Hell and the devil! Had he been drinking too deeply again? The sound of drapes being drawn, and a soft footfall indicated the presence of his valet.
“Paulersbury — water!”
“Very good, my lord.”
Raith cautiously opened his eyes again. The room was a trifle less bright. Paulersbury had evidently divined his condition, for he had half-drawn the drapes once more across the windows. It must have been the opening of them that had woken Raith. He made an effort to raise himself upon the pillows and made the discovery that he was unclothed.
He cursed. Had he been so far gone he had been unable to put on his night gear? No, for Paulersbury had readied him for bed last night as usual. Then—
His thoughts checked on an impossible notion. Rosina! The vague image of tangled limbs and tempestuous kisses erupted into a full-blown remembrance. Raith hissed in a breath on the intensity of it. Was it remembrance? Had he dreamed again? His heart twisted. Could he have imagined the sweet abandon of his wife’s surrender? An echo of her voice came back to him.Give me a memory that I may cherish. Oh, Rosy.
He threw himself up, and was obliged to clutch at his head at the instant protest therein. Through narrowed eyes, he took in the rumple of the bedclothes. She had been with him! An impulse of memory made him throw the covers back. He stared at the spots of red upon the sheets. His eyes pricked.
“Your water, my lord.”
Instinct made Raith fling the bedclothes over the evidence. A second later he realised that his valet would have discovered it in any event. But nothing, thankfully, need be said. The sheets would be discreetly changed. He took the glass and emptied its contents.
Then he saw the note.
It was lying on the pillow near where her head must have lain. An instant premonition of disaster struck him.Rosy, sweetheart, no. Not now.
He barely had courage to reach out for the folded sheet. A dull thudding started up in his chest. With fingers that shook slightly, he spread it open.
“My lord—” Could she so address him still, after last night? “My enemy has been here this day.” Forteviot! What in thunder had the villain said to her? A scandal — but he had threatened it before. It was not news that his hints had been deliberate. Had he not been persuaded of the scoundrel’s intent to blacken Rosina’s name to him? So it was a plot between Forteviot and her guardian. Ottery had been right.
But as he read the final sentences penned by the waif whom he had failed dismally to cherish as he had promised, he had no thought of Forteviot or Cambois.
“I tell you this because I would not wish you to be in mystery as to why I am gone. I cannot bear to bring you these distresses. Pray, Anton, let me go. It is better that we part. Mr Ottery will know what to do to make it right. I will remember always — Rosy.”
Remember? Did she imagine he could forget? Let her go?Rosina, were you mad?Rather than lose her, he would endure ten thousand scandals. But where was she now? How long had she been gone? Perhaps she had not already left.
Urgency threw him out of bed, and he staggered. Leaping to his aid, the valet caught him.
“Take care, my lord!”
Raith steadied himself, driven by necessity, and shook the man off. “I am all right. Fetch me a bucket of water so that I may dip my head in it.”
Shifting away, he drew on the robe Paulersbury was holding out, and made unsteadily for his wife’s bedchamber, throwing open the four doors that lay in his way. The room was empty. But a cursory glance about the dressing-room showed him that a hasty departure had been made. Drawers and doors were open, their contents poking forth, a clutter of garments upon the floor.
Raith strode through to the bedchamber and tugged on the bell-pull, his eyes raking the room. The bed was made, and there were no further signs in here. The ache at his head intensified, and he was obliged to hold to one of the bedposts as he attempted to make his way back to the dressing-room.
He was engaged in sifting through one of the presses, trying to reckon up which gowns Rosina might have taken, when he was disturbed by the maid Joan.
“My lord!” she gasped, bobbing a curtsy from the doorway to the bedchamber.
“When did her ladyship leave?”
Joan looked blank. “I — I don’t rightly know, my lord.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“But I don’t know, my lord. Last I saw she went down to see that there Lord Forteviot, and—”
“You have not seen her since?”
“No, my lord.”
Raith’s heart sank. He moved away from the closet and waved at the maid. “Are any gowns missing? Quickly, girl!”
