Chapter 21
"What do you mean it's gone?"
"I just looked through both pockets, Gareth — it isn't here."
He swore softly and checked the pockets himself, even turning them inside out. She was correct; the envelope of money was lost. Grim-faced, he took her arm and turned back in the direction from which they had come. They backtracked through the rainy streets, desperately searching the cobbles, the pavements, the puddles. They looked down the alleyways; they even went all the way back to the brothel.
Nothing.
"That's it, then. It's gone. We're in a fine mess now," Gareth muttered, ranning a hand through his wet hair. "Damn it, Juliet, why didn't you mind the thing more carefully?"
"I thought the pocket was buttoned!"
"It doesn't have a button!"
"Well, how did I know that? Besides, there's no use getting angry with me, you're the one who put it there!"
"And you're the one so worried about money — you'd think that such a person would safeguard it a little better when it's entrusted to them!"
They stood there in the pouring rain, getting more and more wet, panicky, and angry. Finally, Juliet drew a heavy breath and said through her teeth, "That's it then, Gareth. We have to go to de Montforte House, whether you like it or not."
"No."
"For God's sake, would you please be reasonable? We have no money, no place to go, and we're standing here getting soaked; we don't have a choice!"
"No. You have a choice. I will not stay there."
"Fine, then — I've made my choice!"
"What?"
"I want you to take Charlotte and me there at once!"
He stared at her, his nostrils flaring with ire, his whole manner one of stiff affront. And then he took her arm and brought them back to the mews, where he saddled Crusader and led them all back out into the rain. It beat down, cold, driving, merciless. Charlotte, growing damp despite her protective covering, began to cry.
Tension mounted. Neither spoke. Tempers simmered, barely banked beneath set, angry faces.
"Are we almost there?"
"Another five minutes," Gareth replied tersely. God help him, he'd had enough — of responsibility, of problems, of having to think too much. In short, of everything that had happened since he'd spoken the words "I will." Is this what marriage was all about?
He took them straight to Lucien's town house, standing in all its imposing splendor behind a tall, wrought-iron fence. He shoved the gates open and marched Juliet up the steps, barely coming to a stop before pounding his fist on the door.
It was opened by Harris, the duke's impeccably dressed butler.
"My lord!"
"Harris, this is my wife and daughter. They will be staying here until I can return for them. Good night."
"Gareth!" Juliet cried angrily. "You can't just leave us here!"
"You wanted to come here, and so I've brought you."
"You can't just go off like this!"
"Juliet, I am not going to stand here arguing with you!"
"But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Where will you go, then?"
"Does it bloody matter?"
"Yes!"
"I don't know," he muttered. Retrieving his damp surtout from her, he turned away, storming back through the rain toward where Crusader waited just beyond the iron fence.
He never looked back.