Chapter Twenty-One

Still grinning from the good-natured ribbing he'd received from his friends, Sterling bounded up the main staircase two steps at a time. He wanted to see Rosemary before the ball. No, he corrected himself silently, he wanted to see his wife .

He was a married man now.

Something he'd sworn he would never become.

And he was over the bloody moon about it.

What he'd felt when he'd first laid his eyes upon Rosemary at the end of the aisle…shrouded in soft light, surrounded by their closest friends and family and forty of Evie's guests…the words did not exist. Or if they did, he had never heard of them. With every purposeful step Rosemary had taken towards him, his heart had seemed to grow, and grow, until it was fit to burst by the time she put her dainty hand in his.

He continued to be staggered by the trust she had placed in him. To love her. To care for her. To protect her. Him . Sterling. A once-dissolute wastrel who'd been ready to burn it all to the ground until he crossed paths with a shy, awkward wallflower who had fulfilled every dream he never knew that he had.

He passed a vase of yellow roses in the hallway. Then he doubled back to grab the longest one and wipe the stem dry on his jacket before he proceeded to Rosemary's room. Their belongings would be moved to the guest house during the ball. These few hours were the last ones they'd ever spend living apart.

The door was slightly ajar. Which he did not note as odd until he nudged it open…and was subsequently attacked by a chattering ball of red fur.

"Bollocks!" he cursed, dropping the rose as he tried to grab Sir Reginald. With tiny nails as sharp as miniature daggers, the distraught squirrel streaked up one side of his body and down the other. "Rosemary, call off your bloody guard rat before he bites off something you'd rather I have tonight."

But there was no response.

Because the room was empty.

"Rosemary?" The chill from her absence sank straight into his bones. And he knew, even without Sir Reginald screeching in his ear, that something was terribly wrong.

In an instant, he found himself brought back to the morning that he'd lost his brother. To the field, damp with dew, where Sebastian had bled out in his arms. He experienced the same choking fear. The same surge of helplessness. The same blinding rage that someone he cared about, someone he loved, had been taken from him.

Goddamnit.

Why hadn't he taken Kincaid seriously?

The detective had warned him that an unknown threat was still out there, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen. For how much hell could one person possibly endure?

He'd put his father in the ground.

His mother.

His brother.

He wasn't going to put Rosemary there.

He refused.

"Up you go, on my shoulder," he ordered Sir Reginald. "We'll find her together."

The squirrel clung to his collar as he bolted out of the room and back down the hallway to his room where he found Higgins laying out his attire for the ball.

"Your Grace," said the valet, visibly startled. "I apologize. I wasn't expecting you this–"

"Rosemary's gone. Someone has taken her. I want you to work with the Earl of Hawkridge's butler and go door to door. Find every guest, every servant, every fucking mouse if you have to, and send them into the ballroom, then make sure no one leaves."

Years of training ensured that Higgins did not quaver or question.

"Yes, Your Grace." He snapped to attention. "Right away, Your Grace."

Sterling found Weston, Kincaid, and Lachlan in the study where he'd left them surrounded by a haze of expensive cigar smoke. A glance at his expression and all conversation ceased at once.

"What's happened?" Kincaid said tersely.

"Aye, and why do ye have a rat on yer shoulder?" Lachlan asked in his rolling brogue.

"I think Rosemary has been kidnapped." Just saying the words out loud caused his heart to race and his palms to turn clammy. "I went to her room just now and she wasn't there, but Sir Reginald was. She'd never go anywhere without him. Not without seeing that he was properly cared for first."

"That might not be a reason to panic." Ever the cool voice of reason, Weston held up his hands. "She could be anywhere. In the parlor or the drawing room or the stables. Maybe even the pond, as Evie said she was taking Posy on a walk."

Kincaid stepped forward. "Then we'll split up and search both the inside of the manor and the grounds, then meet in the main entryway when we are done. I'll make sure the other guests are secluded in one area so that we are able to keep track of everyone."

"My valet is already doing that," said Sterling.

"Good." All business, the private detective gave a curt nod. "That's a start."

