The butler’s gray brows shot up. “Aren’t they back?”
Was the old man hedging? As if he didn’t know who came and went, to the second.
“Back? From where?”
Cogsworth appeared to consider. “The viscountess said something about going on a brief walk with Lady Caroline.”
Sterling frowned. “A walk? At nightfall?” It wasn’t quite nightfall. Definitely dusk.
“The sun was shining when they departed, sir,” the butler said, almost defensively.
With effort, he held on to his patience. “Which was when? Details, Mr. Cogsworth—If you would be so kind.”
The butler got a distinctly wary look. “The ladies departed on foot over an hour ago, my lord. Following tea, if I remember correctly. They made a point to say they intended to return before you, if at all possible.”
“I see.” He thought a moment. “And you have no idea of their intended destination on this walk?”
“I believe they walked into town, sir.”
It was like pulling teeth. Not trusting himself to maintain a civil tone, Sterling nodded his thanks, then strode away.
They’d departed on foot for the village. They’d intended to return before he got back. They hadn’t. Had something gone wrong?
Ice crawled up his spine. Annabelle had been a visitor on Holy Island for only a short time. Already she’d been held at gunpoint and imprisoned in the kilns—not to mention her maid had turned up murdered. Now this. Did the woman have a death wish?
He stalked toward the foyer.
Annabelle loved to ride. Why hadn’t they at least set out on horseback? On horseback, they could make an escape should any villain appear out of nowhere to threaten them—two women, alone, strolling about, nearly after dark.
It was ludicrous. It was irresponsible. Why, the robbers who had accosted her once before could be anywhere. What if they’d glimpsed her walking, alone and unprotected?
Entering the foyer, a thought struck and nearly dropped him to his knees. What if Annabelle were with child? Carrying his babe? And he--instead of keeping watch over her--had been away, toiling at a useless task he should’ve seen tobeforeshe’d stumbled into the kilns.
He had to find her, now. He was shrugging on his great coat when the door swung open to reveal his sister and Annabelle, both laughing, cheeks rosy from the cold.
Obviously, in the midst of a lively conversation, their words ceased as they spotted him.
“Sterling, you’re home,” Annabelle said in a breathless rush as the two hastened indoors.
“And only just, by the look of things,” Caroline said in a pleasant tone, unwrapping her scarf.
Behind him, clipped steps sounded. Mr. Cogsworth, heading for the foyer to help the women from their outer garments, no doubt.
“Not quite,” he all but growled, stripping off his coat for the second time in less than an hour.
Annabelle removed her hat. “I…beg your pardon? Oh. Thank you, Mr. Cogsworth,” she said, sending the old butler a warm smile as he reached for her bonnet.
Vexed, Sterling shifted, blocking the butler. He would assist his wife, damn it.
As he helped her from her cloak, the scent of snow, the outdoors, and her unique herbal perfume teased his nostrils. “A word, Annabelle, if you please?”
She glanced toward Caroline, then back at him. “Of course. Caroline, would you…?” She handed his sister a small sack, then eyed him. “Is something wrong?”
Without a word—though he did spare a moment to glare at his sister—Sterling turned and stalked down the corridor toward his office.
Once inside, he waited at the open door, closing it the instant Annabelle crossed the threshold.
Torn between the desire to crush her to him, and the equal urge to throttle her, he folded his arms over his chest and stayed put.
