The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(18)

She had to stop in the end because her eyes were too tired to see properly. The rain battered against her window in a sudden squall. Caroline put another shawl around her shoulders to protect against the fierce draughts and huddled a little closer to the fire while she finished her letter home.

She had been waiting to hear from her mother that she had received the money she’d sent via Lord Braithwaite, hoping to hear good news of Peter’s health before she sent her own letter. She could only suppose the silence meant the emergency was over, but anxiety nagged at her. She finished her letter with an urgent appeal for her mother—or Eliza—to write back at once, even if only a few words to tell her Peter was recovering.

Finally, she thought she might be tired enough to sleep. It was late. Even the servants had retired and the house would have been quiet save for the storm raging outside. On impulse, she walked to the window and drew back the curtain and the shutter. The night sky was filthy, thick, scudding clouds obscuring the moon and stars. The rain had let up, in a temporary kind of way but the wind, lashing and bending the trees, was, if anything, even fiercer.

Caroline began to close the shutter again, when something below caught her eye. A dark, male figure moving from the house through the untamed garden toward the encroaching woods. Their intruder? Had he been into the house again? So far as she knew, neither Mr. Benedict nor Williams had found the entrance to the suspected secret passage, despite a thorough “examination for woodworm”. But there was nothing furtive about the man outside. He simply ploughed his way through the wind and rain. Why? Where on earth could he be going? Certainly, it was a wild night for a tryst.

“True love,” Caroline murmured disparagingly, but still her hand lingered on the shutter, holding it open, for though she could barely make out the shape, let alone the features of the brave figure, he moved in a slow, uneven manner. With a limp.

Her breath caught, just as a flash of lightning lit the sky and the lame man below. He wore no coat or hat but walked determinedly through the storm in his shirt sleeves.

Something was wrong. It had to be. No one in their right mind would go out in this weather, even for a secret tryst, dressed like that. There had to be an emergency, and it was her instinct to help.

Thunder rumbled and cracked. Without hesitation, she snatched up a candle and ran out of the room, along the corridor and downstairs, veering along the passage that led to the side door. It stood open, the wind holding it right back against the wall. Shocked by the cold and the force of it, Caroline only just managed to spin around to protect her candle flame. Hastily, she used it to light the lantern by the coat stand. She paused only long enough to haul her cloak about her and seize up the lantern and Mr. Benedict’s old great coat that hung on the stand. Then, dragging her hood up, she ran outside and pulled the door closed behind her.

Helped by the wind, which blew her along rather faster than she would normally have run, she hurtled toward the wood, in the direction she’d last seen Mr. Benedict. Several things bothered her. Why hadn’t he taken the lantern? Why had he not even donned the greatcoat or closed the door? How could he even see where he was going?

Another flash of lightning showed the white of his shirt vanishing into the wood. Holding the lantern in front of her, she hurried after him as the thunder crashed overhead. The force of the rain was almost painful now, blasting against the side of her face when she swerved into the wood.

“Sir!” she called. “Mr. Benedict, wait!” Holding the lantern high, she paused, searching between the trees. There. Only a few yards ahead. The wind must have whipped her voice away, for he didn’t appear to have heard her. At least he was following the track. She ran after him, calling again.

Still he didn’t turn. Exhausted, she caught up with him and in desperation, grasped his drenched arm. “Sir, please, what is—” She got no further, for he whirled around, throwing off her detaining hand, and shoved her roughly away.

Shocked, she stumbled back against a tree, too winded to speak. But surely, he had heard her voice? Surely, he could see who she was by the light of the lantern which she’d somehow managed to hold on to?

He flew after her so ferociously that she threw up her arms in defense. He merely knocked them aside with one hand and the lantern finally fell to the ground, casting the light upward over his scarred, agonized face. He thrust one arm over her throat and drew back his other fist to strike.

Lightning burst across the sky at almost the same moment as the thunder crashed.

“Don’t you dare,” she said furiously, even while something inside her seemed to die at the very idea that he would hurt her.

Abruptly, his face changed. The weird light and shadow cast by the fallen lantern remained the same, but the strange, blank agony vanished, leaving him bewildered. His fist opened and fell to his side. He released her neck and instead, dragged her into his arms.

“Dear God,” he whispered. “What am I doing here? What are you…?” He swallowed convulsively. Water streamed off him. His clothing was utterly soaked, leaving little barrier between them. His breath heaved. “Jesus, not this… I dream, I sleepwalk…” His lips dragged across her ear, her cheek, interspersing his words with short, desperate kisses of remorse. “Know I would never hurt you, not knowingly…”

She threw back her head, trying to tell him she wasn’t hurt. “Sir, you did not—” The rest of her words were lost as his kiss landed on her upturned lips. Stunned, she didn’t move.