Very well, so not quite as bad as Jenny. She hadn’t said a vow, had she? They weren’t married after all. And she hadn’t been unfaithful. So why did it feel like she was? He pulled his thumb over his metallic writing device, forgetting it wasn’t a quill, and ripped his skin open. “Ow.” A drop of blood oozed out. He stuck it in his mouth.
He’d been brooding over Arabella the entire day. Confound it, he’d been thinking about her since the minute he’d left the ducal townhouse.
If he was going to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit he’d thought of her every single minute since the moment they’d met. It was almost as if she’d taken possession of his heart and soul.
He dropped his pen.
No, his thoughts weren’t going there. Where was he, and what was he supposed to be doing, again? He shuffled amongst his sheets hectically and stared sightlessly at his design.
“Papa?” Katy was still there, fidgeting.
“Oh. Robin.” Guilt flashed through him. He’d been so absorbed in his own problems that he’d forgotten about his children. “The library, maybe?”
“No. It’s evening. It’s already closed.” Katy took a big breath. “Do you think — do you thinkhetook him?”
A coldness seeped into his heart.
He wouldn’t. Not after today.
Would he?
Philip jumped up. “I’ll go back to the duke’s house. Maybe he’s returned there. Ices and all that.” When Philip had barged into the nursery to hustle his children home, Robin had protested vehemently, for he’d barely begun to eat his ices. It had taken him a considerable amount of persuasion to leave without Miss Weston.
“You’re right.” Katy brightened. “He may have returned to talk to Miss Weston.”
Philip pulled on his jacket. “Watch Joy for me. I’ll be back with Robin shortly.”
Hopefully.
But Robin wasn’tat the Ashmore residence.
The butler, confound him, merely shook his head, with half-closed eyes. “No, my lord. The child hasn’t been here since you left this afternoon. I recall he went with you.”
Philip blinked, irritated, at the ‘my lord’. “It can’t be. Check again.”
“Mr Merivale?” There she stood. The woman he’d thought about all day. Oddly enough, she appeared prettier than he’d remembered. “Whatever is the matter?” A faint rosy blush tinted her cheeks.
He tore the hat off his head and stuttered, remembering that they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Then he pulled himself together. This was about his son. “Robin. He’s disappeared. If he’s not here, then there is only one other place where he would be.”
She looked at him coldly. “You are not implying I have had anything to do with that, are you, Mr Merivale?” She’d never appeared haughtier.
Now it was his turn to blush. “I — er — I. No. I apologise for my previous words. They were hastily spoken. I didn’t think.” He realised he’d been an arse. He folded the hat in his hands. Their eyes met.
“The Duke of Morley.” She frowned. “Somehow, after everything that’s happened, I don’t think he would kidnap Robin.”
Philip sighed. “You don’t know him. But you are right. It would be odd.”
She dropped her head. “No. I don’t. But let me come with you.”
He paused. Then nodded tersely.
“I will be ready shortly.”
Arabella reappeared soon after, wearing a pale blue pelisse, accompanied by a maid.
Robin wasn’tat the Duke of Morley’s house, either. The butler’s expression of cluelessness had been so authentic, that there was no doubt the boy was not there. Morley himself, the butler said, was indisposed. But at Philip’s insistence, the butler went up and returned with Morley, who looked grey.
“Robin is not here, son,” he said. “You have to believe me.” The old man looked truly distressed.
