So that he wondered if he’d merely dreamed that he’d made love. Or mayhap these past days had been nothing more than imaginings conjured of his loneliness. Myrtle, a woman so bold and vivacious and lively and joyous.

For she’d certainly been the stuff of dreams.

His gaze landed on the spot of crimson upon the white mattress, indicating the loss of her maidenhead.

He frowned, his joy briefly tempered.

Of course, with her endearing antics, she’d even foil the moment he intended to proclaim his love and ask her to be his wife.

Horace’s whine cut into his musings.

Val swung his legs over the side of the bed. At some point the fire had died and a chill had settled over the room. “You should have not let her go belowstairs alone,” he chided as he padded over to his things.

Horace yelped.

“No, no. I deserve that,” Val allowed, bypassing the tub that still remained from last night. Water that he’d used to clean her, and then himself. “I certainly should have awakened and accompanied her myself.” With a smile, he reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. “But I intend to see that we are never parted again.”

Horace jumped up, and while Val attempted to step into his trousers, the dog did a frantic circle about his legs.

Val finished buttoning the placard on the front of his breeches and reached for his jacket, and then stopped.

His gaze locked on the valise Horace had held in his mouth moments ago.

The lone valise present.

Val’s heart beat a dull thud against his chest as he did a slow turn about the room.

She wasn’t going.

He frowned.

She wasn’t going . . . because she’d already left.

What in blazes?

His heart hammered, thundering away in his chest and knocking so loud in his ears the sound of that beating proved nearly deafening, maddening.

Gone.

Her garments that had littered the floor at some point had been cleaned up.

Her valise was gone.

The small serviceable boots she donned.

She was gone.

Nay, that could not be.

And yet, he frantically searched every corner of the small room, looking desperately for some hint of her and finding none. And even as he knew it was futile, Val stormed over, nearly tripping on Horace as he went, and stripped the blankets off that bed he’d shared with her.

This time, the terror he’d expected to feel earlier did consume him. Like rushing water, it swept over Val, a great big wave that threatened to drown him in his own fear, not at the prospect of wedding her, but at the thought of losing her.

He concentrated on breathing and on trying to think.

It couldn’t be.

She couldn’t be gone.