The Defiant Wife (The Three Mrs #2) - Jess Michaels Page 0,69

at a table in the corner. They were talking to a man whose back was to Rhys.

“Bloody hell,” Gilmore grunted, and he sounded just as upset as Rhys felt.

Owen shook his head. “Makes me wonder where my wife is. Sentry duty? Walking the boards at a theatre somewhere? Robbing a coach for entertainment and profit?”

Rhys got up, his hands shaking with pure terror. Phillipa would come here, with only Abigail as protection? She would insert herself where she didn’t belong without regard to her own well-being?

A thousand scenarios played out in his head all at once. Dangers and injuries and worse that could befall her for her foolhardy choice. And his stomach turned, his heart throbbed with each one.

“Come on.” His voice wavered. “An explanation is in order, and I cannot wait to hear what it is.”

Pippa’s plan hadn’t been going exactly as she had hoped. When they first arrived at the tavern, she and Abigail hadn’t found anyone willing to talk to them. The man who had just left their table started out acting like he might be able to help, but it was soon clear he just wanted to flirt with the two of them.

Abigail sighed. “What a bloody waste of time.”

Pippa looked off into the tavern, thinking about her answer, but before she could say anything, she caught a glimpse of Rhys through the crowd. Her mouth dropped open as she saw him weaving his way toward her. He wasn’t alone, either. Owen Gregory and the Duke of Gilmore were at his side.

She caught Abigail’s arm and shook it. “They’re here!”

“Who is here?” Abigail asked. “Who is…oh!”

“Don’t stand up,” Rhys said through clenched teeth. He was almost vibrating with anger as he stared at her. “Do not make a scene.”

“We’re not making a scene,” Abigail said, arching her brow at him. “The three of you are in more danger of doing that.”

“She’s right,” Owen said. “It would behoove us to disperse quickly. Just tell me where my wife is and we can depart quickly and quietly.”

Pippa forced herself to look away from Rhys, though she never stopped feeling his gaze on her. “Celeste didn’t come,” she said softly. “She’s back at Abigail’s house with Kenley. She didn’t want to betray Owen by doing this behind his back.”

“But you didn’t mind doing so?” Rhys asked.

“Scolding can happen in the carriage,” Owen said. “Come along.”

Pippa and Abigail got up. Owen led the way, Gilmore marched behind Abigail as he were a jailer, and Rhys took Pippa’s arm to make up the rear.

“Rhys—” she began.

“Not a bloody word,” he growled beneath his breath.

They exited into the street and immediately both their carriages arrived. Rhys motioned to Abigail’s. “Owen, you and Gilmore take Abigail home.”

He explained nothing else, but marched Pippa to what appeared to be Owen’s rig. He waved her inside, his mouth tight, said something to the driver and then threw himself into the seat across from her and yanked the door shut hard.

“Rhys—” she tried again.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

His gaze burned into her, unyielding even as he refused to talk to her. She shifted beneath it, desperate to do something to fix this, even though he had no right to such a strong reaction. She wasn’t his, after all.

But every attempt she made to speak to him on the half-hour ride was thwarted with the same admonishment he’d already given. Not yet. And he continued to just stare at her, blue eyes narrow, emotions unreadable beyond upset.

Finally she flopped back against the seat, turned her face so she wouldn’t have to confront that pointed stare, and looked out the window. At last they turned through a tall gate, onto a round drive in front of a massive home. She gasped as she realized this was his home. She had never been here, and she pressed a hand to the window as she observed the columned, towering building.

The carriage stopped and he got out, waving away the footman who came to assist her in doing the same. Rhys’s hand flexed into the vehicle and she took it. But when her feet were on the ground, he didn’t release her. He drew her up the stairs, past a gaping servant.

“My lord, may I—”

“Not now, Coleman,” Rhys barked as he hauled Pippa down a long hallway and into a study. He released her and slammed the door behind them.

She paced away, taking in the room. Cherrywood-paneled walls, towering bookcases, beautiful artwork. This was a room that had likely been