Faith (15 page)

Twenty-four

T
he walk home was silent and filled with tension. A couple times Faith mustered up the courage to address her husband. Each time, the words died on her lips as she looked at Gareth’s set, stony face.

Miserable, she watched the caretaker’s cottage draw closer and wondered if the whole night would be spent in taut silence. Her unspoken question was answered as soon as they reached the door. Gareth turned the knob, pushed it open, and stepped aside to allow Faith to enter. When he didn’t follow, Faith turned back to look at him.

“One of the footmen is coming down from Rothmere to stay here tonight and keep watch. I am going back to oversee the correction of some final problems in the renovation. It will be late when I finish, so I will just sleep there.”

Faith didn’t say a word, but her lips tightened and her brow furrowed.

“You are not to leave the house, Faith,” Gareth commanded.

At that, she lost her temper. “For what, precisely, are you punishing me?”

Gareth raised a cool eyebrow. “You are my wife. I owe you no explanation.” He then turned to go, leaving Faith standing with her mouth open, shocked by his high-handed statement. Just before the door closed, he looked back. “I mean it. Stay put.”

And then he was gone. Faith pressed her lips together still more tightly, firmly repressing the urge to yank open the door and go after him. Hot words tumbled about inside her head, words she wanted to let loose and hurl at her husband. Instead, she stood still until the white-hot anger cooled to a cold core deep inside. Slowly, her lips relaxed and her hands unclenched, and she began to think about the circumstances that had led up to this predicament.

At some point during the tour of Rothmere, she had done something that angered Gareth. She thought back through the entire scene, and it slowly dawned on her. She had been so occupied with her thoughts of future children—and what would occur to create those children—that she had been silent as he showed her his home.
Their
home. The home he had spent so much time renovating in order to…

Faith groaned, knowing he’d misinterpreted her silence as indifference. But then she frowned. This knowledge hardly excused his behavior. If he’d only asked her, spoken to her instead of bottling it all up, this misunderstanding might have been avoided.

Shaking her head, Faith looked out the window and saw John, an affable footman who’d accompanied them from London, standing in the middle of the clearing in front of the cottage. He was clearly a guard. She gave him a little smile and moved away from the window. Poor John didn’t deserve what she was about to do. Once she’d gotten to Gareth, however, and explained everything, she was certain all would be well again.

Quickly, Faith walked into the bedroom and opened the window. Making sure she couldn’t be seen from the front of the cottage, she sat on the window ledge and carefully put one foot, then the other, through the opening. Turning onto her stomach, she carefully slid down until she felt her feet touch the ground outside. Happy that nobody had witnessed her awkward exit, Faith next took a couple of steps toward the corner of the cottage. She was pulled up short by her skirt, which had snagged on the windowsill. Impatiently, she tugged it loose, then peered around the corner.

John was precisely where she’d seen him last, standing with his back toward her, looking down the road that led to Rothmere. Praying he wouldn’t turn around and see her, Faith crossed the clearing on quick, light feet and slipped into the woods.

She followed the road but kept to the trees until she was certain John couldn’t see her progress. Darkness was approaching, however, so she soon emerged and walked briskly along the side of the road, her mind spinning.

Gareth would be furious when he saw her, she admitted to herself with a guilty little pang. She briefly pondered how she should approach him. Should she be meek and apologetic or firm and businesslike? Faith pictured both scenarios, then dismissed them as too calculating. She would just be herself.

It was nearly dark when she reached Rothmere. The grounds, earlier bustling with activity, were deserted. Faith tried the front door but found it locked. She bit her lip in indecision. In all likelihood, Gareth was alone. She was not quite brave enough to knock on the door, have him open it, and find her standing there in the deepening twilight, blatantly disregarding his order. She hesitated a moment longer and decided to try to find a different way into the house. It would be better if she faced him on her terms, having found her own way to their confrontation.

Crossing the terrace, she went down the steps and hastened around the side of the building.

It was almost completely dark at the cottage when John finally realized that something was not quite right. He peered at the little building. All seemed peaceful, but he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. And then it hit him: the house was enshrouded in gloom, and the marchioness had yet to light a single lamp.

