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Chapter 11
David was going to throttle whoever had woken him up from the soundest sleep he’d had in years by banging on his bedroom door.
The scent of lemon and bergamot stole over him as he rolled to his side.Clarissa.He reached for her only to find rumpled blankets.What the deuce?
“David,openthedoor!Itzimportant!”
Hell and damnation. Charles was foxed again. And where had Clarissa gone? He hoped Charles hadn’t seen her.
“Shut up and go away,” he yelled at the door, pulling the covers over his head.
“Damnit, David! Effingham stole yr wife.Fortheluvofgod, wake up!”
What did Charles just say?
David bolted out of bed like a rifle shot and opened the door. “What is God’s name are you talking about?” He grabbed Charles by the collar with both hands.
Charles made a face. “Pfft. Yourrnekked.”
Frowning, David looked down. So he was. “I don’t care. What the devil did you say about Effingham stealing my wife?”
“Took her away.Sezz he married err first.”
“What.” David’s stomach plunged.Dear God. What a fool he’d been.
“Hazzapaper frumacurate. Secret wedding, so he sezz.”
“Christ.” Had she been lying to him this whole time?
“Shesezzitsalie.”
Of course, she would. Oh, why had he ever trusted her? But then what would she gain from marrying David if she had truly married Effingham first? He was far too angry to sort this out, but one thing was certain. He was going to get her back. Whether she had betrayed him or been betrayed by Effingham, she was his to protect. That ass couldn’t have her, no matter what papers he might have had from the church.
He let Charles go. “Give me a moment to get dressed, and I’ll go after her. I assume they went to Effingham’s townhouse?”
“Dunno.”
Useless saucebox. “I’ll start there. Go get a cup of coffee. You’re coming with me, and I need you sober.”
With a nod, Charles stumbled off toward the staircase.
As David dressed as hurriedly as possible, he couldn’t shake the sense that this was all too familiar. The night Laura had died, Charles had woken him up in much the same manner, telling him that she’d fled with the footman. A storm was raging outside, and by the time he found them, it was too late.
The carriage had overturned on an outcropping at a particularly perilous bend in the road, and its occupants lay broken and limp on the rocks below. He knew in his heart ofhearts that she was dead before he got to her, but he had to be completely certain. He scrambled down the slippery rocks to find her utterly still, one arm bent at an impossible angle, and her head bleeding out on a sharp stone.
The horror of that image would stay with him for the rest of his life. As he buttoned his shirt, a new image superimposed itself. Now it was Clarissa lying dead on the rocks. It was absurd to think she would meet the same fate. It wasn’t even raining out, and they were in the middle of London, not in the countryside with winding roads and treacherous bluffs. But the dread that something terrible had happened to her would not leave him. Nor would his heartbreak that she was gone.
Perhaps she was innocent in all of this. He wanted that. Good God how he wanted it! But the fear that she fled his company just as Laura had wouldn’t leave him in peace. It all seemed too good to be true. Clarissa’s affection was more than he had ever deserved, and it only made sense that she would realize that and bestow it on another.
There was no time to dwell on such things, though. He had to act swiftly, or Effingham would find a way to take her beyond his reach.
Not bothering with a waistcoat, he shrugged on his coat and stormed out of his room. At the foot of the stairs, he paused to ask the under butler on watch to ready his carriage. Then he stomped off to his study for his pistol and went in search of Charles. He found him in the kitchen looking remarkably revived with a cup of coffee in his hand. Cook looked none-too-pleased to be up at that hour, scowling at Charles and shaking her head. But she didn’t say a word.
“Bring your coffee. We’re leaving.”
When Charles didn’t move, he grabbed his brother’s sleeve and pulled, dragging him from his seat.
