Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(63)

Her head snapped back. She bit the inside of her cheek, and the copper tang of blood filled her mouth, running over her teeth in a warm, metallic flood.

Stunned from the blow, Grier fell limp, the struggle temporarily gone from her.

Malcolm swung her up in his arms like a limp doll and secured her inside the carriage. She was dimly aware of the door closing and his weight dropping down beside her.

The carriage started to move, swaying her on the squabs, and she panicked, a fist wringing her heart. Seized with the need to act, she jumped upright, fighting the surge of dizziness.

She flung her body at the door, grappling for the latch, her hair a wild tangle around her.

“Oh no you don’t!” Malcolm’s hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her forward, crashing her head into the carriage door with crushing force.

Her body crumpled, pain vibrating in her skull.

She toppled back onto the carriage floor as though every bone in her body had suddenly dissolved, was nothing more than liquid.

Unable to move, helpless in her own skin, she gazed up at the carriage ceiling as darkness crept over her in a descending fog from which she could never escape. Sev. Her lips moved numbly around his name.

Malcolm’s face filled her hazy vision.

She lifted a hand in a weak attempt to strike him, to claw at his shadowy face, but she never made contact. Her hand fell limply at her side, dead weight.

And then there was nothing.

Evening light trickled through the damask drapes as Sev faced his future father-in-law in his well-appointed library.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” he demanded. “She’s not a glove to be lost.”

“She’s not here,” Jack repeated, waving his hands. “She took no carriage. All the mounts are accounted for in the stables. She’s gone.”

Cleo cleared her throat from where she sat in shadow near the window. She was elegantly attired in a grand gown fringed with satiny pink rosettes, ostensibly ready for their evening at the theater. It only served to remind him of the evening he would not be sharing with Grier.

He stared pointedly at Cleo. “Did you want to say something? Do you know where Grier is?”

“I didn’t want to say anything sooner, but as you’re here now . . . clearly something has gone amiss.”

“You know something of Grier’s whereabouts?” Jack snapped. “We’ve been looking for her for hours now and you haven’t uttered a word,”

Cleo ignored Jack, training her gaze on Sev. “She received a letter this afternoon . . . from you. I assumed you were together all this time.”

His heart stuttered in his chest before it picked up speed and began racing. “I didn’t send her any note.”

“She rushed from the room as soon as it was delivered. She didn’t say, but I suspected that the two of you planned to rendezvous.”

“Who delivered it?” His gaze yanked to Jack. “Assemble all the servants at once.”

With a quick nod, Jack marched from the room, bellowing for his butler.

In moments, Sev stood on the bottom steps of the grand staircase, overlooking two dozen liveried servants. Their upturned faces watched him warily. A few whispered among themselves—until Cleo quickly pointed out the girl who had delivered the note to Grier that morning, and a hush fell as all eyes swung to her.

“There she is. Marie.” At Cleo’s announcement, the whispering began anew.

Sev stepped down one more step and addressed her in an even voice, trying to hide his anxiousness lest she become even more agitated. “Marie, did you deliver a note today to Miss Grier?”

She muttered something softly beneath her breath, her wide eyes fearful. Sev cocked his head in an effort to better hear her and resisted the urge to storm across the foyer and grab her by the arms and give her the shake his tightly stretched nerves urged him to do. He’d have nothing out of her if she was too frightened to speak.

“Speak up, girl. Answer him!” Jack growled, making her jump.

Sev flicked him an annoyed look and moved into the mass of servants to stand before the cowering maid. Ducking his head, he connected with her fearful gaze. Using a gentle voice, he asked, “Who gave you the note to give to Miss Hadley?”

“He was out back. Just a driver. He asked me to deliver the letter for his master. I didn’t see him though . . . the gentleman was waiting inside the carriage.”

Sev swept his gaze over everyone in the foyer. “Did no one see Miss Hadley outside?”

“I saw her through an upstairs window,” a maid volunteered. “She was behind the house, talking to a gentleman.”

“Who?” Sev demanded.

The servant shook her capped head. “I’ve never seen him before and I would have remembered for certain.”

“Why?” Sev pressed, desperate for some clue, something, anything that would lead him to Grier. “Why would you have remembered him?”

“Well, it was his hair. It was a really bright red—almost hurt my eyes to look upon it.”

Red hair. So bright it could hurt one’s eyes. He knew one such man. Or rather, he didn’t know him. Not in the least. Not if he would abduct Grier.

“Malcolm,” he breathed. A myriad of feelings flooded him. Betrayal. Confusion. Why would Malcolm steal Grier away? Simply because he didn’t wish Sev to marry her? He couldn’t wrap his head around it.