Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (30 page)

Christopher rapped on the door. His heart hung suspended as he waited for her call, granting him entry.

He knocked again.

Silence met his efforts.

“Phi?” He tried the handle.

Locked.

A frown formed on his lips. He understood his wife’s hurt, even acknowledged that she was entitled to her anger but by God, he’d not allow her to lock him out forever.

“Phi, please open the door.”

When several minutes later, she still had not responded, Christopher shoved his hip against the solid wood panel. He winced as pain reverberated from his hip down to his thigh. He jammed his shoulder against the door, until he shattered a segment of the paneling.

God, this is what he’d become? A brute who’d knock down his wife’s door. He reached through the break in the wood and turned the lock.

Christopher entered her chambers. “Phi?”

His wife’s bed had been meticulously made; not a wrinkle marred the sapphire-blue coverlet. He walked in a circle, taking in the surroundings.

The bureau that had held her bottles of fragrance and brushes was devoid of all her female fripperies.

His stomach tightened with the staggering truth before his eyes.

No. She wouldn’t. She…

He stormed across the room and tugged open the doors of her armoire with such force, he nearly ripped them from the hinges.

Empty.

Christopher staggered back. A dull, humming filled his ears. He dug his fingers into his temples to blot out the throbbing ache behind his eyes…his efforts futile.

Sophie had left him.

He sank down into the fragile chair at her vanity, and stared at the ragged creature with a day’s growth of beard, reflected back in the bevel mirror.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

But the empty room spoke to the truth.

Christopher folded his arms upon the top of the vanity, burying his head into his hands. A shudder wracked his frame. Then another. And another.

In all his worst imaginings, he’d never believed Sophie would leave. The ache of losing her greater than any physical pain he’d ever endured. Her leaving indicated that whatever she’d felt for him was dead.

He rose on unsteady legs. His jaw hardened. He could sit there and wallow in pity and self-defeat. Or he could go after his wife, find her, and convince her of his love.

Christopher stormed from the room, his calls for his horse thundered down the hall.

The butler met him in the foyer with Christopher’s cloak and hat. “I took the liberty of having your mount readied a short while ago,” he said.

Christopher asked as Barker assisted him into his cloak. “When did she leave?”

“Lady Waxham took the carriage nearly four hours prior.”

He jammed his beaver hat atop his head. His heart stopped. “Four hours,” he repeated, his voice flat. Christ, she could be anywhere.

“I
also
took the liberty of speaking with the driver. He informed me that Lady Waxham traveled to the Viscount Redbrooke’s properties.”

Of course
!

Christopher folded the old family servant in a tight hug, then rapidly released him. “Well, done, Barker!”

“Will there be anything else, my lord?” Barker’s tone sounded as bored as if he’d just sat through a tedious Sunday sermon and not just been embraced by the Earl of Waxham.

“I’m increasing your wages. Again.”

Barker bowed. “Very well, my lord,” he pulled the door open. “I suggest you bring Lady Waxham home as quick as possible.”

Christopher grinned, and rushed outside, the first real stirrings of hope filled him. “I intend to.”

He mounted his mare and nudged her forward, galloping toward Redbrooke’s estate.

Only a few miles separated their lands, but the moments stretched on into an endless pattern of time. It allowed him to consider what he’d say to his wife. If he needed to plead with her to return, he would so humble himself. His pride, his happiness, his very life, meant nothing unless she was in it.

His horse, Intrepid, thundered down Redbrooke’s drive. Christopher tugged on the reins, and the mare kicked up a sea of dust and gravel.

Jumping from the horse, Christopher raced up Redbrooke’s front steps. He pounded on the front door with a single-minded intensity, cursing when silence met his efforts.

Christopher considered storming the front door, but imagined Redbrooke wouldn’t take kindly to the violation of his property.

At last, the butler, an aged servant Christopher recognized from his youth, pulled the door open. He peered down his nose at Waxham. “May I help you, my lord?”

Christopher didn’t wait for admittance. Instead, he shoved past the butler and turned a circle about the foyer. “I’m looking for Lady Waxham.”

