“10 Cherry Lane in Mayfair,” he said again. “His Grace keeps a townhouse there.”
“Oh.” She smiled brightly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Thank you very much. If for some reason he comes here before I get there, can you tell him that I stopped in?”
“I will, Miss.” By the way the footman had started to close the door, it was obvious he wanted her to leave. “Have a good day.”
“Thank you again,” she said, stepping out from under the marble portico. “You’ve been exceedingly helpful.”
“Ye’re welcome, Miss. I–” The footman stopped. Stared. “Is that aratin yer pocket? Me brother Tim had one of those when he was a boy.”
“Who, this?” She patted between Sir Reginald’s ears as her pet poked his head out to see what was happening. “No, this is a red squirrel. But Ihaveheard that rats make good companions,” she said generously.
“Aye, me brother had him for almost six years before he died. In all that time, he never bit him. Not once. Our mum hated that rat. Tried to drown him in a bucket of water a few times. But he was always too fast for her.”
“Sir Reginald bit the Duke of Hanover on his leg,” Rosemary confided in a whisper. “It wasn’t very nice, was it, Sir Reginald?”
It was impossible, of course, but she would have sworn that her pet rolled his eyes.
“So His Grace knows that ye have a squirrel ye keep in yer pocket?” the footman asked.
“Oh, yes. It was one of the first things we discussed, actually.”
“And hestillasked ye to marry him?”
Rosemary nodded.
“Wow.” The footman gave a low whistle. “His Grace must really be in love with ye.”
Her smile faltered. “10 Cherry Lane, did you say?”
“Aye, Miss. Should I call ye a carriage?”
“No, that’s fine. I do not mind walking.” What shedidmind was Sterling having such little regard for his fiancée that he’d not shared he kept an entirely different household from his ducal manor in Grosvenor Square, leaving her no means by which to contact him except to track him down on foot.
Perhaps he had a viable excuse as to why he hadn’t told her about the direction the investigation had taken or the danger he was in. Maybe he was trying to protect her. But how could he excuse away his absence these past seven days, or the fact that they were to be married and she didn’t even know where he lived?
Rosemary was aware that in a vast array of subjects, she was greatly naïve. In her solitude and her loneliness, she’d cut out a small corner in the world and she had filled it with books, and daydreams, and furry creatures to raise. In that corner, there’d been no room for courtship, or passion, or popularity. So maybe those things were unfamiliar to her, and there was nothing she could do about that. But shedidknow about common decency and respect. And she knew that Sterling needed to explain why he’d given her neither.
Maybe she wasn’t the fiancée he’d expected to have. Certainly the entiretonwas flabbergasted by their union. But she was the fiancée he’d chosen…and the fiancée he’d resolutely ignored for a week, leaving her to solider the social burden of their sudden engagement by herself.
Biting the inside of her cheek and ducking her head against the howling winds, she set off back towards Mayfair.
Sterling couldn’t stopshaking.
The tremors had started in his hands. Small, involuntary vibrations that radiated all the way down from his head, through his arms, and into his fingers courtesy of the demon elf that had taken up residence in his skull and was swinging merrily away at bone and brain with an axe.
His heart alternated between utter stillness and bouts of frenzied activity where it slammed against the wall of his chest with such terrifying force he wouldn’t have been surprised to look down and see it go bouncing off across the room.
When someone knocked on the door, at first he thought itwashis heart.Boom. Boom. Boom.The light tapping of a fist against wood was like the blast of a cannon to his poor, tortured, elf-riddled head. Mouth already curled in a snarl, he sat up on the sofa he’d substituted for his bed–stairs were out of the question–and looked for a servant to send whoever the hell had come to pay him a visit far, far away. To another country, preferably. On a different continent. Until he remembered that he’d given the entire household staff paid leave for an as-of-yet undetermined length of time. He didn’t want anyone to witness him in this condition. Not a footman, not a scullery maid, and especially not Higgins, the judgmental arse.
Once a day, Cook delivered a basket of meats, bread, and fruit which he picked over, but ultimately ate very little. His stomach wouldn’t allow it. More than an apple slice or a cube of cheese and he was running to the privy to hurl his guts into the fathomless depths of a stone basin.
It wasn’t very pleasant.
Actually, shy of losing Sebastian, this was the mostunpleasant experience he’d ever had in his entire life. And he placed the blame squarely on the self-righteous shoulders of Kincaid and Weston.
“A detoxification,” they’d called it before they jaunted off to Scotland on holiday, leaving Sterling to deal with the consequences of their barbaric ultimatum.
And it was barbaric.
