Ian set off, believing the rain to be the very least of what he deserved. He took the most obvious route and, by some miracle, found her within an hour.
One hour, but those sixty minutes took years off his life.
He came upon her walking down a small, out-of-the-way street halfway between Piccadilly and Blackwall. He’d only chosen that route because he’d come upon three boyssquished together on the back of the mare—hismare, with her distinct coloring and very fine tack—that Drew had ridden from Pollen Street.
He’d corralled the boys and horse against a wall, demanding to know where they’d gotten the mount and what had become of the rider. The boys, sopping wet guttersnipes, tough enough to be prowling the streets in the rain, shrugged off his threats. He came back at them like a lunatic, with shouts and profanity; he was so very desperate to find her.
Still, the boys were not afraid, but they were keenly interested in locating a missing duchess. They grew increasingly cooperative and admitted that they they’d simplyfoundthe horse walking the street alone, her reins dragging in the mud.
“Where?” Ian had demanded, spinning on his stallion, whipping around. “Where did you find her?!”
The boys had told him, describing a small side street, just blocks from Cable Road. Ian paid them, warning them that if he learned they’dstolenthe horse from the duchess—if they’d bullied or harmed her in any way—he would hunt them down and inflict a regret they had never known.
He’d further bade them to ride the mare to his stable in Pollen Street. He hadn’t the time to do more than that, and he was worried for the animal. She was Ivy’s favorite.
Whether the boys were to blame or someone else, the possible reasons for a riderless horse were too terrible for Ian to consider. His elegant wife could have been a victim of theft, murder, kidnapping, a fall into the river, strike by lightning—
He’d reined his stallion around and forced himself to look on it strategically, to put the doom thinking out of his head, to find her first and fall apart second.
In the end, she was two blocks from the street where the boys had claimed to find the horse. He saw her froma distance—it could be only her, so tall and thin, moving slowly, one slim hand to the brick wall.
Ian came apart at the sight of her, there was suddenly so much rain in his eyes.
He galloped to her, calling her name. She turned round, shrinking back against the wall at the ruckus. He was off his horse before the animal clattered to a stop, swinging down, overcoat whirling, ripping off his hat.
“Drewsmina!” he gasped, running the rest of the way.
“Lachlan?” she called.
Itwasher. Thank God! He didn’t even care that she’d referred to him by his bloody title.
“Drew!” he yelled. “Stop. Don’t walk another step. I have you! I’m here!”
“Ian,” she cried, and she fell against the wall and dropped her face into her hands.
“Drew,” he repeated, a whisper now. He was upon her. He took her by the shoulders, looking into her face. Her lips were blueish and her nose was crimson but she appeared otherwise unmarred.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you hurt? Can you walk? What’s been done to you? There were pickpockets riding your horse through Aldgate.”
“Nothing, nothing’s happened,” she said, breathless. “I... I’d come out in search of you. It was an impulse, perhaps, not entirely thought through. I wanted... I wanted...”
He pulled her against him and she went, tucking her face into his chest. He opened the sides of his overcoat and wrapped the two of them together inside it. The feel of her body curled against him, the rain pouring down, the sheer, breathtaking relief of finding her, felt like—nay, itwas—the pinnacle moment of his life, when the earth spun and the sky raged, and billions of people went on about their lives, but his heart cracked open and love poured out.
“I love you,” he said, speaking into her hair.
“What?” she whispered, looking up.
“I’ve fallen in love you,” he repeated, louder. “I love you so bloody much, Drewsmina Trelayne Clayblack, Duchess of Lachlan. My duchess. My wife.”
She was shaking her head, and he almost laughed. Did she really think she could deny this?
She clutched the lapels of his coat. “You’ve been given a fright,” she said.
He leaned back and stared into her face. Was she trying to explain it away?
“I’ve bolted into a storm without considering who might be worried or put out,” she admitted solemnly. “It was, as I’ve said, impulsive and a bit rash. I am ever so glad that you’ve come for me, but you needn’t—”
“You cannot tell me not to love you, Drew.” He laughed at her expression. She looked as if someone had handed her something wild and mythical and wholly unexpected. A mermaid, a star.