It was a start…but not an ending as their search revealed no sign of Rosemary anywhere. With every minute that ticked by, Sterling became more and more agitated. He was crawling inside his own skin with no way out and no way to find the woman that meant everything to him.

Rosemary was the very air that he breathed.

And he was already starting to suffocate.

They'd gathered back in the foyer. Kincaid had sent a footman to find the guest list, a small, leather-bound journal every person had been asked to sign upon entering the manor. It was to be a memento of a remarkable day. A special keepsake to look back on with fondness during the anniversaries that would follow.

When the servant returned with it, Sterling yanked the book out of his hands and began to flip through the pages with such force that several tore completely in half and fluttered to the ground.

Beside him, Evie and Joanna exchanged a worried look.

"Maybe we should–" Evie began, but he silenced her with a fierce glare.

"I need to concentrate," he snarled. "The bastard who took Rosemary is in here. I know they are. They have to be."

Another significant glance, and the American sisters wisely retreated to where their husbands stood guard in front of the door lest someone enter with news of Rosemary's whereabouts...or anyone attempted to leave. Lachlan, Brynne, Sarah, and Lord Hamlin (the only other people in attendance that Sterling trusted unequivocally) were blocking similar entrances across the rest of the manor. Everyone else had been sequestered in the grand ballroom where they remained under the careful watch of Higgins, Mrs. Thorncroft, Claire, and Lady Ellinwood, the latter of whom had already threatened to beat anyone that dared try to leave with her cane.

"What do you think?" Evie whispered to Weston.

"I think if your cousin has been kidnapped, the perpetrator wasn't foolish enough to write their name down," he replied in an equally subdued tone.

"Maybe," said Kincaid. "Maybe not. If this is the end, they might want Sterling to find out who they are. Especially if that knowledge will make him suffer all the more."

Joanna paled. "The end?" she said, grabbing his arm. "What do you mean, the end ?"

"The end to the game they've been playing," he said grimly.

"I know who did this. I know who took her." Sterling drilled his finger into a name on the very last page. It was written sloppily and misspelled, an indication that it was written by whatever servant had been placed in charge of collecting signatures and not the actual person themself.

"Who?" Joanna and Evie asked in unison.

"Lord Aston and his wife." He waved the guest book in the air. "Were they invited?"

"The Marquess of Aston?" Weston's brow furrowed. "No, not that I recall. Evie?"

"Lord Aston? The same one you told me was responsible for…" Evie's gaze darted to Sterling, then lowered. "No. I wouldn't. I didn't . He should not be here."

"What do you think?" Sterling demanded of Kincaid.

"I cannot speculate as to his motivation, but the shared history is there. Your brother, the duel, and all the aftermath that followed. If he wasn't invited for the wedding, then he has no conceivable reason to be at Hawkridge…"

"Other than to harm me by hurting the woman that I love," Sterling finished harshly.

"If Lord Aston has taken Rosemary, then where has he taken her?" Joanna asked, speaking aloud the question that no one seemed capable of answering.

"All of the horses and carriages are accounted for," Weston supplied. "If he were hiding somewhere on the grounds, Drufus would have found him by now and alerted us."

Drufus was Brynne's beloved hound; a monster on four paws.

"Surely someone would have remembered seeing Rosemary if she came downstairs," said Evie. "She's the bride. The belle of the ball. No one is going to overlook her today."

Joanna frowned. "Then if she is not down here, and she's not upstairs–"

"The servants' wing," Kincaid said. "We gave it a cursory search, but–"

Sterling was already sprinting up the stairs with Sir Reginald holding on for dear life. He hit the second level at a dead run, sprinted the entire length of the hallway, and turned left to access the narrow stairway that led to the third story where the servants slept.

Here, the corridor was dimly lit with flickering wall sconces and wooden floors that creaked. Most of the doors were open, allowing him easy access into the small, neat rooms where the staff slept. All of them were the same: double beds, a set of drawers, a white porcelain wash basin.

And all of them were empty.