The butler didn’t move from his post at the opened door. “Have you misplaced your wife?”

“She’s not a material object. She…” Christopher snapped his mouth closed. He’d not debate this point with the angry servant. “Will you tell her I’m here?”

The butler tilted his head a small angle. “I would. That is, if Lady Waxham were here.”

Christopher’s heart skipped a beat. “She’s not here.” His mouth suddenly dry.

“No. She’s not.”

“I don’t believe you.”

A beleaguered sigh escaped the older man. “My apologies. But she’s not here.”

Christopher cursed. He glanced up the long, spiraling staircase, and briefly considered invading the house and hunting room by room for Sophie. But he suspected his search would turn up naught.

His heart would know if she was here…and the cold, emptiness spoke as testament to the servant’s pronouncement.

He took a steadying breath. “My driver delivered her here.”

“Did he?”

Christopher’s brows dipped. “He did. So at some point, my wife was here.”

“Well, she is not here now, my lord,” he added as a seeming afterthought. The butler motioned to the door. “Now, if you will.” The meaning was clear. The butler wanted him gone from the property.

Desolation swept throughout him, and he fought to keep from staggering under the weight of it. Sophie had gone and he didn’t have a bloody clue as to where she could be.

The butler cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your time,” Christopher murmured and took his leave. He stuck his foot in the door, just as the servant made to close it in his face. “For what it is worth, I love my wife.”

The butler frowned. His brow screwed upright, and he appeared to take pity on Christopher. “I suspect if you really consider it, my lord, you know where she is.” He dangled that very subtle clue, and then closed the door.

Christopher spun on his heel and peered out at the lake in the distance, which separated the two families’ estates. God, had it really only been yesterday that he’d pushed Sophie upon the swing? Who could have imagined that one’s life could unravel so completely in so short a time?

He paced the front steps of Redbrooke’s property, all the while considering the servant’s words. The man had alluded to the fact that Christopher surely knew where Sophie had run off to.

Surely she’d returned home to her mother and brother. Christopher bounded down the stairs and climbed astride his mount. “Let’s go find my wife, girl.”

Late that evening, he arrived in London. His valet would have cringed at the state of Christopher’s rumpled attire and unshaven face. Somewhere in his journeys, he’d lost the tie at the base of his neck, and his hair now hung, ragged and wind-whipped about his shoulders.

He pounded on the door until the butler, Ralston pulled it open.

Christopher stormed inside. “I’m looking for my wife.”

Ralston blinked. “My lord?”

“Ralston, what is…?” The Viscount Redbrooke froze at the top of the landing and frowned down at Christopher. “That will be all, Ralston.” The servant shuffled off, leaving Christopher staring up at the viscount. “A bit late for a social visit, Waxham.”

Christopher climbed the stairs. “Where is she?”

His brother-in-law blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“My wife. Where is she?”

The viscount ran an assessing gaze over Christopher’s unkempt figure. “Christ, you lost my sister.”

“She’s not here.” The energy seemed to slip from Christopher’s body. He slid down onto the top step and stared unseeing down the long stairs to the foyer below.

Redbrooke settled a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we retire to my office?”

Christopher allowed the other man to help him to his feet and usher him to his office.

All the while his mind spun.

Sophie had left Redbrooke’s countryseat…but where had she gone? His hands curled into fists as he imagined her traveling, on her own. Christ, anything could happen. He’d driven her to this. He’d…

“You look like you need a drink,” Redbrooke murmured, when they reached his office. He poured a tall glass of brandy and held it out to Christopher.

“No.” He needed to be clearheaded. Spirits would only cloud his thoughts.

“Drink it,” Redbrooke insisted, pressing the glass into Christopher’s fingers. He jerked his chin at the brandy. “Drink.”

Christopher took a long swallow and set the glass down with a loud thump on a nearby table .

“Now, tell me what the hell happened.”

“She’s not here?” Christopher tried again, praying that the other man had merely been protecting Sophie, that she was in fact here.

“No.”

