Robert paused, his horse on the edge of Auldgate Square, looking frantically up and down the Royal Mile for any sign of his stepmother’s sedan chair. Although the traffic was relatively sparse for this time of the day, his vision was hindered by the bucketing rain. A torrent of fear coursed through his veins. His stepmother had kidnapped Jessie, he was certain of it. He castigated himself for having sent on Simon’s letter to Strathburn House before he’d returned from seeing off The Phoenix. He should have anticipated that Caroline was capable of acting both rashly and callously, that she would not hesitate to take an eye for an eye. The woman had already demonstrated that she was corrupt to the very core. And yet again his lack of foresight and judicious planning—brought about by his own arrogant overconfidence—had placed his beautiful young wife, the light that warmed his own dark soul, in imminent danger. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself. Fortunately, Gordon had seen Jessie and his stepmother climb into the countess’s sedan less than ten minutes ago.