Alarmed, John knocked on the door. “Lady Roth?” There was no response. His heart pounding, the footman went inside. A cursory search confirmed his suspicions—Faith was not there. He left the house and took off at a run for Rothmere.

Gingerly, Faith lifted her skirts to step around some of the muddier spots behind the house. She’d been unable to find another way into the building, though she knew there had to be a servants’ entrance, or at least a place where deliveries were dropped off. The only possibility left was to go back around to the front and knock.

But as she rounded a corner, she saw it: a dilapidated greenhouse. She walked over to the door and found it half-hanging off its frame. Carefully, she pushed, and it grudgingly moved, the hinges protesting loudly. As soon as she’d forced an opening large enough, she slipped into the musty room.

Rows of tables covered with overgrown vines and broken pots met her eyes. Faith picked her way through the chaos toward the back of the room, where she hoped to find a door into the house. Sure enough, it was there, up three steps in the middle of the dirty wall. She grasped the knob and turned it, perfectly certain it would be locked, as had been all the other doors she’d tried. To her surprise, it turned easily. Her heart pounding, she stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and set off in search of Gareth.

John trembled at the thunderous expression on his master’s face. “She went inside, my lord. I didn’t see her come out at all. I swear I never moved from my post at the door.”

Gareth’s voice was tight. “I believe you.” He stood and strode from the study, barking out orders to the footman, who was scrambling to keep up with him. “Gather as many men as you are able, get some torches, and meet me back at the cottage.”

John hastened off to obey, leaving Gareth alone with his thoughts. He had no doubt that she’d disobeyed his instructions deliberately. He left the house and set off for the cottage, jogging steadily and easily down the road. Behind him, the meager household staff was quietly assembling in front of the house. They wouldn’t be far behind.

The dark cottage came into view, causing Gareth’s heart to sink. Somehow, he’d managed to entertain the notion that Faith would be here when he arrived. That hope was further dashed when he entered the dwelling and did not detect any sign of her presence.

He gave the main chamber a cursory inspection and went into the bedroom. The window was open wide and a scrap of color caught his eye. He crossed the room to look more closely. There, caught on the rough edge of the sill, was a torn piece of fabric of the same blue-purple shade as the dress Faith had worn earlier. He leaned out the window and inspected the ground. Despite the darkness, several footprints were clearly visible, all the same size.

Relief surged through him, followed quickly by disappointment. Faith had not been forced to leave, nor had she run off with someone else. But she
had
left.

Gareth heard the group of servants from Rothmere approach the clearing. He pulled his head inside and closed the window. Regardless of the reason she had gone, Faith still needed to be found.

The enormous house was silent and deserted. Candles burned here and there, indicating there had been someone within fairly recently. Search as she might, though, Faith found nobody. Not one servant. And not Gareth.

Repressing frustrated tears, she slowly climbed the wide staircase and made her way to the suite of rooms she was to share with her husband. The bed in this chamber was turned down, ready for him when he decided to turn in. Wood had been freshly laid in the fireplace. She wandered through the bathing area into her own room, then stopped transfixed in the doorway and caught her breath.

It was beautiful! Obviously, this room had been completed during the past few days, because it was lovingly and painstakingly decorated with her in mind. Everything was silver and gray and white. An expanse of soft, dove-colored, deep-pile carpet covered the floor. The bed curtains were fashioned from white tulle shot through with silver threads and tied back to the posts with ropes of shining pewter. Faith sank to her knees next to the white wrought-iron bench at the end of the bed and rested her forehead on the silver satin cushions. Gareth had done this for her. Somehow, she had to find a way to make things right between them.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Faith sat up in alarm, suddenly feeling as though she wasn’t alone. She glanced back quickly toward the bathing-room door, but it was closed. She frowned, certain she hadn’t closed it when she came in.

Perhaps, she thought, Gareth had come in. Had he seen her reaction to her bedchamber? Had he watched her walk through the room he’d designed for her and wondered if she was happy with it? Perhaps he had been disappointed in her quiet reaction, closed the door, and gone back into his own room.

Worried, Faith ran across the room and jerked the door open. She rushed back through the bathing chamber and into Gareth’s room. But it was empty, just as before.

