Page 93 of Cold November Rake

As you read this, I am on my way to Sutton Hall. This time, I am not leaving in exile. I am going home. And I will be waiting for you to join me as soon as you are able.

This is what I should have written to you on that ill-fated night seven years ago. I shouldn't have been so stubborn and contrary, merely to preserve my pride. I shouldn't have run off to travel the Continent.

I know you believe I did not wait for you in Norway, either. That could not be farther from the truth. I waited every morning on the quay. I wrote you letters, asking when you would come.

Last night, I learned from Tyrone that you, too, had written to me—that you came for me only a few days after I left.

I do not know what became of all the letters. I just wish I had waited a little longer.

In the same breath, I cannot regret our past. For we have grown and been shaped into the people we have become. And I would be lying if I said I wished for you to be different.

You are my husband, in name, in body, in heart and soul. And I am forever yours.

Waiting patiently,

Your wife,

Temperance

The Countess of Sutton

Her carriage had left at first light.

He had not known what to do with himself afterward, so he had done the only thing he could think of. He had climbed the stairs to her chamber and stood in the open doorway, breathing in her soft, sweet scent, with a hint of spice.

This was the first night she'd spent in her own chamber since the renovations. She had been weak, despite her words to the contrary, and soon after the doctor left, she had fallen asleep.

Sutton did not dare move her to his own chamber. Instead, he slept in the chair next to her bed, guarding her.

For some unknown reason, he was unable to bring himself to climb onto her bed and hold her close.

He had thought she was angry with him.

But her note proved otherwise.

It also told him that she'd waited for him in Norway, after all.

He didn't know what mishap in the post had cost him three full years with his wife, and he didn't want to think about it. Not now.

First, he had to find the man who had paid the ruffians to shoot him, who had tampered with his carriage wheel, and had hung a threat over everything Sutton had only just begun to hope for. Then he would put that man in gaol.

And then he would go back to his wife. They could reminisce about all the "what ifs" while making new dreams for tomorrow.

Sutton spun on his heel, called for his coat, and found his father already waiting in the hall in his greatcoat.

"I thought you had fallen asleep, boy," the duke barked. "Do you want to find Everly and string him up or not?"

Sutton simply passed him by and opened the door. "Let us proceed."

Finding Everly turned out to be more difficult than either of them had imagined.

He had simply vanished.

He had not been seen since Sutton threw him out of the kitchen door—not by his household staff, not by the harlots in the brothels he loved to frequent, not in the gentlemen's clubs.

White's. Brooks's. Boodle's. The Cocoa Tree. Two hells in St. James's where a doorman could be bought for a guinea, and one where he could not. Everyone knew Everly. Nobody had seen him.

Hades' Hell was the last stop. It was far too exclusive to extend credit to notorious debtors like Everly; still, the people inside might have an idea where he was.