“What price did he demand this time?” James said tersely.
“I gave him my mama’s pearls.”
Another tear escaped, and she dashed it away in shame. Wilmington was right: selfishness was part of her nature. After the harm she’d caused, she had no right to feel sorry for herself, to grieve the loss of a mere piece of jewelry.
“Where? Where did you leave it?”
Sniffling, she told him. And froze when James grabbed his hat and strode to the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To fetch the necklace. Stay put—I mean it, Evie.” He’d never looked sterner—lordlier. “I expect you to be here when I return.”
“You mustn’t! If the necklace isn’t there, he will expose everything?—”
“Let him,” James clipped out. “You will not bow down to this coward.”
“It could ruin you,” she said desperately. “Ruin everything?—”
“Bar the door behind me. And Evie?” His gaze was more powerful than the winds, whipping her emotions into a frenzy. “You had better be here when I return.”
With that, he walked into the storm, leaving her trembling and uncertain in his wake.
Chapter Twenty-Three
James returned to the cottage, his emotions barely held in check. At least Evie was where she was supposed to be. God help him if she’d decided to disobey him. As she fumbled with the wooden bar to let him in, he reminded himself to remain calm. To not frighten his wife, who had already been through enough—nay, too much. More than any lady should have to endure. He had to approach the situation logically and find the best solution to the unfolding disaster.
Evie opened the door, and he entered, removing his outer garments and shaking off the rain.
“You were gone so long,” Evie said in a small voice. “I was worried something had happened. Did you…did you find the pearls?”
Her timidity raked the coals of his anger. Now that he knew the root of her insecurities, he wanted to howl with rage. If Wilmington weren’t already dead, he would murder the bastard—slowly and with great pleasure. Instead, he battened down the hatches and contained the violent urge that would not help his wife.
“I was too late.” He slapped his gloves onto the table. “The scoundrel must have been watching you, snatching up his prize the moment you left.”
He saw her shiver at the notion of being observed by the villain. It gave him a horrible satisfaction to know that she did, at least, have some regard for her safety. Thinking of the risks she’d taken behind his back made him thirst for blood. Those opposing desires—to lash out and to protect—were tearing him asunder.
He exhaled through his nose. “I also went back to the house. I asked one of the footmen to convey our excuses, so no one would worry about our absence.”
“Of course.” She bit her lip. “That was thoughtless of me, disappearing like that.”
Acting without thinking seems to be your modus operandi.
He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. He did neither, going to dry himself by the fire.
Evie drew closer. “Thank you for looking for the pearls. You needn’t have.”
For some reason, that was the straw that broke him.
“Devil take it.” The words left him in a roar. “You are my wife. It is my duty to protect you—and it is yours to let me know when you need protecting!”
Seeing her flinch, he bit out an oath and stalked toward the cot in the corner, putting distance between them. He braced his hands on his hips, stared at the ceiling, and tried to find his composure.
“I would never hurt you,” he said finally. “No matter how angry I am. I am not like that bastard Wilmington?—”
“I know that. By all that blooms, you are nothing like him.”
Evie tugged on his arm, and he turned to face her.
