“But the devil lord is the cruelest, most vicious man there is and any kindness he may have shown you is all for his own ends,” he insisted.
Emmaline could not take it a moment longer. She stepped away quickly, causing her father’s hands to fall to his sides.
“No. I will not hear another word of this!” Again, she turned away, ready now more than ever to leave. “I never should have come.”
But before she could go anywhere, her father gripped her wrist and urged her back around to face him. “Give me until tomorrow morning to prove it.”
Emmaline’s skin crawled. “How?”
“I shall return to the docks myself and await the shipment. When the devil turns up to collect his prize, I shall catch him red-handed.”
“No, papa, it is too dangerous! This could be anyone’s doing. They might be even more dangerous than you imagine!”
She clutched her father’s hands then pleadingly.
“I must go,” he said, squeezing her hands in return. “However it is. I cannot face ruin.”
“I should go home,” Emmaline insisted. “I should ask Alex myself. He will tell me if this is true or not.”
“No! Emmaline, you shall play right into his hands if you return to him!” her father protested, and his grip tightened on her hands. “I cannot allow you to leave. That dark place is not your home. You belong here with your family. This is your home.”
The desperation in his voice was heart-shattering but all Emmaline could think about was proving her husband’s innocence.
“I have to go, papa, I have to…” she half-turned away again only to feel his anxious hands tugging her back close.
“No! Emmaline, I cannot bear to lose you,” he cried out loud enough that she was sure most of the house could hear. “I already lost your mama. I cannot lose you too.”
Chapter 24
It had taken all night and all day to search the backstreets of London with his uncle and by the time Alex returned home, he was weary. With little to no information about who had set the fire at the Tillingtons’ house, there was very little left that he could do but find his wife. Hopefully in her, he might find some comfort.
Dragging his feet, as he entered the house, he told his uncle, “Please, excuse me. I do not think I can stand another moment.”
“Of course,” his uncle nodded, gesturing Tiny away. “Tiny will find a servant to have a guest room made up for me. Worry not, nephew. We shall get to the bottom of this.”
Alex barely felt the clapping of his uncle’s hand on his back for he had grown numb.
He wished for nothing more than to sink into his bed, into his wife, into oblivion. The devil lord be damned for the evening. Someone else could sit upon his throne that night for all he cared.
He simply nodded his acknowledgement and trudged his way up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was late. Emmaline had to be in bed by now. Though if he knew her as he thought he did she, like him, would not have slept a wink since the night before.
“Your Grace,” a passing maid stopped to dip a curtsy at him, but he gave little more than a grunt of acknowledgement, carrying on. The maid scuttled away just as quickly, leaving him to his exhaustion.
Loosening his cravat, he opened the door to the master bedroom and stepped into darkness. Only the fire in the hearth was lit, casting long furniture shadows against the wall. But it was enough light to see the truth. The room was devoid of life. There were no soft mounds beneath the bedsheets where his wife was lying, no sound of gentle breathing or the sweet snoring his wife made when she slept, no smell of her perfume permeating the air.
“Emmaline? Em?” Though he already sensed the truth, he could not help but hurry across the room to the adjoining lady’s chambers. “Emmaline!”
There was no sign of her, not in the master or the lady’s chambers, not even in the dressing room. He even ridiculously checked the linen closet, wondering if he might find her hiding there from the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
Nothing.
“Emmaline!” he called again, hoping she would come from him from whichever corner of the house she was hiding.
But when there was a knock upon the door, his heart sank. He knew his wife’s knock and that was most definitely not it.
“Nephew?”
His uncle’s voice was soft. He didn’t like it one bit. Frederick never sounded soft.