Her mystification grew. It was obvious that Gareth had been here earlier and left, but what of the staff? What of the workers she’d seen all afternoon, busy making the estate habitable? Faith shook her head, confronted with two choices: she could stay here and wait for Gareth to return or go back to the cottage and talk to him tomorrow.

She recalled the brief uneasy feeling she’d had in her chamber, the sense that she was not alone. Suddenly, she didn’t want to wait by herself in this enormous, echoing house for her husband. And so, her mind made up, Faith took a last glance around the room and left.

Twenty-five

T
he cottage stood empty, dark, and desolate when Faith returned from Rothmere. As she entered the clearing, she looked around for John but did not see him. At first she was somewhat relieved she would not have to sneak past the footman to get back into the cottage, but then the full import of his absence hit her. He’d discovered she was missing and had gone to inform Gareth. Suddenly, the fact that the estate was deserted made sense. Gareth had every possible man out looking for her.

Her heart hammering, Faith crossed the small yard and opened the door. She didn’t even have to wait for her eyes to adjust to know that Gareth was there in the gloom. His voice came to her ears, dangerous in its softness. “I distinctly remember telling you to remain here.”

In the darkness, Faith pressed her lips together and didn’t respond. Her husband’s tone grated, causing her to forget her earlier resolution to make things right between them. She took a small step in retreat and placed her back against the closed door.

“You seem to have a great deal of difficulty following even the simplest of instructions.” Gareth waited a moment, then continued. “Would you care to tell me where you’ve been?”

Faith finally spoke. “No.” She pushed away from the door and walked toward the bedroom.

Gareth blocked her path. “I asked you a question, wife.”

Faith stopped and made no attempt to walk around him. “I answered it,
husband,
” she said calmly.

“Humor me. Pretend I like details.”

Faith answered softly. “I took a walk.”

“I see. Where did you go on this walk?”

Faith felt her composure begin to slip. She compressed her lips tightly, looked away, and refused to answer. Gareth waited before leaning to the side to look her in the eyes.

She looked the other way.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at him. “Just a walk? I don’t believe you.”

Faith’s temper finally got the best of her. “I don’t care what you believe, my lord.”

He stared at her steadily for a long moment. She returned his gaze without flinching. Exasperated, Gareth grasped her upper arm and half-dragged, half-propelled her into the bedroom. “Pack,” he commanded.

Faith pulled her arm free and rubbed it, though he hadn’t really hurt her. “Where are we going?”

“Rothmere.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, obviously intending to keep her in sight.

Faith did as he instructed, though she was nearly blind with fury. She took her meager belongings from the single wardrobe in the corner and stuffed them into a trunk with little regard for the condition they would be in when she unpacked. Then she grabbed a small carpetbag and tossed a couple things in it for the evening, unsure if he intended to send someone for the trunk tonight or if he would wait until tomorrow. Gareth continued watching for a few moments before returning to the living room.

Faith finished packing, took a deep breath, and composed herself. She sat quietly on the bed and waited, thoughts tumbling around in her head. It certainly seemed as though she had married a madman. His emotions fluctuated wildly from one moment to the next with little or no warning. Sometimes he showed amazing tenderness, only to turn cold and aloof with no explanation.

When he reappeared in the doorway, she stood without a word and followed her husband from the room. Gareth doused the lone flickering candle he’d lit so that Faith might see to pack, and walked through the great room. He held the door open for her to precede him outside.

A footman materialized from the shadows near the door. “Get word to those still searching that the marchioness has been found,” said Gareth. The footman nodded and bowed, fading back into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared.

Gareth picked up the bag Faith had packed and offered her his arm, which she pointedly ignored. She began walking toward Rothmere, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Gareth fell into step beside her, equally silent. Together, but worlds apart, they made their way home in the dark.

When they arrived, Gareth unlocked the front door and held it open for her. She walked into the magnificent foyer and knew a sudden sadness. Only hours ago, they had walked in this very door together, joking and laughing and enjoying their day together. This time, Gareth simply strode directly across the darkened hall to the staircase, the unspoken command for her to follow him hanging in the air. Beyond anger, beyond any feeling at all, Faith did just that.

They reached the master suite and went into Gareth’s room. Faith looked around. Nothing had changed since she left. She glanced at the connecting doorway to her chamber, looked again at her husband, and found him staring at her coldly.

