William rubbed his stinging eyes, poked the fire once more, then scooted a few feet back and pillowed his head with his tailcoat. Even when the rest of the camp grew quiet with snores and heavy breathing, sleep evaded him.
He was far too haunted by her face. Her laughter swept through his memory, young and free and unburdened—and he hurt too much to imagine what she might be enduring. If Lord Livingstone had injured her, if he had laid hands on her, if he had robbed her innocence … William would kill him.
Dear God, keep her safe.
Near one of the small fires, a silhouette paced back and forth in the smoky darkness. Lord Gresham, no doubt. Somehow, despite all the bitterness between them, William was comforted by the sight. He was not alone in his love for Isabella Gresham.
He was not the only one who would move heaven and earth to get her back.
CHAPTER 18
Give us answers.The prayer burst in William’s chest as the thirty-some men crested the ridge overlooking Wetherbell Hall.
The stone house stood tall against a backdrop of rippling, foggy hills. Fortified towers rose from each corner of the home, and endless mullioned windows glinted with pink morning sun.
Lord Gresham nudged his horse forward. “Let us go.”
“Perhaps my men should remain.” Colonel Nagel glanced toward the scarlet uniforms and blinding white cross belts. “With his political prejudices, the sight of—”
“Never mind. I shall go myself.” Uttering a mild oath, Lord Gresham urged his horse down the hill.
William started after him. Two had more chances of persuasion, and with Lord Gresham’s temper against him, he might miss something vital. William would miss nothing.
Near the bottom of the hill, as their paces matched, Edward glanced over and scowled. “Get back up there with the rest of them.”
“It is best you do not go alone.”
“Do not tell me what is best, Kensley.” Despite his words and tone, his face relaxed a little—and he did not argue when William continued alongside him. They crossed the stone-arched bridge over the burn then dismounted within the cool shadow of the house.
Lord Gresham banged on the door. A butler answered, insisted several times that Lord Livingstone was otherwise occupied, then finally relented and allowed them inside. He showed them into a spacious drawing room.
Heavy red curtains hid most of the morning light, though burning silver candlesticks still illuminated the room.
Edward walked to the hearth and leaned his forehead against the ornate mantel. A distant clock ticked by the seconds, the minutes, the hours.
William paced from one end of the room to the next. How long had it been? How long would the elder Lord Livingstone allow his guests to wait, when they had specifically assured the butler of urgency?
Unless he already knew about his son. Could Isabella be here? Were they hiding her together?
“In the name of holiness, what is taking so long?” Edward banged the mantel. He swung a hand toward William. “And do cease your pacing. You are driving me mad.”
“I cannot sit.”
“Then stand there and do nothing. I would not have permitted your company had I known—”
The double drawing room doors parted, and a large, oval-faced man strode into the room. His hair, frizzing near to his shoulders, was reminiscent of ancient paintings William had spotted on the wall, and even his black coat, though clean and tailored to his form, seemed near forty years out of fashion. “Gentlemen, have seats. Drummond, pour glasses of wine.”
“We have not time for refreshments.” Edward stepped forward. “I have come to inquire after your son. Is he here?”
“I am a man of principle, sir. I do not desire to receive guests, but if I must receive them, I serve them wine.” The elder Lord Livingstone motioned to the chairs. “Sit.”
“I do not—”
“We are honored, my lord.” William cut off Lord Gresham with a small, pleading glance. He took a chair, and with a heavy sigh, Edward followed his example.
Minutes later, the three men sat in silence, each with antique Roman wine cups filled to the brim. The clock groaned away more seconds.
Edward scooted to the edge of his seat. “About your son—”
