Heart of the Storm by Mary Burton Page B

frame. When she’d first been introduced into society many had admired her looks, calling her attractive, beautiful even. So to be called “skin and bones” piqued at her pride. “I’m not that thin.”
    He took her by the elbow and guided her to the table. He gently pushed her into the chair. “I’ve seen five-year-old children who weigh more.”
    More irritated, she picked up her spoon. “So you’re saying I look like a child?”
    His glaze flickered to her breasts. “I didn’t say that.”
    His voice had turned unexpectedly smoky. The last thing she needed was for any man to take notice of her now. She needed to blend in, to disappear.
    But the fact that Ben liked the shape of her body pleased her.
    Her appetite growing, she finished the second bowl under the keeper’s watchful eye. Her stomach full now, she felt an odd sense of contentment. In fact, she felt more energized than she had in a year. “Thank you. I feel wonderful.”
    He grunted, satisfied. “The scavengers are out on the Anna St. Claire today. I can have them keepan eye out for any trunks you might have had aboard.”
    Of course, it would add fuel to his suspicions if she confessed she had no luggage. “My trunks were belowdecks,” she lied. “I doubt they will find them.”
    “Likely not,” he said.
    Again he stared at her as if he were trying to read her mind. But he shrugged off whatever thoughts plagued him. “After you’ve eaten, I can take you to the village. Ida cleaned your dress.”
    “Wonderful.” Her first lucky break. Absently, Rachel rubbed her ring finger, where her wedding band had been. In her mind, she’d never felt married. There’d been no love, yet she had tried until his fists had shattered any commitment she’d made to him.
    “With luck, you can be out of here on tomorrow’s boat to the mainland.”
    “Excellent.”
    For the first time in days she felt as if the fates were finally smiling on her.
     
    Peter Emmons stepped from the carriage onto the sidewalk in front of his Washington town house. He inhaled, savoring the sweet smells of the city. Rachel wasn’t outside waiting for him. He didn’t like her outside of the house. She was learning.
    He strode up the main steps and into the foyer. He inspected everything, pleased that nothing had changed since he’d left. He’d trained Rachel well. She understood that this was his house and nothing changed without his approval.
    Ah, his sweet Rachel. He’d missed her. Three days was a long time. Time enough for her to pick up bad habits. She always was too willful for his tastes.
    Strong discipline kept her line. And under his guidance, she was slowly becoming the perfect wife. So much work, but it had been worth it.
    Peter looked forward to assessing Rachel—how much retraining would need to be done.
    Impatient to see his wife, he climbed the stairs two at a time and pushed through the front door. To his shock, she wasn’t there waiting for him. “Rachel!”
    The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked slowly. “Rachel!” The woman had forgotten to jump when she heard his voice.
    Footsteps sounded on the upstairs landing. He glanced up, expecting to see his sweet Rachel. He’d have to teach her about tardiness.
    To his great disappointment, the maid appeared. He could never remember the twit’s name.
    “Where is Mrs. Emmons?” he shouted.
    The maid cringed and took a step back.
    Simpering fool. “Where is she?”
    Her face paled a fraction until it was nearly the color of her very starched apron. “She’s gone, sir.”
    “What do you mean, gone? ”
    She swallowed, lifting her gaze. “Three days ago, she left for the market. She said she was going to pick a gift out for your anniversary. We expected her to be gone no more than an hour. But she never came back.”
    Rage boiled his veins. “What!”
    Tears flooded down the woman’s face. She curtsied. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. The police, the hospitals, the train stations. She’s not