“It does not matter to me where you sleep, princess.”

Stung, Faith lifted her chin and looked past him, fighting back tears she hoped he wouldn’t see welling in her eyes. She was spared embarrassment by a commotion at the door.

“My lord, where should we put this trunk?” Two footmen stood in the open double doorway, Faith’s trunk from London carefully balanced between them.

“The marchioness will instruct you where to take it,” Gareth replied.

Faith drew herself up stiffly and turned. “Follow me, please,” she said softly, and left her husband’s room. She nearly collided with John, who was hurrying down the cor—ridor at a reckless pace.

“Pardon me, my lady!” he said, bowing, but obviously anxious to get to Gareth. Faith smiled weakly and stepped aside, then nodded again at the footmen who had her trunk. She led them down the corridor to the hall entrance to her bedchamber.

John watched the marchioness go, his face troubled. He turned back to Gareth and opened his mouth to speak, then dosed it in surprise. The marquess was staring at the open doorway through which his wife had just exited, his expression stark with pain and longing.

The footman dropped his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet, feeling as though he had somehow intruded where he did not belong. The scuffling sound brought Gareth out of his reverie.

“What do you need, John?” The marquess’s voice was short and clipped.

“My lord, it appears as though someone has vandalized the greenhouse.”

Gareth’s expression did not change. “We haven’t improved that building yet. How much damage could there be?”

“It’s not so much the damage, my lord, as it is the muddy footprints we found.”

Gareth raised inquisitive eyebrows.

“There are two sets, my lord,” the footman stated. “One set is small and was not made with boots.”

Gareth’s eyes widened, and then narrowed on the connecting door to his wife’s chamber. “I’ll be down to take a look myself in a few moments.”

John nodded and bowed, and left the room. Gareth stood still for a moment, not wanting his mind to take the next logical step. The timing, the footprints, the guilty look on Faith’s face when she’d come into the cottage, her refusal to admit to her whereabouts…It all added up to some pretty damning evidence.

He walked across the room and quietly locked the door to the bathing room. He thought of Faith running from him earlier that afternoon on their walk to Rothmere, her hair streaming behind her in a bright golden cloud, her skirts flying up around her knees. Laughing. Carefree. He clenched his teeth in an effort to control the painful direction of his thoughts and closed his eyes. After a moment, the pain receded, replaced by a welcome numbness. He left the room and walked down the corridor to Faith’s chamber.

Faith stood at the window, reflecting on the changes that had come about so quickly in her life. She had always managed to keep all the pieces and players of her life moving in a perfectly synchronized dance. No surprises. No unexpected steps. Until Gareth.

She’d met Gareth, and in one fell swoop the reins had been snatched from her fingers. Every time she tried to regain her equilibrium, the man she’d married pulled the rug from beneath her. She had never felt so disoriented, so confused.

She had also never felt so alive.

Now, however, everything felt wrong, and she did not know why. What had she done to make him withdraw so completely? It couldn’t only have been her distraction during the tour of the home he so obviously loved, could it? They had come so far from the misunderstanding on their wedding day. To end up with
this
made no sense.

That was the way Gareth found her, standing before her window, lost in reflection. She had left the door open, and he paused there, just looking at her for a moment. Her hair was down, glowing golden in the light from the candles, and she appeared lonely, he admitted—almost bereft, quite young and very vulnerable. Gareth fought an almost irresistible urge to go to her, to pull her into his arms and make everything right again between them.

He stepped into the room, unsure of his intentions, knowing only that he wanted to end this horrible tension. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, his eyes riveted to the floor next to her bed. There, placed neatly next to one another, were the slippers Faith had worn that afternoon. They were covered in mud.

Cold fury swept through him, replacing the momentary tenderness he had felt. He clenched his teeth and tore his eyes from the slippers that told him all he needed to know about his treacherous wife. “Faith,” he said quietly.

She whirled around at the sound of her husband’s voice, hope soaring inside her—hope that abruptly died when she saw the expression on his face.

“Do not leave this room.”

Faith stared at him a moment, her features impassive. Then, without a word, she turned back to the window. She did not hear Gareth leave, but she did hear the door close, and then a moment later the sound of the key turning firmly in the lock.

Her husband had imprisoned her.