“Where is my wife?” Adam said as the iciness spread and spread.
Please, God, no. Don’t let anything happen to her. I’ll give anything, do anything…
“They took her. Left this in the carriage.”
Adam snatched the piece of paper from the guard.
If you want to see your wife alive again, await my instruction.
36
Gabby came to,blinking groggily in the dimness.
Where am I?
She managed to rise to her feet. When she swayed, she steadied herself against the wall, felt cold, powdery brick beneath her fingertips. Smells tickled her nose: coal smoke, sulphur, and brine. Where was she, how did she get here…?
The attack returned in a flash. The carriage jerking to a stop. An army of ruffians—oh God, they’d shot her guards, killed them. Even as shock and grief pervaded her, she bottled it, forced herself to recount the rest of the events. The blackguards had dragged her out, smothered her scream with a soaked handkerchief, the chemical choking her lungs…then nothing.
Who did this? Why? How will I get out of here?
Frantically, squinting in the gloom, she tried to map out her prison, find a way to escape.Hand over hand, she felt her way along the walls, solid and thick, no way of getting through. Her palms scraped against wood.
A door.
She fumbled with the knob. Jiggled it desperately but it would not turn. She pounded on the door and screamed for help until her fists and throat were raw.
No aid came. She was trapped. Held hostage by some murderous and mysterious villain.
She sat, her back against the door, the reality of the situation sinking in. Her first thought was of Adam: how frantic he’d be, how he’d do everything in his power to find her, once he knew she’d been taken. Sweet heavens, for him it would be like losing Jessabelle all over again.
She thought she was out of tears, but they leaked down her cheeks once more. Following Adam’s departure last night, she’d given into a fit of weeping. She’d cried for the loss of her girlhood dreams, for her shattered heart in the present, and for the uncertainty of her future. Her sorrow had felt like a dark and bottomless well, one from which there was no escape.
This morning, she’d awoken from an exhausted sleep. Her eyes had been puffy, her chest and throat tender. Even so, she’d known that staying in bed would do her no good and, after freshening up, she’d gone to bid good morning to Fiona and Max.
Her babes. Hers…and Adam’s.
Looking at Max, she’d seen a miniature replica of his handsome father, down to his unruly forelock. Listening to Fiona’s happy chatter, she’d felt the confidence and ambition her daughter had inherited from Adam.
And Gabby had realized something important: she wasn’t out of love.
She wouldneverrun out of love because of who she was. She might not have Tessa’s cleverness, Maggie’s fortitude, or Emma’s determination, but she did have her own strength: when she gave her heart, she gave it completely. She loved with everything that she was. For right or wrong, she’d given her love to Adam...and he would have it, forever and always.
Thus, as hopeless as the future seemed—she had no idea how they could repair the damage done to their marriage—she had her love to guide her. It reminded her of the intimacy and passion she and Adam had shared in the last month, how far they’d come. It told her to be patient: Adam had suffered greatly in his past and his recovery from amnesia must have come as a shock. Most of all, it reaffirmed the vows she’d given him and that he’d given her in return.
For better or worse.Love was a commitment. Despite everything Adam had done, if he was willing to work to change things, to make them better, then she would fight for their marriage too.
Those had been her thoughts when she’d been attacked. Now she didn’t know if she would have the chance to tell Adam how she truly felt or to see their beautiful children again. As despair swamped her, she heard footsteps.
Scrambling to her feet and out of the path of the opening door, Gabby was momentarily blinded by a shock of light. A lamp…held by a man. She blinked as his features became clear, as she saw the unmistakable gleam of wheat-blond hair.
Shock bombarded her. “Mr. De Villier?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Garrity,” he said in his smooth-as-silk accent.
Her shock gave way to fury when he executed an elegant bow…as if they were in a dashed ballroom.This is madness. The man is mad.
She drew herself up. “I do not understand what is going on. Regardless, I demand that you release me at once.”
