He’d wanted…
His wife.
His wife, who’d given far more than he’d ever asked for.
And when he’d needed her last night, she’d welcomed him with all of her being.
When he needed her?
When had he come to think in terms of needing her? Had this occurred last night or earlier?
In the past, he’d considered his need for women to be mostly physical. But even that notion had been challenged when he’d found himself with absolutely no desire for the barmaid he’d set his sights on the previous evening.
She’d dropped onto his lap. Pressed her bosom into him.
It had felt wrong. His cock had withered like a flower in a hailstorm.
Marcus stretched and lazily trailed his gaze around the room. He was roused from his languor at the sound of a carriage drawing away from the residence.
Had a doctor been called? Why hadn’t he been awakened? Perhaps that was where Emily had gone.
Leaping from the bed, he scrounged around and hastily stepped into his breeches.
Where had she gone?
After discovering his father sleeping comfortably, Marcus returned to his suite where Crandall awaited. He could not go about his family home without shirt or shoes. Impatience gnawed until he had to brush Crandall’s hands away. The cravat would have to be good enough. Obviously, his valet was beginning to see his own rise in the world.
Once dressed for the day, an itch of concern pricked further at him when Emily was not in the breakfast room. Although his mother hadn’t seen her about, she reassured him there was no cause for concern. “Likely she’s taking a constitutional outside.”
Emily was not one to go exploring outside though. She was more likely to lose herself in…
The library.
Feeling only a little foolish, he walked and then ran in the direction of the room his wife would most likely get lost in. Urgency drove him. For some reason, he needed to see her. Assure himself…
Of what?
That last night hadn’t been an aberration? That she hadn’t given up on him? On them?
He pushed open the heavy oak door eagerly, expecting her to look up at him with those curious brown eyes of hers.
Perhaps there were a few things he could teach her in this room that she would not find in any book.
She was not there.
“Emily?” Was she hiding? As she’d done that evening in the Crabtrees’ library.
Nothing.
And then he noticed one of the chairs tipped over.
A large lump lodged itself in his throat. When he stepped across the room to right it, something else caught his attention.
A reflection.
A lens. On the floor.
Emily’s lens.
