Joanna frowned. “Then if she is not down here, and she’s not upstairs–”
“The servants’ wing,” Kincaid said. “We gave it a cursory search, but–”
Sterling was already sprinting up the stairs with Sir Reginald holding on for dear life. He hit the second level at a dead run, sprinted the entire length of the hallway, and turned left to access the narrow stairway that led to the third story where the servants slept.
Here, the corridor was dimly lit with flickering wall sconces and wooden floors that creaked. Most of the doors were open, allowing him easy access into the small, neat rooms where the staff slept. All of them were the same: double beds, a set of drawers, a white porcelain wash basin.
And all of them were empty.
A dark pit of despair formed in his stomach as he searched the last and final bedroom to no avail. At the far end of the hallway, he heard the others reach the top of the stairs and begin to look as well, but it was no use. Rosemary wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. She was just…gone. Disappeared into thin air without leaving so much as a trace.
Except that wasn’t true, was it?
Because she’d left Sir Reginald.
Without warning, the squirrel leapt off his shoulder and skittered across the room to a door that Sterling hadn’t noticed. A door that someone–Lord Aston–had pushed a tall armoire in front of. When Sir Reginald wiggled underneath the piece of furniture and began to scratch furiously at the door, Sterling’s heart lodged itself in his throat.
“Rosemary? Rosemary!” With a single mighty shove, he sent the armoire crashing to the ground. The door was locked. He broke that as well. Damn near ripped the entire thing off its hinges. And found his wife cowering on the floor amidst a pile of crates, a rag stuffed in her mouth and her hands tied with string behind her back.
“Rosemary.” On a muffled groan of relief, he dropped to his knees and gathered her against his chest. There were tears in her eyes, and when he yanked the cloth out from between her teeth she cried out in pain. The sound nearly broke him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeated, over and over, as he stroked her hair, her back, her arms. Every part of her that he could reach.
“I–I was so scared,” she said between choked breaths. “It was so dark. But I knew you’d find me. I knew it. I–Sterling, watch out!”
Her scream caused him to cover her with his body. They both fell backwards into the closet as the bullet that was intended for his skull struck the doorframe instead.
Wood splintered. After making certain that Rosemary hadn’t been injured, Sterling told her to stay down before he whirled around and charged at their assailant with his shoulder lowered.
Right before he collided, he registered who had attacked them. The shock of it made him hesitate, which gave Lady Aston the split second she needed to aim her pistol and fire it a second time.
This bullet took a shallow slice of Sterling’s thigh with it before it plowed into the wall. He barely acknowledged the pain through the red haze that descended over his vision. One strike of his fist on Lady Aston’s forearm and the weapon she held went flying across the room. Were she a man, he would have done more. Were she a man, he would be hard-pressed not to wrap his hands around her neck. As it was, he towered over her, trembling with barely restrained fury.
“Why?” he said, unable to conjure a single plausible reason as to why she would want to do him and those he loved any harm. “Why?”
Lady Aston was a petite woman. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. But she merely tipped her chin and met his gaze with nary a hint of remorse and more than a touch of madness. “Because Sebastian was going to marry me. He was going to marry me before he died in that silly duel thatyoudrove him into.”
Old, familiar guilt struck him with all the force of a bullet. Causing far more pain than the one that had just glanced off his leg. “But…butyouaccepted Lord Aston’s proposal. You chose to marry him.”
“To make Sebastian jealous,” Lady Aston shrieked, stomping her foot like a child in the midst of a tantrum. “The engagement was supposed to make him come to his senses and stop wasting time! If not for you, I could have been a duchess. A duchess!”
She continued to scream and carry on even when Weston and Kincaid appeared to drag her away. Eventually, the sounds of her mad bellows began to fade, and then ceased altogether as she was presumably taken to another wing of the house.
“She is ill, Sterling,” Rosemary said quietly, and he flinched when she linked her fingers through his. “I imagine she has been ill for a very long time. You must not blame yourself.”
As his old demons gnashed their teeth and sharpened their claws, he clenched his jaw and turned his head away. “Who else is there to blame? She’s right. I did drive Sebastian to that duel. Had he lived–”
“Had he lived, there is no telling what might have happened. But he didn’t, and this is what we’re left with.” She moved in front of him. “Look at me, Sterling.Look.”
Bleakly, he met her gaze. And saw a thousand shining stars in the depths of all that blue-gray.
“Lady Aston is not a lesson in what might have been avoided, but an example of what can happen to a person’s soul if they let bitterness and anger drown out all of their light and love. But you chose light, Sterling. You chose love. You choseme.” She stretched up her hand and cupped his cheek. “So choose me now. Choose us. Choose the future that’s still waiting.”
“I do,” he said hoarsely, leaning into her palm as his demons receded into the shadows. “I always will. You saved me, little hawfinch. For that and for a thousand other reasons, I love you. Beyond reason. Beyond eternity. Beyond anything on this earth, real or imagined.”
“I love you, too, Sterling.” Her lips curved in a tremulous smile. “Might we go somewhere else? We need to see that your wound is tended to. And I’ve had my fill of small, cramped spaces for the day.”
Evie and Westonsent everyone home with apologies. They did not give a reason. It was not theirs to give. And while speculation ran rampant, it was obvious the Duke and Duchess of Hanover were wildly in love, and thus most assumed they merely wanted to get to the business of their wedding night.
Kincaid questioned the Marquess and Marchioness of Aston at great length. Both Sterling and Rosemary agreed it best that they not be there. The newlyweds were ready to live in the present; so long as they were no longer in any danger, they were happy to let go of the past.
