Elliot froze. “Evie kidnapped you?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “That makes no sense. And Wolverton helped her? To what purpose? Why would she do this?”
Richard braced himself. “For I
had compromised her virtue, and she was fierce and courageous in defending her honor by forcing me to marry her.”
The glass in Elliot’s hand shattered, and cold rage leaped in his eyes. He opened his palm and allowed the shards of glass and liquid to drop to the green Persian carpet. Richard expected him to issue a challenge, or haul off and punch him in the face, and he was flummoxed when Elliot did neither. Instead, he pressed his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.
When his lids flickered open, a warning slithered through Richard at the fear he saw. What the hell was this?
“I’ve always known Evie loved you,” Elliot murmured, his voice rough with grief. “I knew it, and I did nothing to curb the desire or to limit the friendship you and she formed, though it was so unorthodox and had come under scrutiny more than once. Lady Trenear had ripped your heart open, and then society tried to finish the job because you loved your daughter…and I thought Evie’s genuine warmth, her gentle grace and beauty, would save you from that cold, lonely place you seem to reside in.” A rough bark of a laugh slipped from him. “Knowing Evie’s stubborn nature, the minute Mother and Father brought more pressure to wed as they are doing to me, she would have tried to secure your hand by any means possible. I’m certain you had no understanding as to what the hell was happening. I should put a bullet in you for succumbing and making her feel as if she needed to force your hand, but what the hell does it all matter now?”
Richard despised the weak feeling that assailed him and turned his mouth dry. Ah Christ. Please, God. “Don’t say it,” he said gruffly. “Don’t you fucking say it, Elliot.”
“She is very ill,” he whispered. “She is fevered and senseless. The doctors have bled her twice, but there is no improvement. The only news they have to report is that we must prepare ourselves.”
Raw fear blasted through Richard. A snarl of denial spilled into the room, shocking him. “What the hell are you talking about? Prepare ourselves?”
“The doctors said—”
“I do not give a damn what the doctors said. Evie will not die. Where is she?”
“She is still at Rosette Park. We did not move her.”
Richard launched into motion, grabbing his coat and hat, calling for his stallion. Within a few minutes, he was away from Kencourt, Elliot following closely on his heels. Fear held him in a grip he had never endured before. His brother Francis had been robust and strong, and a fever had claimed his life. For five days, he had battled for his life, and the doctors had bled him, too, to purge his blood, and he had still died. What chance did Evie have being so fragile?
It was all his fault.
He rode along the country road, like a madman, bargaining with God the entire time. A lesson from his younger days in attending church roared in his mind.
“Prayer without ceasing. In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”
He thanked God for Evie, her faith and her trust when even his parents had abandoned him. He thanked God for her smiles, her warmth and generosity of heart with his children, and the love she had for his black heart. Richard’s entire journey, he prayed unceasingly for Evie to recover. He would become a broken man without her and nothing could ever put him back, but more so, she deserved a chance at happiness with a family of her own. Her joy and grace of spirit could not be snuffed out. Not yet, not for another fifty years or more.
Less than an hour later, he reached Rosette Hall. He had launched from his stallion before the horse had fully stopped and dropped the reins. Elliot only arrived seconds behind him.
“Richard,” Elliot yelled.
He ignored him and clambered up the front steps. He wrenched the door open without knocking.
Adel, who had been climbing the stairs with flowers in her hands, faltered. “Lord Westfall!”
“Where is Evie?”
“I was taking these to her rooms,” she said, holding up the vase.
“Is she…” His throat closed. “I must see her.” He hurried from the hallway and started to bound up the stairs, only to halt as her father stood on the upper steps, his hands fisted at his side. “You damn blackguard, you will not enter Evie’s chamber.”
“Do not make an enemy of me,” Richard snapped, low and hard. “If you try to keep her from me…” His throat burned, and he hardly gave a fuck when tears pricked behind his lids. Richard did not care if he seemed weak because he was nearly insensate with fear and desperate to see her before she…
No…Evie cannot die.
Lord Gladstone’s eyes widened. “You love her,” he said, shock echoing in his voice.
She owns me.