He was racing toward the end against his own will, the pages dwindling too quickly. The threads were all coming together in a gratifying tapestry. The characters were being dispatched to their just desserts—the evil, vanquished. The princess reunited with her father. The dragon—he turned the final page and stared at the blankness of the page behind it. He smiled. It was all becoming clear to him now.
“What are you smiling about back here in your dark corner, Warburton?” asked Somersby, sauntering over with a drink in his hand and picking up a few pages of the book. “You’re reading fiction? Never knew you to read instead of box, or ride.”
Dex reclaimed the pages, placing them carefully back where they belonged. “This book was written by my wife.”
Somersby raised both of his dark eyebrows. “Erm... what are you doing here reading a book written by your fetching young bride, when you could be with her in the marital bed? Aren’t you still on your honeymoon?”
“Events . . . happened.”
“So you had a quarrel. A fiery lady like that is sure to causeconflagrations from time to time. Stop reading her book and go back to her bed, man! I know I would.”
Dex decided to ignore Somersby’s lewd suggestive wink. That was just Somersby. Always a bawdy joke. But his words held the power of an earthquake.
Stop reading her book, searching for her in the pages. Go and find her. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her what he’d found at the end of the novel.
Himself. A dragon transformed.
“You know what, Somersby?” Dex leapt from his chair and slapped his friend on the back so hard he nearly dropped his drink. “For once in your life you’re absolutely right!”
He was leaving the club, leading Odysseus by the reins, when a familiar yet incongruous figure alighted from a carriage.
“Aunt Glynis?”
She looked uncharacteristically excited—there was an almost animated quality to her face, and her gray hair was ever so slightly loose at the crown, as if it were preparing to spring away from her stern head and run off.
“Nephew.” She spoke in ringing tones, waving something white in her hand. “I must have a word with you. Your wife arrived at the townhouse earlier.” She advanced a step toward him, her words cutting into the air between them. “She left a note.”
Dex felt every muscle in his body tense. “A note?”
She passed him a sheet of paper, unfolded and obviously pre-read. He scanned it, jaw clenching. It took a few moments for the contents to assemble into some sort of logical order. Ana’s father, alive?
Aunt Glynis folded her arms over the rigidly contained shelf ofher breast. “Well, nephew? What say you to the foolishness your impetuous wife is caught up in this time?”
His heart thudded in his chest, the world tilting off its axis. “She actually left the house alone? To meet this person?”
“It would appear so. I had half a mind to call for the constable and take care of it in my own way, but I decided you would want to rescue her yourself, being the war hero and all.” She fixed him with a withering glare. “Your wife (the future mother to your heirs, lest we forget that fact!) receives a letter made up of the mostabsurdfantasies, with details anyone could have gleaned fromanywhere, written by anabsolutestranger who bids her to—my boy, please attend this part, if you have retained any amount of sensibility at all—travel without you to meet them?”
“You’re right. It’s a damned trap. I’m going after her.” He placed Ana’s manuscript carefully into his saddlebag and swung into the saddle. “Thank you, Aunt,” he shouted over his shoulder as he urged Odysseus to a gallop.
Lieutenant Crewe was dead. It was only Ana’s obstinate will that had kept her father alive, and he only lived in her imagination. Whoever had written the letter somehow had intimate details of the man. But blast it all, who? And why?
They hadn’t clamored for the reward but were attempting to draw her away from the city by herself. A kidnapping, the chance to raise the stakes and ask for more money? If so, he’d be hot on their heels.
When he arrived at the public house, he paid a groom to hold Odysseus’s bridle in anticipation of his return. The crowded room parted easily for him, his height and breadth cutting a straight path to the bar. As he moved, he scanned the throng with eager eyes that yielded nothing of interest. The barkeep, all obsequiousness, spread his hands wide on the bar and asked, “How can I be of service, my lord?”
“I’m looking for a young lady. She’s small and has red curls, and she may have met with a woman who was already waiting for her here.”
“Small with red what’d you say?” The man leaned his good ear toward Dex.
Dex repeated himself at top volume. To his relief, the barkeep grinned immediately and nodded. “I know the very one! I said to myself, it’s not often we have such a vision o’ loveliness round these parts, is it. Fresher than springtime. An’ she did, she met with a woman, just as you says.”
“Are they still here?” Dex yelled. “Did you recognize the woman?”
“They left not an hour ago, m’lord. I remember because the older of the two was in a real hurry to take her leave, most anxious, she was! Left a large sum and dropping feathers the whole way, like a bird flying the coop.”
“Did you say feathers?” Dex said, suddenly still. An odd detail. Some memory began to beat a tense rhythm at the back of his mind.
“Aye, feathers it was. Hat covered in ’em. You know how ladies are with their fashions. I said to myself, this is a strange bird, though. Made a special note, I did. Me hearings not s’good, but my mind is sharp as a penknife. Sorta makes up for it.” He nodded wisely and winked at Dex.