A dark pit of despair formed in his stomach as he searched the last and final bedroom to no avail. At the far end of the hallway, he heard the others reach the top of the stairs and begin to look as well, but it was no use. Rosemary wasn't here. She wasn't anywhere. She was just…gone. Disappeared into thin air without leaving so much as a trace.

Except that wasn't true, was it?

Because she'd left Sir Reginald.

Without warning, the squirrel leapt off his shoulder and skittered across the room to a door that Sterling hadn't noticed. A door that someone–Lord Aston–had pushed a tall armoire in front of. When Sir Reginald wiggled underneath the piece of furniture and began to scratch furiously at the door, Sterling's heart lodged itself in his throat.

"Rosemary? Rosemary!" With a single mighty shove, he sent the armoire crashing to the ground. The door was locked. He broke that as well. Damn near ripped the entire thing off its hinges. And found his wife cowering on the floor amidst a pile of crates, a rag stuffed in her mouth and her hands tied with string behind her back.

" Rosemary ." On a muffled groan of relief, he dropped to his knees and gathered her against his chest. There were tears in her eyes, and when he yanked the cloth out from between her teeth she cried out in pain. The sound nearly broke him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated, over and over, as he stroked her hair, her back, her arms. Every part of her that he could reach.

"I–I was so scared," she said between choked breaths. "It was so dark. But I knew you'd find me. I knew it. I– Sterling, watch out! "

Her scream caused him to cover her with his body. They both fell backwards into the closet as the bullet that was intended for his skull struck the doorframe instead.

Wood splintered. After making certain that Rosemary hadn't been injured, Sterling told her to stay down before he whirled around and charged at their assailant with his shoulder lowered.

Right before he collided, he registered who had attacked them. The shock of it made him hesitate, which gave Lady Aston the split second she needed to aim her pistol and fire it a second time.

This bullet took a shallow slice of Sterling's thigh with it before it plowed into the wall. He barely acknowledged the pain through the red haze that descended over his vision. One strike of his fist on Lady Aston's forearm and the weapon she held went flying across the room. Were she a man, he would have done more. Were she a man, he would be hard-pressed not to wrap his hands around her neck. As it was, he towered over her, trembling with barely restrained fury.

"Why?" he said, unable to conjure a single plausible reason as to why she would want to do him and those he loved any harm. " Why? "

Lady Aston was a petite woman. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. But she merely tipped her chin and met his gaze with nary a hint of remorse and more than a touch of madness. "Because Sebastian was going to marry me. He was going to marry me before he died in that silly duel that you drove him into."

Old, familiar guilt struck him with all the force of a bullet. Causing far more pain than the one that had just glanced off his leg. "But…but you accepted Lord Aston's proposal. You chose to marry him."

"To make Sebastian jealous," Lady Aston shrieked, stomping her foot like a child in the midst of a tantrum. "The engagement was supposed to make him come to his senses and stop wasting time! If not for you, I could have been a duchess. A duchess!"

She continued to scream and carry on even when Weston and Kincaid appeared to drag her away. Eventually, the sounds of her mad bellows began to fade, and then ceased altogether as she was presumably taken to another wing of the house.

"She is ill, Sterling," Rosemary said quietly, and he flinched when she linked her fingers through his. "I imagine she has been ill for a very long time. You must not blame yourself."

As his old demons gnashed their teeth and sharpened their claws, he clenched his jaw and turned his head away. "Who else is there to blame? She's right. I did drive Sebastian to that duel. Had he lived–"

"Had he lived, there is no telling what might have happened. But he didn't, and this is what we're left with." She moved in front of him. "Look at me, Sterling. Look ."

Bleakly, he met her gaze. And saw a thousand shining stars in the depths of all that blue-gray.

"Lady Aston is not a lesson in what might have been avoided, but an example of what can happen to a person's soul if they let bitterness and anger drown out all of their light and love. But you chose light, Sterling. You chose love. You chose me ." She stretched up her hand and cupped his cheek. "So choose me now. Choose us. Choose the future that's still waiting."

