Page 59 of A Love to Remember
But she didn’t dare make a sound to show she was conscious. The light dimmed. Dimmed further. Vanished.
She curled up on the piled blankets, shaking, and sick to her soul. No one knew where she was. What if something happened to Kirkwood and Francis? No one would ever think to look here. She and Philip’s child would die together in the dark. And Drake. What would happen to her son?
Exhausted and terrified, she pressed both hands over the gentle swell of her belly. “It’s all right,” she whispered to the little life within her. “You’re safe. I won’t let them hurt you. Sleep. Your father will come for us.”
But for all her brave words, a tear trickled, warm and wet, along her cheek. “He will come,” she said again, and there in the silent dark, she prayed with all her might for Philip to find and save them all.
Chapter 18
It was dark when Philip arrived back at Rose’s townhouse no further ahead on how to catch and discredit Kirkwood than when he left. He carried a sleeping Drake into the house and handed him over to a footman.
“His Grace has eaten like a hungry bear all afternoon,” he told the man. “Take him to his nanny. He’ll probably sleep till morning.” He turned to Booth. “Where’s Her Grace?”
“Still in her rooms, my lord,” Booth said. “I have not seen her since the modiste left.”
Philip nodded and started up the stairs. “I’ll see her before I change for dinner.”
He took the stairs two at a time, his body humming with excitement.
It had become clear during the men’s discussion that the safest option for all concerned would be for him to marry Rose, and as soon as possible. Tomorrow he would seek a special license. But tonight he would do everything possible to convince her that his heart belonged—and would always belong—to her, and that the very practical reason for their marriage did not alter that fact.
He reached her bedchamber and tapped briskly on the wood. No one came to answer the door. He knocked again. Still no answer. With growing trepidation, he turned the door handle and entered.
The room was dark and cold. What the hell? “Rose?”
There was no reply.
She had not been well. She might be unconscious on the floor. He could step on her in the dark. Where the devil was her woman?
He backed out of the room, shouted down the stairs for the butler, and seized a lit candle from the hallway sconce. Then, holding the candle aloft, he stepped back into the room.
The first thing he noticed was the gown tossed carelessly across the bed. But Rose herself was not in the bed. He moved toward the chairs set before the dead fire. But they, too, were empty.
Then he saw the chair from her writing desk. It lay on its side on the floor. But Rose wasn’t lying beside it. Where was she?
Fear took his breath like a fist to the throat. He wanted to call out for her but he couldn’t form the words. On shaky legs he moved to the bathing chamber. It, too, was empty.
He was coming back into the bedchamber when Booth came in in a flood of light and questions, a gaggle of servants at his heels.
“My lord?” The butler took in the state of the room, the open curtains, the dead fire in the grate. “Where is Her Grace?”
Philip finally managed to fill his lungs with air. “That’s what I want to know. Where’s her maid?”
“I haven’t seen her, my lord.” Booth swung around on the other servants crowding behind him. “Find Elaine, and bring her here immediately.”
Two footmen disappeared.
Philip’s heart told him what his brain refused to accept. Neither woman would be found in the house. “What visitors did Her Grace have this afternoon?”
Booth’s face went blank. “Only the modiste, my lord.”
“Very well.” Philip couldn’t stand still. Rose was in danger. Afraid. Alone. Buthewasn’t alone. He stopped in midpace. “Booth. Send a lad to each of the Libertine Scholars. Tell them it is an emergency, and ask them to meet me here as soon as possible.”
“At once, my lord.” Booth rattled off instructions to another footman, who bowed and left the room. “I don’t understand, my lord. What has happened to Her Grace?”
“I don’t know for certain yet.” But he could make an excellent guess. Philip gestured to the man to draw aside. “Was the modiste the one Her Grace usually patronizes?”
Booth’s eyes widened. “Now that you mention it, my lord, no. She was dressed in the height of fashion but was taller than Madame Durand.”
