Your ever-loving,
Theo.
Nathanial stared sightlessly at the paper, unable to focus on the words, unable to look away. His dear, sweet,stupidTheo had thought to spare him the pain of investigating by endangering herself, and she could not see how very much trouble she was in.
Only know that these months married to you have been the happiest of my life.
He needed to find her before—
He crumpled the letter in his fist and turned his attention to the butler, groom and lady’s maid, who still watched him, waiting for his next instruction.
“Prepare the carriage,” he said curtly. The stupid, foolish girl. As though he would rather she put herself in danger for him.
He would have preferred her to be meeting another gentleman. At least then she would have been safe. At least then, she would have come home, and he could have found a way through this.
But knowing she had gone to ‘discover what she could’ about his would-be murderer meant something far more dangerous was at play. He could be guaranteed of nothing.
“Fetch my pistol,” he told Jarvis. “I have a feeling I will need it.”
Theo awoke in a carriage. She couldn’t recall having been unconscious, but she had certainly awoken, and pain splintered from a point in her temple.
The carriage was not one of her own.
Nathanial had several carriages, but they were all outfitted in a similar way, with burgundy leather seats, his coat of arms mounted on the back, and wide, clean windows. This carriage, however, was dirty. The stitching on the seats had split, revealing the stuffing within, and there was no coat of arms.
The curtains were drawn. Opposite her sat Sir Montague.
He might have looked composed and easy, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other tucked away, if it were not for the blood and makeshift bandage across his thigh. His gaze, when it alighted on her, was not forgiving.
The memory hit her like a bolt of lightning and she looked at her hand—specifically, at the cut that ran across her fingers from where she had gripped the knife. The same knife she had sunk into Sir Montague’s leg.
“I took it,” he said in answer to her sudden panic. Her reticule was nowhere to be seen. “I confess, I hadn’t thought you would think to take a weapon with you. Nor,” he added with a grimace, “the capacity to use it in such a way.”
“You tried to capture me!” She paused and wrinkled her nose again at her surroundings. “Youdidcapture me.”
“I did.”
Horror pressed against her throat, and she closed her mouth before she could say anything foolish. He’d already hit her once, if the pounding in her head was any indication, and she didn’t want to give him any reason to do it again.
If only she still had her knife. Next time she would aim it higher than his leg.
“I won’t hurt you again if I can help it,” he said.
“If you can help it?”
His voice was grim. “Don’t stab me again, and you won’t have to find out.”
“How could I stab you again if you’ve taken my knife?” she asked, and the fear in her throat made its wavering way into her words. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms.
“I’m hoping you can’t,” he said dryly. “But you might as well stop looking at me as though I’m some terrible villain. I’ve captured you, yes, but note you’re unbound and I’m not attempting to force myself on you. That should give you some comfort.”
“Little enough,” she flashed before she could help herself, and an appreciative smile leapt into his eyes, just for a second.
“I see kidnap has not dimmed your spirit.”
“Where are we going? Is this your carriage?Whyam I here?”
“So many questions.”
