Page 117 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

Cassandra’s chest tightened as the realisation hit her.

She didn’t just care for Jethro. She loved him.

Not because she should as his wife, but because somehow the irritating, controlling, totally wonderful man she had married had captured her heart.

Cassandra lifted a hand to her mouth as she remembered the kiss she had given him the previous evening, and a smile crept onto her face.

Jethro had not repulsed her embrace. To judge by the glow in his eyes, he had welcomed it. Perhaps she could wake him with another—on his lips. And perhaps he would kiss her back.

Maybe her dreams would come true, and she could have a proper marriage. With Jethro.

The thought warmed her to the soles of her feet.

It was not yet seven o’clock, but her newly discovered feelings fuelled her eagerness to see her husband. Pulse racing, she slipped her arms into her dressing gown and knocked on the adjoining door.

No answer. Jethro must have been late coming in. Was he still asleep?

She knocked again, louder this time, but there was no noise. Nothing to suggest he was stirring.

Cassandra pulled down the handle and eased the door open. She peaked inside and stared at the huge four-poster bed that dominated the space. The curtains were not drawn and the bedclothes unruffled. Jethro wasn’t there.

Her heart lurched. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come up to his room to sleep? Had Mr Wade’s revelations distressed him so much that he’d stayed up all night trying to make sense of them?

Cassandra didn’t know, but she needed to find out.

She returned to her bedchamber and reached for the bell rope, but before she pulled it, she changed her mind. It was well before her normal time and her maid would not be ready for her. She would probably have to be roused first.

Too impatient to wait for Mary Ann, Cassandra donned an old gown she could fasten by herself, and hurried downstairs.

To her surprise, the hall was empty. There was no sign of Rowson or any of the footmen. How strange.

She didn’t stop to investigate, but sped along the corridor to Jethro’s study. With a brief knock to warn him of her arrival, she threw the door open, but he wasn’t there.

Cassandra pressed her lips together, trying to tamp down the emotion that sprung to the surface. Where was her husband? Had he been too distraught to return home last night?

Could he have remained overnight with Mr Wade? Impossible. Jethro had only stayed because she asked him to.

No, it was more likely he had gone to the warehouse to read the letters like she had suggested. Perhaps he had fallen asleep over them.

She hurried back into the still empty hall. Where was Rowson when she needed him? She pulled the nearest bell rope and waited.

At last, she heard footsteps on the service stair and the housekeeper emerged.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Timms. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where’s Rowson? I need Martin to accompany me to the warehouse. I must speak to Mr Hunt.”

The housekeeper paled. “I’m afraid Martin’s not here, madam.”

“Not here? Then I suppose one of the other footmen will have to do.”

“None of them are in the house, madam.”

Cassandra’s heart pounded. What on earth was going on? “Why aren’t they here?”

“They’ve all gone down to the Quay to help with the fire—”

Fire. On the Quay. The warehouse. Jethro.

“I must go.”