Scoundrel With A Noble Heart (sequel of Disgraceful)

Chapter 100

Just then, Matthew's furious voice ripped through the air.
"There's a thief in my house!"

Marguerite's heart lurched. Relief, sharp and unexpected, flooded her at the interruption; anything to distract from the weight of her secret. But the relief was short-lived, morphing into a cold dread that coiled in her gut. Now an innocent person was about to suffer the consequences of a mistake they never made. The potential fallout; the accusations, the shattered trust, not to mention the unnecessary drama, sent a tremor through her.

"I will not have it," Matthew growled, the dangerous edge in his voice made her skin crawl. "I'll scour the servants' quarters and interrogate every worker. I'll have this entire place turned upside down until it's found."
Fury etched sharp lines on Matthew's face as he turned towards the door with resolute steps. Marguerite's blood ran cold. The thought of the innocent staff suffering the consequences of her carelessness made her stomach twist.

"Matthew, wait!" The plea erupted from her, laced with desperation. "These are our people, they have been here for years. I never doubt their loyalty to us. Let me look again. I'll find it, I promise."

Matthew, a hand hovering on the doorknob, paused. His head turned slightly, but he remained silent for a tense beat. Finally, a grudging reply, "Fine," he conceded. "But if it's not found by noon, I won't be dissuaded."

When the door had closed in Matthew's wake, Marguerite rushed to her desk, her frantic steps muffled by the thick carpet. Snatching a sheet of paper, she scribbled a hurried message.
"I lost my necklace last night." She scrawled, urgency bleeding into her writing,
"If you have it, please return it immediately. Discretion is paramount. M"

*****

Steeped in the privacy of his study, Matthew fretted over the mystery of the missing necklace. His furrowed brow mirrored the mahogany walls as two sensible explanations battled in his mind.

Misplaced? Lost in the folds of a velvet cushion, perhaps? Or stolen, a betrayal by one of his trusted staff.

Yet, an inexplicable disquiet settled in his chest, an intangible premonition that the necklace's absence held a darker secret.

A sharp rap on the door shattered his musings. Matthew clenched his jaw, the vein in his temple throbbing. "Enter," he barked.

George, the butler, emerged. "Pardon the intrusion, Sir." The older man shuffled in, the grave expression on his face filled Matthew with a sudden alarm.
"Miss Arabella's condition is worsening."

A jolt of icy dread shot through Matthew. He'd been aware of her illness, but now the urgency in George's voice painted a far grimmer picture.
A cold sweat prickled his skin.

"Has there been no improvement?" he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.
"Unfortunately no, Sir. The physician is at a loss..." George paused, "He fears..."

Matthew cut him off with a curt nod, his mind a whirlwind. Arabella, with her fiery spirit and infuriating pronouncements, confined to her bed. He cared only for the child, of course, his own flesh and blood, his imperiled heir.

But a sliver of a thought, one he quickly dismissed, flickered across his mind. Did he care for Arabella too? The absurdity of the thought was eclipsed by the chill that snaked down his spine. Not that it mattered now, the depth of his true feelings for her, when her life was hanging by a fragile thread, soon to be severed.

"Sir?" George pressed, his voice laced with an urgency Matthew couldn't ignore. But still, he remained tongue-tied, paralyzed by indecision. He was caught in a tempestuous sea, with obligation and compassion for Arabella on one side, and his vow to Marguerite on the other.