He was close. He could not sit atop a horse ambling along while…
He could run. The horse would follow.
Vincent dismounted, landed on the ground, and settled into a pace he could maintain for a great distance, pumping his arms and legs, punishing himself in the only way he knew how. Ironically enough, the horse chose to trot beside him.
Vincent ran faster.
If she’d done as he told her, he’d never forgive himself.
Let her have been stubborn. Let her have defied her stupid ass husband.His mind alternated between chastising chants and desperate prayers.
11
Fourteen hours earlier
He’d left her.She’d been right to fear his reaction upon learning the truth. Staring at her from the shadows, hurt had filled his eyes. And then came the anger. It had rolled off him in waves as he’d donned the clothes he’d worn earlier that evening. He’d been unable to remain even for the night in the same house with his wife.
She had wanted to please him so that he would help her save Arianna.At first.That had been her reasonat first.
But could she have acted the same with anyone else?
She could not have!
Only him.
After the door slammed shut behind him, she’d sat frozen on the bed, waiting for him to return. Hoping he’d only gone for a ride to cool his temper.
She’d learned many of his habits during the weeks since they’d married. Being out of doors, with his horse or tending to one of the herds—it cleared his head—helped him think.
And so she’d waited.
The next morning, she’d discovered the note in the salver and that was when terror had set in.
He’d gone to confront her father. Her father was not a man who took well to any person to question his actions.
Pemberth was a large man, a strong man. But he was also an honorable one.
Her father would use that against him.
She’d wished to depart for Bryony Manor right away but Pemberth’s driver had fled with him. Knowing Vincent was not to be alone while confronting her father gave her some small comfort. Calvin would be at his side, as well.
Two sturdy and loyal men.
All morning, she paced the stone corridors, fighting the urge to go after him. At the end of one particularly long hallway, she found herself staring at a painting. He’d pointed it out to her that first week.
Keenan. The former duke. His brother. Lila had come to know the man’s handwriting almost better than her own, she’d gone over so many documents, read pages and pages of his correspondence.
Vincent’s brother had been a good man whom her husband must have loved as much as Lila did Arianna.
How must he have hurt to believe Keenan had taken his own life? And yet…
It did not make sense.
Feeling a sense of purpose for the first time all day, she strode back to the library, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew the secret documents once again. Letters between the local magistrate and Pemberth.
Arsenic poisoning. Small glass vial discovered in the deceased’s hand. And then she discovered the most damning evidence of all.
The suicide note.
