Chapter 173
Elizabeth's room, Jack's room, the conservatory, the stables, the wine cellar, even the kitchen—every spot where she could have hidden something, he had gone through. Nothing. Those documents weren't anywhere in the castle.
Sawyer leaned against the desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface. Once. Twice. Again. They weren't in her room, they weren't in the castle, so where the hell were they?
Then he remembered something. Last night, when he'd come home, Elizabeth had been in the study. She'd said she was going over those estate files. But when he walked in, she looked rattled. She thought he wouldn't notice, but he had. She hadn't been sitting in her usual spot for reading files. Her hair was a little mussed, her lips a little too red, like she'd just been kissed by someone.
Sawyer's pupils tightened hard. He pushed up from the desk, crossed to the window, and shoved it open.
On the sill, there was a faint scratch, like something had scraped across it. He bent down, took a closer look. It was a shoe mark. A man's shoe mark. Someone had been here. Someone had climbed in through this window. Someone had slipped into the castle while he was gone, into his study, and had seen Elizabeth.
Sawyer straightened, staring out into the pitch-black night beyond the glass, and the corner of his mouth slowly curved into a smile. In that smile, there was jealousy, and a cold that cut straight to the bone.
"Jacob." He said the name softly, the sound barely more than a sigh, yet there was something in it that could make a person's blood run cold.
He turned and walked out of the study, stopping in front of Elizabeth's bedroom door. He lifted his hand to knock, then let it fall. He stood there, looking at the tightly closed door, saying nothing for a long time. Then he turned away and walked slowly back to his own room.
The night was still very long.
But he already knew this game had only just begun.
The Turner family's fury came faster than anyone had expected.
By the time Nathan was rushed to the hospital, his limbs had already been reattached, but the doctors said that even in the best-case scenario, he would never be as agile as he used to be. His nose would need reconstructive surgery, and his face would be scarred.
Nathan's father, Patrick Turner stood in the hospital corridor the entire night, his face dark as storm clouds, not saying a single word. Early the next morning, he went to the castle himself. Sawyer received him in the study. The two men sat facing each other, the air between them as frigid as a walk-in freezer.
"Jacob." Patrick finally spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping over rough stone. "The one who put Nathan in the hospital was Jacob."
Sawyer said nothing. He knew. From the bodyguard's description, it could only have been Jacob.
To set foot on Italian soil, on the Turner family's turf, and do that kind of damage to the Turner heir—whoever did it was either insane or certain no one could touch him.Jacob was both.
Patrick watched Sawyer, his gaze heavy and dark.
"Sawyer, your sister's business was something I wasn't inclined to care about at first. Just a woman, after all. Whether she's good enough for my family or not—that's something to be assessed. But now," he paused, his voice turning colder than ice that had been tempered in steel, "this Jacob waltzes into Italy, attacks my son, and tries to steal the woman my family has laid eyes on. Who the hell does he think he is?"
Sawyer lounged back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. Once. Twice.
"What exactly does Mr. Turner have in mind?"
"Marriage." Patrick pronounced each word distinctly. "Your sister's marriage to Nathan is settled. I'll pick the date, and the sooner, the better."
Sawyer hesitated for a beat. "She doesn't want to."
Patrick looked at him, then suddenly smiled. There was no warmth in that smile at all. "Sawyer, whether your sister wants to or not—that's your problem. Nathan's been beaten half-crippled and is lying in a hospital bed, and you're telling me she doesn't want to?"
He stood up, looking down at Sawyer from above. "I'm giving you three days. In three days, I don't care whether she agrees or not, the wedding date has to be set. Otherwise—" He did not finish the sentence. He simply turned and strode out of the study.
The door slammed shut behind him. Sawyer remained where he was, his fingers still tapping the armrest, once, twice. He stared at the closed door, the corner of his mouth slowly lifting into a faint smile. In that smile, there was no anger, no resignation, only something impossible to read. He got to his feet and went to Elizabeth's room, knocking on the door.
"Come in." Elizabeth's voice floated out from inside, so calm that no emotion could be heard in it.
Sawyer pushed the door open.
Elizabeth was sitting by the window, a book in her hand. Jack was sprawled across her lap, already fast asleep. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, spilling over her and wrapping her in a soft, hazy glow. She looked so quiet, so gentle, like a woman whose world truly contained nothing but her child and her books.
Sawyer sat down across from her and stayed silent for a long time. "The Turner family was here."
Elizabeth turned a page. "I know."
"They want you to marry Nathan."
Her fingers paused for a brief second before she resumed turning pages. "I told you. I'm not marrying him."
Sawyer watched her, his voice very soft. "Elizabeth, this isn't about whether you want to or not. Nathan's been beaten half-crippled, and the Turner family has lost face. They need to claw that back somehow. You marrying Nathan is how they take their pride back."
Elizabeth lifted her head and looked at Sawyer. There was no anger in her eyes, no fear, only a calm, icy cold that made a person's heart sink. "So what? You agreed to it?"
Sawyer was silent for so long that Elizabeth thought he wasn't going to answer.
Then he spoke, his voice so low it was almost like he was talking to himself, "Elizabeth, who did you see last night?"
Her heart skipped a beat. Her face did not change, her gaze stayed level. "What do you mean?"
Sawyer looked straight at her, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "The footprint on the windowsill belongs to a man. The cologne in your room isn't the scent you wear. Last night," he paused, his voice dropping even lower, "last night you saw Jacob, didn't you?"
Elizabeth's fingers tightened around the book. She looked at Sawyer, at that unreadable hint of a smile in his eyes, and suddenly it all clicked.
He knew everything. He knew the safe had been opened, knew someone had broken into the castle, knew she'd seen Jacob. He had known all along.
He'd just kept quiet. Just watched. Just waited.
"Yes." She didn't deny it. "I saw him."
Sawyer's smile deepened. "He took those documents?"
"Yes."
"You let him take them?"
"Yes."
Sawyer leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, exhaling a long breath. "Elizabeth, do you know why I've treated you so well?"
Elizabeth said nothing.
"Because you're my sister." His voice was very light, barely more than a sigh. "And also because I needed you to open that safe. Father left every cent of his estate to you. He didn't leave me a single thing. Do you know what that means? In his eyes, I wasn't his son. I was just a...." He broke off and didn't finish.
Elizabeth looked at him, a surge of indescribable emotion welling up inside her.
She thought of the handwriting on that letter: [The Scott family's possessions can only go to a Scott.]
Sawyer's last name was Scott, and yet he couldn't have any of it. Her last name was Windsor, and she'd been given everything. The irony stung.
"So," her voice came out a little rough, "you were good to me for those documents."