The voice she always listened to, the sensible one, the safe one, agreed with her mother-in-law’s words. Urged her to take heed. She’d survived this life obeying that voice.
Lady Abercairn rolled her eyes and turned for her door.
And Winnifred told that voice to go to hell.
She pulled free from Deirdre, stumbling forward, her legs carrying her faster and faster down the hall until she was sprinting. She smacked her hand against Lord Abercairn’s door before it could swing shut. He turned, his eyes widening in surprise as she pushed her way in.
“I will search your chambers, proprieties be damned.” Ignoring his bleats of protest, Winnifred tore through the room, opening every closet and cupboard. Falling to her stomach to peer under the bed.
“Really, this is too much,” the earl said. Winnifred didn’t bother to see to whom he spoke. “The marchioness has gone mad.”
She clawed a loose hank of hair off her face and spun, looking for any possible hiding place.
“Dr. Masson, do something,” Lady Abercairn whined.
“Lady Dunkeld.” The physician laid a gentle hand on her arm. “You are unwell. Let me get you a glass of wine to settle your nerves.”
She shook him off and hurried to the window. She knew her husband couldn’t be hidden behind the curtains. The drapes hung too straight and Sin would surely leave a bulge. But she pushed the fabric aside nonetheless, determined to leave no stone unturned.
Chest heaving, she scanned the room. Nothing. Nothing else large enough to contain a man. “Your friends’ rooms.”
“Now, Lady Dunkeld,” Dr, Masson said, reaching for her, “you are becoming quite excited. Let’s—”
Winnifred dipped her chin and with her glower dared him to touch her.
The doctor took a quick step back.
Her chest heaved. She didn’t care that each second only convinced those around her that she truly was cracked. She gave barely a moment’s consideration to the fact that if she didn’t find Sin, alive and well, her behavior could lead her to be committed.
Just like your mother.
She didn’t care. Her husband was missing and she would do whatever it took to find him. Risk anything because ….
Her feet stumbled over each other as she pushed past Deirdre and to the next room to search.
Because she loved the foolish, stubborn, passionate man?
She tossed clothes aside, having zero patience to keep Lord Brandon’s wardrobe ordered.
Was it love that she felt? This panicking, sick feeling deep in her gut? Did love create a vise around her chest which squeezed more and more air from her each moment that passed with his whereabouts unknown?
She ran to the next room. She had no experience in the emotion, but through a process of elimination she deduced the feeling swamping her had to be it. She understood friendship and admiration, had felt those emotions many times before and this wasn’t either of those.
Love wasn’t pleasant, though she knew once she had her arms wrapped around Sin every twist of her guts would transform into bliss. Knew that there was no other man who could make her a fraction as happy as he did. Why had it taken her so long to understand this?
Slender but strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. “Child,” Deirdre said softly. The sympathy in her voice was almost Winnifred’s undoing.
“He doesn’t know.” Winnifred gulped down air. “He doesn’t know that I love him.”
“He knows.” Deirdre tucked her chin on Winnifred’s shoulder and squeezed her waist.
They were the words of someone intent on comforting, but there was no truth behind them. Sin didn’t know. Because until moments ago, Winnifred hadn’t known. Until faced with the prospect of having everything she loved torn away from her, she hadn’t allowed herself to feel the emotion deeply enough to understand.
She drew her hands into fists. Raising her chin, she ignored the pitying and disgusted looks and pulled away from Deirdre. “Every room in this castle will be searched,” she said loudly, making sure Tavish and the servants heard. “And I am going to help,” she told her mother-in-law. She was the marchioness, damn it. In Sin’s absence, she controlled the household. Her orders would be followed.
Deirdre’s deep blue eyes, so like her son’s, flicked back and forth between her own. Finally, she nodded. “And I will help you.”
The back of Winnifred’s throat burned. Such a small show of support, yet it was enough. Taking Deirdre’s hand, Winnifred loosed a tremulous breath and nodded.
