Page 76 of Dangerous Exile
“Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do anything to get Ness back. If that means becoming the earl—if that’s what she needs to hear—I’ll do it.”
With a quick intake of breath, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t bow to a woman like that, Conner. She will control you the rest of your life. If she’s gone, she’s gone. Let her be. You can go back to your life in London.”
“Except I don’t bloody well care about my life in London.”
He paused.
Damn that it had taken him too long to realize the very truth of his own words, the realization and what that meant racing madcap in his head. “And I don’t bloody well care about a life here. Ness is the only thing I care about and I mean to make it up to Scotland with her today. And if I have to claim the title to get her to come with me—to protect her—I sure as hell am going to do so.”
Her eyes wide, the dowager looked struck for a long second before she blinked, nodding. “But of course, of course. I did not realize you held her in such high esteem. Do what you must for her, most certainly. Clayborne will be here today, I am sure of it. I expected him by this morning, if not earlier. He sometimes stays inKirkby as that is only a fast three-hour ride away, so he should be here before you know it and you can speak to him.”
“Good. I’m going to gather my belongings and set out in search for Ness. If she appears here, do not let her out of your sight. I can’t keep chasing her all over Cumberland.”
{ Chapter 27 }
She’d better be back at Washburn Manor.
Pushing the horse like a demon, Talen had made it to and from the coaching inn in Calthwaitein half the time it should have taken, but it still hadn’t been fast enough.
Ness hadn’t been at the coaching inn. The driver hadn’t seen her and nothing had been touched in the luggage still strapped to the carriage. And there had been no sightings of her, though the landlady hadn’t been present so his report had been limited.
She had to have been at Washburn and he just hadn’t looked hard enough. There was nowhere else she could have escaped to.
Unless…unless the threat of her father coming to Washburn Manor had sent Ness off on a panicked, mad dash through the countryside.
He wouldn’t put it past her. Not after her reaction the last time she believed her father was coming for her.
He needed help.
He never asked for help—never—not even from Declan. But he needed it now. Help from as many men—grooms, footmen, gamekeepers—any and everyone he could steal from the Washburn household to send out in all directions to find her.
Jumping from his horse and tossing his reins to a stableboy with instructions to ready a fresh horse for him, Talen could barely contain himself. He was at the stables when he needed to be searching the house. He was at the house when he needed to be searching the countryside.
Where in the blasted hell had she gone?
He charged up the hillside toward the manor house, his stride long but not nearly fast enough for how every muscle in his body wanted to explode, the pathway through a narrow band of trees from the stables to the main house only slowing him down.
He looked up at the long, thick clouds across the grey sky. More rain hung in the air, though it hadn’t begun to fall just yet.
Hell, if Ness was out in this. Out in the rain. The cold. No place to go.
He jerked his head from left to right, his eyes always searching, hoping to spy the tiniest swish of her blue skirt behind one of the perfectly manicured evergreens molded into tall cones that dotted this side of the estate. What if she was lying somewhere? Injured?
What if the real reason he couldn’t find her was because he’d scared her so badly the previous night that she had fled? Fled him?
The sudden possibility sent a spear through his chest, slowing his steps. That she would ever be afraid of him—something he couldn’t bear.
No. He swallowed back a growl. Ness was fine. His feet sped.
She was probably sitting in the drawing room at that very moment. Probably sipping tea with the dowager. Maybe she’d even picked up a tambour frame to do some embroidery. No matter that she’d told him weeks ago that she’d done more than a lifetime’s worth of sewing at Whetland Castle and never intended to pick up a needle again if she could help it.
But maybe she was sitting there, docile and content and contritely waiting for him. And safe. Safe.
Almost there.
He yanked open the heavy oak north door into the manor house.
His body in full forward motion, he couldn’t stop his momentum as a man barreled straight toward him on his way to the outdoors.