The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twenty-Two

L

oren sat atop his horse, waiting in the cold drizzle that had plagued London all day. Lady Maudsley had not returned home. Nor had her children. ’Twas an impossible, frustrating situation. Markov’s unpredictability was not only an inconvenience, but worrisome to the extreme. Despite the pounding rain, each passing day, the trees’ talk grew louder and more… insistent. He must be going mad if he believed trees talked. He shoved out the insanity. Time waned in delivering Lady Cecilia. How was he supposed to accomplish an abduction if he had no idea where they’d disappeared to?

God knows, if he had to stomach Baron Wimbley and his obnoxious wife another moment, he’d likely be putting a ball through his own head. He ought to do Lady Maudsley the favor of ridding her of her useless parents. Clearly, they thought to profit off forcing her into another marriage.

With a hard yank of the reins, he guided his horse home. He needed a new strategy. Something bold and drastic. Before he succumbed to the ensuing panic of lying in an open grave while mounds of dirt were shoveled atop waiting to steal his last breath. He was living a waking nightmare.