with your heart outside your body, where it was vulnerable to injury.

Louisa had claimed whatever remained of his battered heart, fixed it, and made it hers, and now she was in danger. He didn’t want to consider the possibility of living without her.

He didn’t think he would be sane enough to live a good life. He might be better off dead.

Even now, he regretted pushing her away in the early days of their marriage, when she had sought his attention. In hindsight, he was so stupid for keeping her at arm’s length, even while he longed for her warmth. If he had entered his marriage with an open mind, they might have fallen in love earlier, and he would have enjoyed being in her arms for longer.

“Colborne,” Fangsdale called from behind him, causing him to turn around.

The Duke was standing with his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, their faces a picture of determination and rage.

Good, maybe with that state of mind, they could manage to think of a way to find Louisa. Their determination grounded him, halting his spiraling thoughts.

Following them back to the desk, he took a seat, while Duncan led his wife to the seat opposite him, content to remain standing.

Duncan folded his muscular arms across his chest, his dark eyes fixed on Percival as if he could extract information about his sister-in-law’s whereabouts simply with the force of his stare.

It was public knowledge that the Duke and Duchess of Fangsdale held Louisa in high regard. It was speculated that their influence had contributed to the dwindling number of people who disparaged her.

No one in their right mind would try to anger the Duke of Fangsdale. Apart from the power of his title, the man was built like a prize fighter, and Percival could attest to the fact that he fought like one as well.

His wife Isabella was the only chink in his armor, and he guarded her with a ferocity that a lion protecting its pride might envy. The fact that Louisa had paid the price for the vindictiveness of his ex-fiancée with the unblemished quality of her face meant that the man protected her ferociously as well, in a way that was just shy of overprotectiveness.

“When did you last see Lou, Duke?” Isabella asked in a quiet voice, her eyes trained on Percival’s face.

“This morning, before I went on an errand,” he replied, keeping his voice bland.

“Were there any clues from your servants?” Fangsdale interjected, a frown on his face.

“Not enough. I don’t have many servants anyway. They were all busy with their duties. They did not realize she was gone until it was too late,” Percival explained, feeling the rage boiling over in his veins. He was so close to combustion.

Standing up, he paced the length of the room, hoping to work off the restless energy. Turning suddenly mid-stride, he fixed his eyes on Isabella’s face, ignoring her surprise at the sudden movement.

“Do you think the Viscount did it?” he asked, his hands shaking with anger.

“What Viscount?” Isabella asked, perplexed. But then her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “You mean Owen Dowding, the Viscount Pemberton?”

“I believe that is his Christian name.”

“Yes, it is. I do not think Lord Pemberton is the culprit. While he was a horrible match for my sister, he is a kind man at heart,even if he is a little bit snobbish. So I have difficulty imagining him doing anything of this sort. Besides, he had no great love for my sister. He had only wanted her to replace his dead wife. He holds no great passion for her, so he is very unlikely to pursue her out of some misguided devotion born of infatuation,” Isabella replied.

That answer did not reassure Percy in the least. It just crossed one more suspect off his list, leaving him even more clueless than he had been an hour ago about the identity of his wife’s kidnapper.

Even if Lord Pemberton was the culprit, Percival still had not solved the puzzle of which member of his household had aided the kidnapper. No matter the way he thought about it, it was unlikely that his butler, housekeeper, and the cook, who had virtually raised him, would betray him in such a fashion. But if they did not, then who did?

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he prayed to God, whoever that all-seeing being was, to help him. He could feel the familiar weight of helplessness trying to consume him. This time, he prayed that it did not win. He would not allow it to win.

He was going to save his wife. He must.

Chapter Twenty-Three

---