The door snapped open. “Home, madam.”
She made herself take his gloved hand—calm, calm—and stepped heavily to the street. She held herself straight as an arrow as she climbed the steps to her house and opened the door. She maintained her calm facade until she saw that she and Crawford were not alone in the entry. James stood frozen in mid-pace, eyes narrowed at her.
“Sarah, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“James!” Oh, no. Oh, God. Why was he home?
“You told no one where you’d gone and didn’t even take a maid with you!”
“I . . .” She stepped back, away from her husband.
He stepped closer. “My God, Sarah. Have you been crying?”
She’d have to tell him the truth: that she’d lied, that she’d endangered him and any future children. That she was a disturbed woman.
Sarah felt the world receding, turning gray and then black at the edges. Lights sparkled in the middle of her vision. She could see James mouthing her name as he rushed forward, but couldn’t hear the sound of it.
Sarah Rose Hood was fainting for the first time in her life, and she was supremely grateful for the opportunity.
* * *
“Sarah!” He held his wife tight to his body in an awkward grasp. “Call for the doctor, Crawford.” She began to slide down, so he scooped her up and hurried into the parlor to lay her on the settee. “Sarah, darling, wake up, please.”
She didn’t stir. Her lips were pale against the alarming white of her face. At least her forehead was cool, though he didn’t like the clammy feel of it. He touched her all over—her shoulders and chest, her arms and belly and legs—as if he could sense any injury just by the feel of her.
When he saw her torn skirt, he stared at it, struck dumb with horror. Surely she hadn’t been attacked?
Where the hell had she been?
To make up for the day before, he’d come home in the middle of the day expecting another quiet luncheon with his bride. Instead he’d spent a half hour pacing the hall, trying to figure out where the hell she could have gone without even a maid as an escort. He’d been frightened and angry. And sadly, even suspicious. Just two days before he’d come home and found her gone, and when she’d returned she’d behaved so strangely.
Damn it, what the hell was going on?
“Sarah,” he tried again,
and this time her eyelids stirred. “Sarah!”
Her eyes blinked open, brown eyes darker than ever against her pallid skin as they slowly focused on his face.
“Sarah, are you hurt?”
Eyes growing wider still, she shook her head.
“I’ve sent for the doctor. He should be here any moment.”
“No!” She threw her hands to the cushions beneath her and pushed up. “No, please don’t.”
“You’re unwell. You need—”
“I’m fine. I promise. I wasn’t ill, only frightened.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Frightened of what, Sarah?”
Her mouth closed, literally snapping shut.
“Of me?”
“No, of course not.”