The door inched open and a slightly disheveled Bernard peered at him. He lifted his hand again, preparing to knock louder. He rapped quietly on the door and waited. Bernard, on the other hand, probably knew everything about her “escape” plan, down to the last tiny detail. Eleanor may not know of Francie’s departure and there was no sense troubling her if she didn’t, at least not yet. He stopped in front of Bernard’s room and raised a fist, ready to pound on the door, but hesitated. He didn’t care whose sleep he disturbed, let the whole blessed household wake up. Francie was going to marry him, whether she liked it or not.Īlexander stalked from the room and headed down the hall, his boots resonating through the quiet of night. He’d find her, damn it, and then he’d drag her back to Drakemoor. Damn her! Why did she have to leave now, when he’d just gotten used to the idea of marriage, even admitted to himself he looked forward to marrying her? Now she was gone with nothing more than a single sheet of lavender paper and three sentences.ĭid she think she could just wish him well, as though he were a stranger she’d just met? Well, she wasn’t rid of him yet. As though he hadn’t touched her, or tasted her, or heard her soft moans as she reached her release in his arms.Īlexander balled up the note and threw it across the room. Her signature was at the bottom of the page. The second gifted Drakemoor to him, if not technically, then through forfeiture, for she did not intend to return to her father’s estate. The first released him from any debt or obligation toward her. He forced himself to read the note anyway, to feel the pain her words would bring, like a knife piercing his heart, draining the life from him, one word at a time. Why would she leave him a note? Dread spread its nasty talons, digging into him, drawing blood. The scent of lavender filled his senses, telling him it was from Francie. Curious, he opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. His name was scrawled on the outside in a woman’s bold handwriting. He hoped it wasn’t another blasted invitation from that bothersome Claire Ashcroft.Īlexander walked to his desk and picked up the envelope. Something lavender, something looking like an envelope lay there. He turned to leave, thinking he’d check Philip’s study next, when a faint glimmer from the lantern cast a shadow on his desk. She wasn’t sitting at his desk or lying on the sofa. George lay curled upon the Aubusson rug, his tan coat blending into the rug’s fibers, and the little nuisance, Mr. Alexander stepped into the darkness and held the lantern in front of him. It was George, lost between sleep and dreams, no doubt salivating over one of Mrs. He raced out of her room and down the stairs, unaware he held his breath until he let it out in a shaky rush and grasped the knob to the study.Ī constant, steady droning greeted him, followed by a half-sigh. He might well find her tucked beside George and her blasted cat. Where in the devil was she? Perhaps she’d been waiting for him in his study, as anxious to see him as he was to see her, and had fallen asleep. No one had slept in the bed this night.Ī moment of panic gripped him. He lifted the lantern and pointed it toward the bed. The little witch was gaining control over him, more so every day. Lavender smothered his senses as he slipped inside without a sound. He wanted to see her now and for once in his very organized, proper life, he let impulse take over and turned the knob. But he didn’t want to wait, not another hour, or another minute, not even another second. He should leave now and wait until morning to see her. Disappointment filled him when Francie didn’t answer. His heart pounded faster as he approached her door, rapped softly, and waited. Before he could consider his actions, he turned on his heel and headed up the spiral staircase.
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