“What is it, Timmy?” Lucian asked, his voice gravelly.
“Out in the garden—there were two sets of footprints. One was small, like a lady’s slipper.” Timmy swallowed thickly. “The other was larger, like a man’s boot.”
Lucian’s head was swimming. “Was there any sign of a struggle?”
Timmy’s eyes were sad. “None, my lord. The footprints led to the garden gate. The one that leads out to the street.”
Oh, God. What was he going to do? By all appearances, Rosalie had run away with another man!
It didn’t make any sense. She had been on the cusp of marrying Lysander, but she had admitted that was a pragmatic arrangement. Plus, she had recently learned what Lysander was really like, so she would hardly have run away with him. She wouldn’t have agreed to marry Lysander if she had been in love with anyone else.
So, the only reason she could have for leaving was that she found being married to him intolerable…
A strong hand grasped his upper arm. “You should sit, my lord,” Collins said, attempting to lead him toward the nearby parlor.
Collins had a point. Lucian was none too steady on his feet. But he didn’t want to leave the foyer. He wanted to be there when Rosalie got back. She was coming back.
Wasn’t she?
“Bring a chair,” Lucian said, his voice hoarse. “I wish to wait for her here.”
He ignored the looks the servants were exchanging. Hamish brought a chair from the parlor, and Lucian settled in to wait.
Had she really been unhappy? The thought was worse than lowering. Because Lucian knew full well that she was the only woman on the face of this earth with whom he could be happy. He had done everything, absolutely everything, within his power to make her happy, too. And if she couldn’t be happy with him…
What thefuckwas he going to do?
He was sitting in that chair, head in his hands, thoughts hopelessly tangled, when a blast of cold air swept over him.
Cold air… as if someone had opened the door.
He glanced up, and—thank fuck—there she was, handing her cloak to Hamish.
“Rosalie!” he croaked, surging to his feet. The important thing was that she was back. Now that she was back, he could ask her what the hell he’d done wrong and never do it again.
There was nothing he would not do for this woman. Nothing.
She turned to face him, and he froze as he saw that she was on the verge of tears.
“Rosalie,” he said, stumbling toward her, reaching for her hands. “Darling. What’s?—”
She balled her hands into fists rather than allow him to take them. Icy fury radiated from her pale blue eyes.
“Youliedto me!” were the words she hurled his way.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Two hours earlier
Once they were settled in the frosty gazebo, Robin turned to Rosalie, his eyes earnest. “I was thinking about the story you told me. In particular, the part where Lucian said he had seduced you on a bet. The bet was with Edmund Reeves. I know Reeves, and he always, and I meanalways, enters his bets in the betting book at White’s. So, I thought I should go down and have a look.”
Rosalie sighed. This didn’t sound all that important. “And what did you find?”
Robin leaned forward. “I went through the entire month of April, and two months before for good measure. There was nothing in the betting book about it. Rosalie… there was no bet!”
She shrugged one shoulder. “He probably left it out of the betting book this time. It’s a rather scandalous wager. Imagine if Papa had seen it, or one of his friends! Mr. Reeves’ life wouldn’t have been worth a farthing.”
“That occurred to me as well, which is why I paid him a call.”
