Her cousin nodded. “But if John ever mistreats you or squelches that happiness you’ve found, please tell me. I will dress him down.”
“We are moving. To Ipswich soon. Because it’s not London.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “He didn’t talk to me about that.”
“You are not married to him.” The happiness bubbling through her chest made her feet feel just as buoyant. “Need to visit the ladies’ retiring room.” And to find John. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that there was nothing else she wished to do than be with him. “Oh, John says I should sell my paintings. I would like that.” Then she moved toward the door, leaving her cousin behind. “I could joy to people bring.”
I love John.Having a name for those feelings was quite exhilarating. It was certainly another sort of freedom. I love him! Now they were finally a real husband and wife… if he returned those sentiments.
And if he didn’t?
She ignored the knots of worry pulling in her belly. That was a worry for another day. Nearly to the door of the ladies’ retiring room, she was stopped by a woman she didn’t know or recognize.
“Mrs. Butler?”
“Yes?” Being addressed by the title sent a tiny thrill down her spine.
“Someone said I should give this to you.” The nondescript woman pressed a folded note into Caroline’s hand.
“Thank you.” With shaking hands, she unfolded the note.
Caroline,
Join me on the curb in front of this house. I wish for a stroll with you, for I have something wonderful to tell you.
John
“Oh!” Her heart shivered. Excitement buzzed at the base of her spine. Would John tell her he loved her tonight? As quickly as she could, she visited the ladies retiring room, did the necessary things to relieve herself, and then she returned to the corridor, searching up and down in the event John was nearby.
He wasn’t, so Caroline continued down the corridor toward the front of the house. Her skirts whispered with each step. The further she went, the less noisy the sounds from the drawing room became. Would they dance again once the stroll concluded? She rather hoped they would. Dancing with him made her feel like a princess or a damsel in a storybook. With a nod to the footman at the front door, she made her way outside and down the few steps.
The night air slightly cooled her overheated skin. Stars twinkled in the deep navy heavens. If they were fortunate, there would be no rain to mar the remainder of the evening. “John? Where are you?” No matter how hard she peered into the shadows, she didn’t see him.
A few more steps brought her to the wrought iron gate. She unlatched it, swung it open. The creak of the hinges echoed weirdly in the silence. Somewhere in the near distance, the sound of carriage wheels scraping against the pebbles in the street reached her ears. It was an odd juxtaposition, this life where there wasn’t any.
“Ah, Caroline, right on time.”
She whirled about at the baron’s voice. With a frown, she looked him up and down. His cravat was already loose, his hair a bit wild as if he’d shoved his hands through it. “Where is John, Lord Westfield?”
“I imagine he’s inside doing the pretty with all of those well-to-do people in there.” He took her hand and tugged her nearer to the curb. There was a black hired hackney cab waiting; the driver pretended not to notice them.
“He sent me a note.” Why would he do such a thing if he had no intention of meeting her?
The baron snorted. “You really aren’t as clever as my son claims.” His fingers slipped around her upper arm with a tight grip that bit into her skin. “I sent the note to lure you out here.”
Caroline frowned. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He hustled her toward the cab. “I intend to hold you for ransom.”
Her heartbeat slammed through her veins as alarm bells sounded in her head. “No.” There was no reason for such a silly game. She wrenched her arm from his hold and retreated a few steps. “John sent this note.” It was still clutched in her free hand. “He might love me.”
The baron’s laughter held no mirth. His dark brown eyes glittered dangerously in the moonlight. “I doubt that.” He lunged for her, latched onto her upper arm once more. “You are a broken woman, daft surely if you don’t even believe me when I tell the truth.” He pulled her once more toward the waiting carriage. “My son feels sorry for you, and that’s all.”
As Caroline struggled to free herself from her hold, the note fluttered from her hand. “Lies.” But the damage his words created had been done. Her heart felt ripped, torn, cracked in half. Was that why John hadn’t revealed his feelings toward her? Had he married her from pity?
“Think about it. Has he actually said those words to you?”
“No, but—”