Page 84 of Forever Her Bachelor

She widened her eyes, wringing her hands together nervously. “A little over an hour ago, Your Grace.”

“I must go.” He rushed toward the stables, exasperated with the entire situation.

She couldn’t travel the blasted English roads alone with no one but a damn cat and a coachman. Focusing on catching hiswife before nightfall, St. Clara moved his long limbs as fast as he could, the burn in his thighs a welcome distraction from the hollow feeling in his chest. No matter how indifferent he acted, he did not want her to be alone on the roads at night.

She had left him, and though he was furious with her, he knew it was exactly what he deserved. Shame splashed over him like cold water, his feet faltering, causing him to stumble slightly.

He had crushed her after she had agreed to stay with him. To be his in every way. She had agreed to be his wife past their year agreement, trusting him after the lies and the deceit of his father.

What did he do?

Dear God, what had he done?

He was nothing without her; she was his cure.

“Your Grace, I expected you to be on your way back to London by now,” the stable master, Harrison, said.

St. Clara blew out a large breath. He had no time for gossip; he had to find his wife and beg her to forgive him. “I’m afraid there has been a change of plans. I need your best horse right away.” He sounded frantic and mad to his own ears.

The need to catch his wife before something terrible befell her was suffocating him. She would be alone on the roads with only an old coachman to protect her. He was foolish in his haste to return to London to pay his debts and find Maggie. Because of him, Pippa was on the road with no protection.

The stable master returned with a saddled horse that resembled his father’s old horse, Simpson.

Harrison presented a beautiful Cleveland Bay with a flowing black mane and tail. “Here he is. We call himSimpsonII, one of old Simpson’s descendants. Make sure we get him back, Your Grace.”

“I will make sure he is returned. I remember Simpson. He was the finest horse we owned.” St. Clara patted the horse’s silky coat.

Mounting the horse, he prayed that Pippa would have an easy journey. She was only an hour ahead, so he would ride like the wind and beg for her forgiveness.

He was a fool thinking he could survive the curse of his family without his wife by his side. She was everything to him. His strength, his salvation.

His love.

Hours later, St. Clara found himself back in Birmingham. The sun was high in the sky, and he hoped that his wife had stopped for a midday meal. Rushing through the cold August air, he turned Simpson II around a corner to find Pippa exiting The Horse and Buggy Inn.

There she was, his wife, beautiful and smiling in the early sunlight. His heart clenched, fingers tingling and aching to touch her, he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around the sweetest home he had ever known. She was everything to him, and he’d given her up so easily for the sins of others. He had done everything for the acceptance of his father, but he no longer cared for the approval of a dead man. St. Clara would work to right the wrongs of his father, and he would begin with his wife.

“Pippa!” St. Clara shouted, not caring if he was making a scene. Pushing the horse into a trot, he saw hazel eyes widen at the sight of him, her face stoic, no signs of emotion.

Ignoring him, Pippa stepped into the carriage. He leapt off the horse, running over to stop the door from closing.

“Pippa, please.” he panted, out of breath.

“Please move, St. Clara.” Her voice was tight and full of anger as she sat Newton down on the seat. The gray and white cat hissed in St. Clara’s direction, channeling his mistress’s anger.

The infernal feline cuddled close to St. Clara’s wife. It should have been him nestled against her. He had hoped the cat would’ve gotten lost in Archer Castle, but Newton always found his way back to Pippa’s side. The feline was smart to never want to part from her, unlike St. Clara, who was a damn fool.

Stepping back, St. Clara allowed his wife to close the carriage door. Jeffrey, the coachman, stood on the side, waiting for instructions from St. Clara.

“Can you arrange to have the horse returned to Archer please?” St. Clara instructed, walking to the horse and removing his bag.

“Right away, Your Grace.” Jeffrey bowed, taking the reins.

Taking three deep breaths, St. Clara prepared to face his wife. She had every right to be upset with him, but she was still his wife.

Opening the carriage, he strolled in, sitting opposite of her, aware of her companion’s crisp yellow eyes on him.

“Leave. You can find other transportation to London.” Pippa turned her body away from him.