The Duke's Wife {Wallflower #1}

Chapter 33

Sorry for updating so late. A lot has been going on and I lost track of time! But I did it, hope you enjoy the chapter! Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow.
Anna

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“I've always been a fighter. If you tell me I can't, I'll die trying to prove you wrong.”

- R. A. Salvatore

*Rhea*

Rhea couldn’t take any more shock after this. She had officially reached her maximum potential of dealing with crazy people, including Ashwin, Utteridge, and now this new person. Rhea couldn’t believe this many people hated her husband. Sure, he could be surly and rude and gruff sometimes but that’s nothing to kidnap members of the peer over . . . was it?

Rhea was completely versed in villainous matters or what exactly justified a villainous act.

Rhea stared as the woman revealed herself in the low lamplight. Rhea was, as she had been the last time, stunned by her beauty. Lady Carolotta hadn’t changed at all since the last time Rhea saw her. The woman was still vain and pretentious, seeing as she was with Utteridge and Ashwin. How in the Lord’s name did this group even form anyway?

Rhea was sure the Devil had some hand in the trio meeting one another. Completely sure.

“Well, if it isn’t wee Rhea, straight from the cradle,” she smirked, glancing at Utteridge, “into the lion’s den.”

Rhea stared at her, astounded at how vicious the woman ended up being. “Lady Carolotta, it is intriguing to see you . . . so far from the country.”

Lady Carolotta smiled maliciously, making her way over to where Lord Utteridge stood by the makeshift table, “Oh, darling, I’ve never been much for the country.”

“I see you two have met?” Utteridge smiled, his hand circling around the spiteful woman. Lady Carolotta nodded. “That is good then, you two will surely like each other’s company.”

“You know the company I most prefer, though, darling,” Lady Carolotta shifted her head to look up at him, but Utteridge was too focused on Rhea to meet her gaze. Lady Carolotta scowled at the subject of his attention.

“Did you deliver the message?” Utteridge inquired.

“I did. I had my favorite messenger promise to hand-deliver the letter to His Grace personally.”

“Good, good,” Utteridge nodded, “then the clock is ticking now, isn’t it? Won’t be long, my dear,” Utteridge glanced back at Rhea. “Your husband shall be here shortly.”

Hadrian, please, Rhea pleaded, hoping Hadrian wouldn’t arrive alone, be careful.

*Hadrian*

“Your Grace! Your Grace! A message . . . has arrived,” Clarke panted, he had practically ran about the manor looking for his master, and finding him upstairs in his room, clutching a wrap of Rhea’s.

After hearing Clarke’s yell, he had stood up and gazed at the doorway to his and Rhea’s bedroom. Clarke strode swiftly to his bedside, handing his lordship the message that arrived.

Hadrian ripped open the seal and glanced at the contents, there was small strap of blonde hair in the middle of the letter, bound by a tie. Hadrian didn’t have to figure out if it was Rhea’s. He knew, in his gut, that it was hers.

“We’ll be waiting by the docks, near the old, abandoned warehouses. Come alone or she dies.”

Hadrian’s hand shook with rage. He knew this had to be Beckham’s doing. He would destroy the man, until there was nothing left of him.