grateful he’d been pretending to examine his fingernails.
She took a step back. Anyone would have when faced with Anthony Bridgerton in such a fury.
But when he spoke, his voice was even and controlled. “You’ve made yourself a rather messy little bed here,” he said, his cadence slow and precise. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to lie in it.”
“You would have me marry a man I don’t know?” she whispered.
“Is that even the truth?” Anthony responded. “Because you seemed to know him very well indeed in the dining room. You certainly leapt to his defense at every conceivable opportunity.”
Anthony was talking her into a corner, and it was driving her mad. “It’s not enough for marriage,” she insisted. “At least not yet.”
But Anthony wasn’t the sort to let up. “If not now, then when? One week? Two?”
“Stop!” she burst out, wanting to throw her hands over her ears. “I can’t think.”
“You don’t think,” he corrected. “If you’d taken one moment to think, to use that tiny portion of your brain reserved for common sense, you would never have run off.”
She crossed her arms, looking away. She had no argument, and it was killing her.
“What are you going to do, Eloise?” Anthony asked.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, hating how stupid she sounded.
“Well,” he said, still continuing in that awful, reasonable voice, “that puts us in a bit of a bind, doesn’t it?”
“Can’t you just say it?” she asked, her fists clenching against her rib cage. “Do you have to end everything with a question?”
He smiled humorlessly. “And here I thought you’d appreciate my soliciting your opinion.”
“You’re being condescending and you know it.”
He leaned forward, thunder in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much effort it requires to keep my temper in check?”
Eloise thought it best not to hazard a guess.
“You ran off in the middle of the night,” he said, rising to his feet, “without a word, without even a note—”
“I left a note!” she burst out.
He looked at her with patent disbelief.
“I did!” she insisted. “I left it on the side table in the front hall. Right next to the Chinese vase.”
“And this mysterious note said . . .”
“It said not to worry, that I was fine and would contact you all within a month.”
“Ah,” Anthony said mockingly. “That would have set my mind at ease.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t get it,” Eloise muttered. “It probably got mixed up with a pile of invitations.”
“For all we knew,” Anthony continued, taking a step toward her, “you’d been kidnapped.”
Eloise paled. She’d never even considered that her family might think such a thing. It had never occurred to her that her note might go astray.
“Do you know what Mother did?” Anthony asked, his voice deathly serious. “After nearly collapsing with worry?”
Eloise shook her head, dreading the answer.
“She went to the bank,” Anthony continued. “Do you know why?”
“Could you just tell me?” Eloise asked wearily. She hated the questions.
“She went there,” he said, walking toward her in a terrifying manner, “to make sure that all her funds were in the proper order so that she could withdraw them should she need to ransom you!”
Eloise shrank back at the fury in her older brother’s voice. I left a note, she wanted to say again, but she knew it would come out the wrong way. She’d been wrong, and she’d been foolish, and she didn’t want to compound her stupidity by trying to excuse it.
“Penelope was the one who finally figured out what you’d done,” Anthony said. “We asked her to search your room, since she’s probably spent more time there than any of the rest of us.”
Eloise nodded. Penelope had been her closest friend—still was, in fact, even though she’d married Colin. They’d spent countless hours up in her room, talking about anything and everything. Phillip’s letters were the only secret Eloise had ever kept from her.
“Where did she find the letter?” Eloise asked. Not that it mattered, but she couldn’t help her curiosity.
“It had fallen behind your desk.” Anthony crossed his arms. “Along with a pressed flower.”
Somehow that seemed fitting. “He’s a botanist,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A botanist,” she said, more loudly this time. “Sir Phillip. He took a first at Cambridge. He would have been an academic if his brother hadn’t died at Waterloo.”
Anthony nodded, digesting that fact, and the fact that she knew it. “If you tell me that he’s a cruel man, that he will beat you, that he will insult you and demean you, I will