A few hours later he had hauled his head groom out of bed and sent him galloping to Roedean. It seemed unlikely that Henry would choose such an obvious destination as a hiding place, but it was worth a try. He had been reluctant to go himself, afraid that he would miss some news of her in London. The groom had returned, very tired, before noon with the news that the servants at Roedean had seen and heard nothing of his wife.
The rest of the previous day Eversleigh had spent wandering around to every possible place where she might be, and attempting to behave with his usual air of unhurried boredom while he talked and questioned very discreetly. There had been no news at all of Henry. He had sought out the footman who was spying on Cranshawe, but with no results. There was nothing suspicious about his heir's movements.
Now, today, he did not know what to do with himself. He cantered through the park, led his horse idly down Bond Street, looking with apparent unconcern into each shop and even into Hookam's Library. Eventually he went to his club, acknowledging for the first time the hopelessness of his search. If Henry really wanted to hide from him, she could remain hidden for a lifetime, and there was nothing he could do about it. Eversleigh sat in the reading room at White's Club, staring ahead of him in despair. A few of his acquaintances, passing the open doorway, would have stopped to exchange courtesies, but passed by when they noticed the expression on his face.
A footman found him there eventually and handed him a note. Eversleigh recognized both the handwriting and the perfume clinging to it, and almost threw it from him in disgust. But, in his present mood, almost any activity seemed better than none. He opened Suzanne's letter. She asked him to visit her that afternoon. Again he almost threw the note down, but then his attention was caught by the last sentence: "I wish to talk to you-about your wife, Marius, Do, please, come!"
Mrs. Broughton had no way of knowing the true state of affairs in Eversleigh's home. She hoped that Marius would come later in the afternoon. She had not expected to have him announced and ushered into her drawing room a mere half-hour after she had sent the note (and at the exact moment that James Ridley was dispatching his own messenger to White's). She rose to her feet, smiled warmly, and extended- a hand to her visitor.
"Marius," she began, "it has been a long time."
"What do you wish to tell me, Suzanne?" he asked, standing just inside the closed door and looking at her from beneath dropped lids.
"Gracious, Marius, let us not be in such a hurry," she purred. "Come and sit down. I shall ring for some refreshment.''
"What do you know of my wife, Suzanne?"
"About your wife?" she repeated, a puzzled frown on her face. "Oh, a mere trifle, Marius. Gossip, no doubt."
"Tell me, Suzanne," he urged softly. He had not moved from his position before the door.
"Sometimes you can be most uncivilized, Marius," she said. Then she gave a low laugh. "But, then, I think that is what I always liked most about you."
Eversleigh's eyes were glinting as be grasped the handle of his quizzing glass. "Your information, Suzanne, please," he said. "We will dispense with the games."
She looked at him coolly and lifted her chin. "You really have lost your head over her, have you not, Marius?" she said coldly. "I suppose I should be glad that she has proved to be such a slut. But I feel only sorry for you. It seems she prefers a younger man, my dear."
"I am sure you will explain yourself," he said, his hand still clasped on the quizzing glass.
"Oh, I hear that Oliver Cranshawe is currently enjoying her favors," she said, sauntering over to a love seat and seating herself gracefully. Her back had scarcely settled against the cushions before two hands closed like steel bands around her upper arms and she was jerked to her feet again.
"Where is she?" Eversleigh asked softly.
"Marius, let me go immediately!" Suzanne ordered, fear flashing in her eyes for one moment.
"Where is she?"
"How would I know that, Marius?" she replied. "Is she not at home?"
"You seem to know that she is not," he said. "You can have got your information only from Cranshawe himself. You will tell me, Suzanne."
"Marius, really," she said, attempting a light laugh. "You are letting yourself become foolish over the little girl. Oliver did not tell me where they were going."
Eversleigh finally released her shoulders. He lifted his hands and encircled her neck with them.
"Suzanne," he said very softly, "you were always a vixen. I am ashamed that-I ever responded to your animal appeal. But it would not hurt me in the least to squeeze the breath from your body right now. I shall do so if you will not tell me where I may find my wife." His thumbs increased their pressure ever so slightly on her throat.
Her eyes bulged with terror and she grasped his wrists and dug in her fingernails. "They are in Sussex, on her brother's estate," she gasped.
Eversleigh's hands immediately left her throat. He turned without a word and strode from the room.
"I hate you, Marius!" she shrieked after him. I hope you are too late!" She picked up a porcelain figurine from the table beside her and hurled it at his retreating back. It smashed into a thousand pieces against the inside of the closing door.
Eversleigh did not waste time returning home. He already wore riding clothes and had his fastest horse with him. He turned its head immediately for the outskirts of London and the road to Sussex, cursing himself for a fool in not having gone there himself the day before. He, too, made only one stop on the road, but it was a lengthy one. His horse lost a shoe on an open country road and he had to lead it slowly for two miles before he found a forge and a smith, who worked with painstaking care despite the barely leashed energy of the human animal who paced up and down before his smithy in silence.
Chapter 14
Henry had found it impossible to settle to any activity all day. She found herself constantly wandering to her room, from the window of which she could see a long distance I down the driveway. She hoped he would come today. She dreaded the thought of having to go through all this again tomorrow.
It was late afternoon when she finally spotted a curricle appearing from among the trees far down the driveway. Her heart beating faster, Henry hurried down to the drawing room and sank into a chair facing the door, a book in hand. Several minutes later, Trevors arrived with the announcement that Mr. Oliver Cranshawe wished to wait on her.
"Show him up, Trevors," she said; then, seeing that Cranshawe bad followed the butler, she leapt to her feet and smiled a shy welcome.
"Oliver," she said, extending a hand to him, "you came quickly."
"Did you expect differently, my dear?" he replied, smiling dazzlingly into her eyes and taking her hand in both of his. He turned it up as he lowered his head, and kissed the palm.
"Trevors," Henry said to the butler, who was hovering disapprovingly in the background, "I should like a light meal served immediately, please."
"Immediately, Miss Henry?" he asked. "It is not dinnertime yet."
"Nevertheless, I wish it," she replied. "I wish to take my husband's cousin riding while it is still daylight."
The butler bowed stiffly and withdrew.
"Riding, Henry?" Cranshawe queried. "I had other plans in mind, my dear."
Henry glanced at him coyly from beneath her eyelashes. "What, Oliver," she said, "in the house here where I am surrounded by faithful retainers? I know of a very pleasant and very private meadow from which we can count the stars.