And if you get it?her mind screamed at her.
She didn’t know. She knew nothing. Denial rioted within her, along with the words Talbot had said to her. She sat, swiping at her tears, her increasing rage and shock making her feel almost numb. Behind her, she heard someone approach and then leave once more. A servant, no doubt. They likely wanted to clear the buffet, and yet, she sat. All her hopes seemed to be floating away from her like particles of dust floating in the rays of sunshine, impossible to grasp.
Her breath came out ragged, impotent anger and shame making it so hard to do such a simple natural thing. She had to move. Asher would eventually return, and she had to know… She had to know before he came back if he had wed her simply to gain his fortune.
But no, he had been so tender. He desired her.
Lust is not love.
She buried her face in her hands and wept silently until her eyes felt swollen and her nasal passages felt blocked. Anger slowly built to cloud her despair for a moment, and she shoved away from the table and stood, determined to get answers. She would find out if she had been used in the worst sort of way and had willingly bound herself to a despicable rogue.
Chapter Nineteen
He felt the silly grin on his face, but he didn’t care. He was happy. He even started humming as his horse pulled his conveyance toward the mews that stood behind his townhome. The grin slipped, though, when he caught sight of his coachman, Digby, rushing toward him with a fierce frown.
Asher pulled up on the reins and came to a stop. “Is there a problem?” He couldn’t imagine what had occurred since he’d left this morning to go into Town to purchase a proper wedding ring for Guinevere, but something had occurred.
Asher’s mind went immediately to Pierce, and he wondered if his brother had done something foolish.
“Her Grace refused to allow me to drive her on an errand to Dorner’s to procure ribbons.”
Ah, Asher understood immediately. He’d given Digby orders before he’d left that from now on, his main duty was to see to Guinevere’s desires. When she wished to go somewhere, Digby was to accompany her. Asher had an overwhelming need to ensure Guinevere was safe, and he’d undoubtedly overstepped. She was independent like he was, and she had likely been displeased to hear she was to have someone accompany her everywhere. She was not one to embrace all the strictures Society forced upon women, and that was one of the many things that drew him to her.
Asher waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain my reasoning to her when she returns. How long has she been gone?”
“Hours, Your Grace. That’s why I met you out here when I saw you returning. I’m concerned.”
Immediate worry knotted his neck muscles. He knew Guinevere was a very capable horsewoman, but myriad fears filled his head, the greatest of which was that a ruffian could have happened upon her and—
He cut off the thought. It would do no good to let fear rule his actions. “I’ll go to the milliner’s shop. I know where it is.” It was actually next door to the jewelry shop he had been in today.
“Very well, Your Grace. Do you wish me to accompany you?”
“Nay. If she returns, advise her I went after her and will be back shortly.”
Asher started out, the trip to Dorner’s not overly long, but the sun was setting and the thought of Guinevere riding alone in the lengthening shadows, or perhaps stranded and fearful, made the knots in his neck spread between his shoulders and down his back.
By the time he reached the milliner’s shop, it was closed. Cursing, he stood at the door, banging upon it in the hope that someone would answer and could at least tell him if Guinevere had been in the shop that day. It was not inconceivable that they would remember the Duchess of Carrington. Shopkeepers tended to recall when wealthy clients visited, as it was often a source of idle gossip.
“Damnation,” he cursed again when no one appeared.
He turned and swept his gaze around the shops, trying to decide where Guinevere might have gone. Had she visited a friend? Before he could even contemplate the question, the door creaked open behind him. Swiveling back around, he met the curious gaze of a plump, matronly woman.
“Might I help you?”
“Aye.”
She frowned, a common reaction here in London when people first heard his Scottish brogue.
“I’m the Duke of Carrington, and—”
“Oh!” The woman flushed. “Oh yes, of course, of course. I’ve heard about you being Scottish, and oh, dear me. Do come in. How might I help you?” She stepped aside and waved a hand toward the dark store. “A hat for your new wife perhaps?” She smiled. “Rumor has it you’ve wed.”
He was certain rumor had speculated greatly given his and Guinevere’s hurried wedding and the compromising position they had been discovered in. “Actually, Mrs.…”
“Forrester,” she provided.
“I was wondering if my wife had been in the store today? I—” Hell. There was no good way to ask without stirring up more gossip.
