Then why hadn’t she said anything? He remained unconvinced, for once tendrils of doubt took root, they went deep; too much rode upon the outcome. Had her mind once more played tricks on her? “I’m not all I could be, but I’m happy with who I am and how she sees me,” he said as panic mixed with pain through his heart. “Where is she, Brand?” His wife was missing, and he’d lost the opportunity to tell her just how much she meant to him.
Was that why she’d run? Didn’t women put much stock into hearing those cherished words of love?
Oh, God. I can’t lose her.
“I don’t know, but we will find her.” Brand shifted his position until John had no choice but to meet his eye. “You believe that, right? We’ll find her.”
“Yes.” John nodded. He felt like a man who had received a mortal blow but hasn’t realized yet he needed to fall. “For the first time in a long while, I don’t know what to do.”
Finn maneuvered his Bath chair closer to John, nudging Brand out of the way. “First off, welcome to the Storme family. You finally understand why we’re all a little mad and protective of our wives. When a Storme falls, he falls hard and there’s no going back.” He stuck out a hand, and when John clasped it, he shook it hard before releasing it. “Secondly, I don’t think you can be a Storme—or an honorary one—without having some sort of doubts until you sit down and have a heart-to-heart conversation with your chosen lady.”
Both the earl and Brand nodded, while the countess looked on with a slight blush on her cheeks.
“And lastly, because none of our relationships have ever started without some sort of drama worthy of a stage or a storybook—it’s rather a Storme shortcoming—the fact my cousin is missing should indicate that something untoward has befallen her.”
John’s chest tightened. “The devil you say.” Again, he glanced about the room, sifted through the crowds with narrowed eyes. He curled one hand into a fist. “We need to locate my father.” Though he wanted to believe the best in people, he’d known his sire all of his life, and if something nefarious was afoot, he’d wager everything he owned that the baron was involved.
But why?
Hadleigh nodded. “Since Lord Westfield has been startingly absent this evening at his own event, I don’t feel it’s out of line to order the household staff to begin a search.” His grin was grim, his eyes full of annoyance. “If my cousin has truly gone missing and the baron is found responsible, he will have my wrath to reckon with. It’s time I started making up for lost time with Caroline.”
“Andrew, behave,” the countess warned in a low voice. “We are still in public.”
“I am allowed my ire, dearest. She is a Storme.” His tone of voice changed as he addressed his wife. “However, if we find Caroline and she’s unharmed, that’s all to the good.”
Apparently, Brand didn’t care, for he let loose a whoop into the air. “I’m up for a proper arse kicking if need be. One last hurrah before I return to Ipswich.”
John couldn’t help his grin. “Let’s find Abrams. If anyone will know about the goings-on in this house, it’s the butler.” And so help him, if he discovered the butler was complicit in some sort of ill-fated plan, he’d land the servant a facer.
Twenty minutes later, despite the society event in progress, the Earl of Hadleigh plunged the household of Westfield House into chaos and uproar worthy of any good summer storm. Though it wasn’t the approach John would have used, he appreciated the results that being an earl could bring about in a short time. Abrams was summoned to a quiet parlor away from the partygoers, and the Stormes plus John stood staring him down as the older man sat stiffly on a chair facing them.
“Mrs. Butler has gone missing, Abrams. Have you seen her or know of her whereabouts?” John asked in a state of odd calm even as anger and worry fought for dominance in his tight chest.
The man’s face blanched. He shifted his gaze away, but when he encountered the earl’s steely stare, he snapped his regard back to John. “Uh, one of the footmen told me that Mrs. Butler received a note that summoned her outside.”
“What?” The exclamation was uttered by the earl, John, and Brand at the same time.
“Who sent it?” Every muscle in his body was taut and ready for action. Someone had deliberately lured her outside, but why?
“I couldn’t say, Mr. Butler, but when I returned to the entry hall to relieve the footman, I caught a glimpse of Lord Westfield outside talking to her.”
The earl frowned. “What was the gist of the conversation?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord. It was too low, and I was too far away.”
“Why the devil would Lord Westfield need to talk to Caroline alone and outside?” The earl shook his head. “It makes no sense.” He glanced at John. “Did your father greet you this evening when you arrived?”
“I haven’t seen him as yet.” Which in and of itself wasn’t odd, but…
Brand cleared his throat. “There was no reception line, and we didn’t arrive late to have merely missed it.”
Everyone looked at Abrams. The butler shrugged. “Lord Westfield said he didn’t need one.”
Of course he didn’t, for he hadn’t planned to remain at the event for long tonight. “Damn it all to hell.” Without needing to question the man further, John darted from the room. He sprinted along the corridor, and the sound of pounding footsteps behind him gave him an odd sort of comfort. At least the Stormes were united in this. After nearly knocking the footman down, he wrenched open the front door and then launched out of the house, clearing the few steps in one leap. The wrought iron gate was open, and he shot through, not stopping until he’d gained the curb. “Caroline, where are you?” he whispered into the night air.
By the time Brand and the earl joined him, John was scouring the grass and shrubbery. “Here!” The ivory scrap of paper had lodged against the root of a bush near the brickwork of the house.
Caroline,