Page 60 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Antonia stripped her dress off and stuffed it into the trunk. In a few moments, the ill-fitting men’s clothes were fastened about her body. She yanked the cover of her hiding hole open and stuck her fist. Out came the cheap tin locket.Edith Webber. Idless.
The problem with caring about others was that it couldn’t be turned off like a spigot when they ripped your heart out and stomped on it. Malcolm had tried, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to stop loving his parents no matter how deeply they had wounded him. Antonia had let him worm his way into her heart, and now she had nothing but a lot of complicated feelings she didn’t know what to do with. Undoubtedly, she was talking with the Bow Street runners now. How long did she have before they found her?
Feelings. Such useless things. Antonia’s nerves vibrated with the need to be rid of them. She clutched the locket so hard it cut into her palm.
The Webbers probably needed money. For the first time in her life, Antonia had plenty to spare. She bared her teeth at the darkness.
Anthony Lowe’s fresh start was going to have to wait a few more days.
* * *
Malcolm could not recall ever having darkenedthe steps of the Summervale townhouse in all his thirty-six years. Granted, the one his grandmother occupied was one of several, and the smallest of their urban properties.
He couldn’t recall ever feeling so hollow.
Antonia was gone.
Yet he was shivering on his grandmother’s front stoop in the early evening gloom, with his trusty footmen standing guard, instead of going after her.
“My lady does not wish to see you, Your Grace,” Lady Summervale’s manservant intoned. Malcolm sighed.
If he were his father, he’d do one of two things. Either storm the castle and demand to speak with her, or depart in a huff and spend the next month honing the sharp side of his tongue at her expense.
Malcolm was not his father.
He tried a new path. Humility. “I am here to return something of value.”
The bewigged butler eyed him skeptically.
“Specifically, my mother’s necklace.” He waited. The butler had been trained not to display emotion. Yet Malcom watched his forehead crinkle into accordion folds of astonishment.
“Please enter.” The man bowed and admitted him to the well-appointed parlor. This must be where Antonia had fleeced his grandmother out of her favorite gem. “If I may prevail upon your patience.”
“Go, sir.” Another way in which he had diverged from his father. Malcolm dispensed with formality whenever it suited him. The previous Duke of Havencrest had relished his status.
His grandmother’s shadow was accompanied by the thump of her cane. The dark, shapeless blot shrank as she approached. Had it been just a week ago that he saw her deploying her gimlet disapproval at the world? Tonight the gray silk and lace was the same, but her vitality had been sapped.
He had done this to her. “Grandmother,” he began and braced for her disapproval.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Lady Summervale asked with wary formality.
“I wish to return something to you.” He produced a black velvet pouch from his pocket. The gold glinted in the firelight. Its diamond turned liquid. Beguiling. The old woman regarded it for a long, somber minute.
“Thank you, Malcolm. I do not want it back.” She turned away as if to leave him.
“Why not?”
The question was out of his mouth before he could snatch it back. She paused as if considering.
“It ought to belong to you anyway.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Malcolm flailed, helpless, hoping for inspiration to strike. Nothing. “She gave it to you.”
“It was for safekeeping,” his grandmother insisted.
“She thought she could break the curse by separating the two main halves,” he offered, tentative.
“There is no curse.” Lady Summervale scoffed. “That silly story was passed around to make the gems more valuable at auction. But it got into your mother’s head that she could break the curse. It was a sign of her sickness.”
