His At Night by Sherry Thomas

Author:Sherry Thomas [Thomas, Sherry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: love_history
ISBN: 978-0-553-90632-5
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2010-03-19T04:00:00+00:00

Vere had trouble calming himself enough to think properly.

He had sent three cables from the telegraph office: one to Lady Kingsley, alerting her to keep track of Douglas’s movement at all times; one to Mrs. Dilwyn at the Savoy Hotel, for Mrs. Douglas’s removal to Vere’s town house; and one to Holbrook, requesting protection outside the house.

It would appear that he’d done all that was required of him at the moment. But something tugged at the back of his mind—something that just might yield an important connection if only he could clear his head for half an hour.

Which was exactly what he couldn’t do. He turned around to look outside the window of the telegraph office, where the victoria sat with its hood up and his wife huddled inside the enclosure.

When he’d come upon Douglas with his stranglehold on her, he’d known, rationally, that Douglas was not going to murder her then and there—it did not fit with the man’s style of careful planning and even more meticulous execution. But rage had nevertheless exploded in him, and he had needed all his restraint to not pummel Douglas to within an inch of his life.

A very old rage that had never found its proper outlet.

He left the telegraph office and climbed back into the hooded victoria. She had her veil down; her fingers, white-knuckled, twisted her gloves. He lifted her veil and quickly lowered it: Her face still bore the imprints of Douglas’s hand.

“I cabled my staff,” he said by way of explanation. Turning to the coachman, he instructed, “The train station, Gibbons.”

A few minutes later they were on the platform of the train station, out of hearing range of possibly curious servants.

“Does your uncle always do that?” he asked at last.

She shook her head; the pale gray veil fluttered. “He has never raised his hand to me before. I’m not so sure about my aunt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He’d rather enjoyed dragging her back to Highgate Court against her wishes. He’d even enjoyed the panic that she’d done her best not to betray: She ought to suffer a little for what she’d done to him.

Now he felt awful. He had not forgiven her by any means, but his earlier glee had sharply evanesced. Even that night in the green parlor he had not understood quite so vividly the true extent of her fear and desperation.

Her hands, now gloved, twisted a handkerchief. “He wants me to return my aunt to him in three days.”

“And if you don’t?”

She was silent a long time.

“He didn’t promise to harm you or Mrs. Douglas, did he?” he prompted.

She began winding the twisted handkerchief along her index finger. “He promised to harm you.”

“Me?” He was a little surprised to be dragged into this. “Hmm, I’ve never had people threaten harm to me before. I mean, ladies do occasionally kick me in the shin when I spill my drinks on them—and I don’t blame them—”

“He said he would have you pay with a limb and your eyesight,” she said flatly.

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