Fair enough. He’d done nothing to earn their trust, thus far.
“I am collecting my pistol before leaving. Does that meet with your approval?” he asked with icy calm.
Chip and Cogsworth dispersed, heading back from whence they’d come.
Babette, however, remained.
He threw up his hands and marched on. Reaching his office, he headed for the glass cabinet on the wall where he kept his firearms. The rifle was, indeed, missing. He plucked out his pistol and turned to find Babette standing in the doorway.
In her hands, she held what looked to be a letter.
At Sterling’s arched brow, she bowed her head and extended it to him.
This was no time to be reading correspondence, he thought as he crossed to her and snatched the parchment.
Impatient, he unfolded it, scanned the elegant script. Felt his throat tighten ’til it was hard to swallow.
Hands shaking—for the love of God—he refolded the foolscap and tucked it into his inner waistcoat pocket. “Thank you. Where did you…er…”
“I found it on the floor near your desk when I was looking for milady. The top drawer was open. I think she intended to put it inside and must have dropped it for some reason.”
He glanced toward his desk that had once been his grandfather’s. Already knowing what he’d find—or wouldn’t—he stalked to the desk, slid open the top drawer. The letter from her father was gone.
Hell and damnation.
Cursing himself, he strode back to the door and out into the corridor. “Babette, wait.”
Halfway down the corridor, she turned to face him.
“Did you see anything? Do you have any idea which way she…?”
“Toward the kilns, my lord,” she said very gently, as if comforting him. As if he deserved it.
Sterling took off at a run.
Outside, he found Zeus—who’d only meandered to the stable doors—swung into the saddle and urged him into a gallop.
This was his fault. He’d left her here. He’d left her, issuing naught but a vague command to remain inside the manse. He should have locked her in her chamber. Should have threatened her. Or set Chip to guard her.
Or maybe—probably—he should have told her about the letter from her father—and of other, arguably more important, things. Like how she tangled up his insides in the best possible way ’til he didn’t know which end was up. How the mere thought of her made him smile—and made him burn. How doing little things for her filled him nearly to overflowing with…joy. Just to see the dazed pleasure they brought her, as if she did not know why he would wish to please her. As if she had no notion how damned exquisite and rare she was.
He should have told her how much he loved her.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even considered doing so. Meanwhile, she…had. She loved him.
Meanwhile, he’d bungled things again, leaving his sister no choice but to take up the role of protector. All because he’d been too slow to figure out who was behind the seemingly unconnected events since Annabelle’s arrival.
If anything had happened to her or to Caroline…No. He couldn’t think like that. He would find them. Bring them home. And then he’d never let his wife out of his sight again.
Not that he deserved her. But he’d fix that. He’d make sure she never doubted his love for her. And he’d kill anyone who tried to harm her or take her from him. She was his.
***
The moment they spilled from the kiln, Caroline and Annabelle ran for the access road leading back to the castle. Annabelle had so much to say, and even more questions. But for the moment, talking would have to wait.
Not to mention it was all Annabelle could do to breathe. Walking briskly downhill toward the kilns was a feat on the uneven ground, but manageable. Running uphill on the gravel road, at dusk, took all she had.
Abruptly, Caroline grabbed her wrist. “Come.”