Christopher sank into the nearest seat and buried his head in his hands. She was gone and he didn’t have a bloody clue where she was, or how to win back her love and trust. Instead, he sat here drinking brandy with her brother.

“Waxham?”

Christopher raised his head. “She overheard my father. Said something to the effect of me wedding her for her dowry.”

Redbrooke folded his arms at his chest. “And didn’t you?”

“I never cared about Sophie’s money.”

The viscount’s eyes narrowed as if skeptical of Christopher’s claim.

Redbrooke, just like Sophie, deserved the truth. Christopher spoke, sharing everything with the other man.

When he finished, Redbrooke remained silent for a long while, and then, “I don’t know where she is.”

All the hope Christopher carried in his breast died. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused your sister. Sorry I ruined any possible match between her and Mallen.” Sophie would have been far-better off with the duke than with him.

Redbrooke waved off the apology. “My mother longed for the match between Sophie and Mallen. I just wanted her to be happy.” He must have seen the shock in Christopher’s eyes for he shrugged. “I’m not a total bastard. I’ve had several offers for her hand since she made her come out. None of them would have made her a good husband.”

Hell, who knew? All these years, Christopher had taken Redbrooke as a pompous, condescending ass, more interested in his status and wealth than anything else. It turned out the other man did value something more than his image. Sweet Sophie.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

Redbrooke caught his jaw between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it while he considered Christopher’s question. “Sophie has always been rather lonely. Never had many friends and…”

Christopher’s heart stopped, and then sped up double-time. He spun around, racing for the door.

“Where are you going, Waxham?” Redbrooke called.

“To get my wife.”

Redbrooke grinned. “You know where she’s gone?”

Christopher paused, his hand on the door-handle. He couldn’t be certain, but he had the first, real hopeful suspicion since he’d discovered her missing. “I believe I do.”

“Well, then let me offer you the use of my carriage. And you look like hell. Why don’t you rest for the evening and tomorrow…?”

“No. The use of another horse will, however, be appreciated.”

Redbrooke gave him a long look. “Very well. And, Waxham?” He called when Christopher stepped outside the door.

“Yes?”

“If you hurt her again, I’ll kill you.”

Christopher bowed. “If she’ll take me back, I intend to spend the rest of my life earning her forgiveness.”

“See that you do.”

A short while later, the viscount’s carriage rattled on. Christopher had two matters of business to attend to: one on Fleet Street, and the other in Rochester, Kent.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

James Gunter was suitably outraged when Miss S.W. purchased ambergris frozen cream and fed it to her pug…inside Gunter’s Tea Shop. The dog has been banned from Gunter’s establishment.

~25~

Sophie shuffled back and forth on her feet. She glanced back at her carriage to the black double-doors of Meadowbrook Estate.

When she’d taken her leave of Milford House two mornings ago, it had seemed like the ideal place to escape. She’d briefly considered returning to London but shame had prevented her from going to face the obvious disappointment and the deserving blame her brother and mother would heap upon her shoulders.

Instead, she’d taken Christopher’s carriage to her family’s neighboring estate, and from there, her brother’s barouche. In doing so, she expected her husband would likely not ascertain her whereabouts.

She sighed. It had seemed like a good idea.

Now it seemed like she were nothing more than an interloper on her dear friend Emmaline and Lord Drake’s intimate family moment. Emmaline had given birth to a baby girl several weeks ago. And here was Sophie, infringing upon their privacy.

She really should leave.

Duke reared up as best as he was able on his stubby legs and scratched at the door.

“No, Duke,” she scolded, and reached for him.

Of course, with the time of it she’d had these past two days, Duke wouldn’t be obliging. A crow circled above. Duke’s ears perked up and he bounded down the steps, in pursuit of the high-flying bird.

She raced after him. “Duke!”

The driver, an older, portly gray-haired man set out after the dog.

“I’m so very sorry,” Sophie called to Bennett.

“Don’t think anything of it, my lady,” he managed between gasps for air.

Alas, Bennett had clearly come to expect moments such as this as commonplace.