Reeves sighed. “I still don’t think that’s what she wanted,” he said. “And if she didn’t want it, it could never have happened. It’s a lovely idea, though. Maybe someday we’ll find someone.”
He didn’t really believe that. He liked the idea of a future with Bridget—he could see himself in a marriage with her, as strange as that seemed, given that he had been so sure he would never marry again. But surely he would never find anyone else.
That was impossible to conceive of. He didn’t even want to. He had allowed himself to open up to Bridget, and she had gone, and now he was lonely in a way he had never realized he could be. Without her, his life was measurably worse than it had been before she had come into it.
He’d have liked to say he would never let anyone get close to him like that again, but his defenses had been shattered by her, and he genuinely didn’t know whether he would be able to prevent it from happening.
He would fight to prevent it, though. He didn’t want to fall in love. If that was what he felt for Bridget—and he believed it was—it wasn’t worth letting it happen again. Nothing was worth this pain.
The doors were flung open, interrupting his thoughts, and Norman came hurrying in. His hair was wet, flakes of snow clinging to it, and his eyes were wild.
“Reeves,” he gasped. “You have to come quickly.”
Reeves shot to his feet, fear immediately spiking. The first thought in his mind was that something had happened to Bridget.
Beside him, Emma jumped up too. He turned to her. “You stay here,” he said firmly. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t do her any good to see it.
“Papa, no,” she insisted.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You stay right here in this room. I’ll come back and get you as soon as I’m able.”
He turned and followed Norman from the room.
Norman led him down the hall and toward the servants’ quarters. “The carriage just got back,” he said in a low, hurried voice. “We don’t know what happened. It looks like he rode back as quickly as he could, but… well, you’ll see. Just come.”
He led Reeves down the servants’ hall. One of the doors stood open, and there was a crowd around it.
“Out of here,” Reeves said sternly to the maids and footmen who had gathered. “Back to your work.” He stopped one of the maids and added, “Emma is up in the sitting room. Go and sit with her, please. I don’t want her on her own.”
The maid nodded and hurried off.
Reeves made his way into the room and saw his carriage driver lying prone on the bed. A bandage had been wrapped around the man’s head, and there was a compress over his eyes.
“What happened, here?” he demanded, his heart pounding.
At the sound of his voice, the driver tried to sit up. “Your Grace.”
“No,” Reeves said firmly. “You’re injured. Don’t get up. Tell me from there. What happened to you?”
The man took a shuddering breath. “We were going to stay at the inn for the night,” he said. “The snow slowed us down—we had no hope of making it to the orphanage before nightfall. We had just stopped when something struck me from behind, and that’s the last I recall. The next memory I have is of waking up in the snow. Lady Bridget was gone, and so was my assailant. The only clue I had to what had happened was this note, which someone had tucked into the palm of my hand. It’s addressed to you, so I rode back here as quickly as I could.”
He spoke quickly, as if the speech were one he had been practicing, which it probably was. Reeves was sure he’d been nervous to explain how he had managed to lose the woman under his care. He was tempted to respond with rage—he certainly felt it. But this wasn’t the driver’s fault. He’d been attacked. He could have done nothing more to protect Bridget.
No, it’s the attacker I’m so angry at. I need to know who that person is so that I can make them pay. Preferably in blood.
“Give me the note,” he said, his voice tight.
The driver handed it to him.
It was crumpled and slightly damp, but Reeves had no problem reading the words, and they chilled his blood.
Your Grace?—
You might have thought you’d escaped my plans unharmed when your daughter returned to you, though whether she was unharmed is perhaps a bit of a sore subject. I know she hasn’t spoken to you since her return. I wonder if that’s because she blames you for allowing her to be taken away. Perhaps she can’t forgive you for what happened to her. An interesting thought.
You’ll be glad to know that round two of our little tete-a-tete won’t involve a kidnapping. This time, you’re going to hand her to me directly.
Your choice is very simple.