"I do," he said hoarsely, leaning into her palm as his demons receded into the shadows. "I always will. You saved me, little hawfinch. For that and for a thousand other reasons, I love you. Beyond reason. Beyond eternity. Beyond anything on this earth, real or imagined."

"I love you, too, Sterling." Her lips curved in a tremulous smile. "Might we go somewhere else? We need to see that your wound is tended to. And I've had my fill of small, cramped spaces for the day."

Evie and Weston sent everyone home with apologies. They did not give a reason. It was not theirs to give. And while speculation ran rampant, it was obvious the Duke and Duchess of Hanover were wildly in love, and thus most assumed they merely wanted to get to the business of their wedding night.

Kincaid questioned the Marquess and Marchioness of Aston at great length. Both Sterling and Rosemary agreed it best that they not be there. The newlyweds were ready to live in the present; so long as they were no longer in any danger, they were happy to let go of the past.

Still, Kincaid–with Joanna's help–gave them a brief summary on his findings.

It appeared that Rosemary was right. Lady Aston had not been well for a number of years. In fact, her husband revealed she'd been in and out of a discreet medical facility intended for those incapable of caring for themselves due to issues of the mind. Over the last few weeks, he claimed she'd seemed better. Lucid and calm. So lucid and calm that he'd agreed to bring her to the wedding after she had presented him with (forged) invitations.

In trying to paint himself as an innocent party, he said that at first he'd tried to keep her at home. And when he finally did agree to take her to the wedding, it was only because she had vowed to him that she wanted to use it as an opportunity to make amends for the awful things she'd done. Including having Sterling's sister kidnapped and paying his mistress an appalling amount of money to stage her own death.

The marquess did an excellent job of painting himself as just another victim of his wife's nefarious actions. Right up until he accidentally revealed, upon further questioning, that he was the one who had blocked the door with an armoire after Lady Aston kidnapped Rosemary.

Love, he'd tearfully admitted when Joanna had demanded why he had gone along with his wife's evil scheme. He had helped her because he loved her. And he'd chosen not to see her madness for what it was because of the very same reason. Which put him in the unique position of being both a villain and a victim. A weak man who had followed his heart straight into ruin without any consideration for the pain that his actions–or lack thereof – would create.

It was decided that the safest place for Lady Aston was the same facility that Lord Aston had recently taken her out of (against her doctor's orders, as it turned out). He'd convinced himself that she was better because that was what he needed her to be. But it was readily apparent that barring a miracle, Lady Aston was going to require medical care and supervision for the rest of her life. A mind wasn't a bone to be set and, sadly, hers was twisted beyond recognition. While it couldn't be healed, perhaps, with time, it could be helped. While ensuring those she had hurt would be safe as well.

Kincaid considered bringing Lord Aston back to London and turning him over a magistrate to face charges as an accomplice in his wife's crimes. Ultimately, however, it was decided that a public trial would only create more scandal and unnecessary heartache. Instead, the marquess agreed to leave England entirely. Banishment was a harsh, but fitting punishment for a man whose entire self-worth was defined by what others thought of him. Being forced to live without the constant admiration of his peers was a prison in and of itself.

As for Rosemary and Sterling, they did finally get to enjoy their much anticipated wedding night. Again. And again….and again.

The next morning, they woke to a damp, drizzly day which left them with no inclination to leave their bed. Propping herself up on a mountain of pillows, Rosemary cracked a yawn (neither of them had gotten much sleep) and giggled when Sir Reginald leapt up onto the bed and promptly made himself a comfortable nest in between the two newlyweds.

"He's in my spot," Sterling said, eyeing the squirrel with narrowed eyes.

She scratched Sir Reginald between his ears. "He doesn't think so."

Grumbling, Sterling crossed his arms. "How long do these things live?"

"According to recent scientific findings summarized in Gardner's Chronicle , with the right care and in an environment free from predators, squirrels have the potential to live…forever, really." Only the twinkle in Rosemary's gaze indicated she was jesting.

But Sterling found no amusement in her words. Just a deep, profound gratitude.

"The rat saved your life," he said gruffly. "Forever sounds good to me."