Page 75 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Emma whirled around to see her maid pointing frantically toward the dense copse of trees bordering the village green, darkness already swallowing the path where her son had disappeared.

And her heart froze with sudden terror.

CHAPTER22

“Tristan!” Emma cried out, panic clawing at her throat as she gathered her skirts and rushed toward the woods.

Victor was already moving, his long strides carrying him swiftly toward the tree line.

“Stay with your maid,” he commanded over his shoulder. “The ground is uneven, and the light is dimming.”

“He is my son!” Emma retorted, ignoring his instruction as she plunged into the shadowy underbrush behind him. “Tristan! Where are you? Answer me this instant!”

The woods seemed to swallow her voice, returning nothing but the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of villagers beginning to gather for the promised fireworks.

Her heart thundered against her ribs, her imagination conjuring horrific scenarios with each passing second: Tristan lost and alone, Tristan injured, Tristan encountering some unsavory character lurking in the shadows.

“He saw a fox,” Martha panted, struggling to keep pace behind them, “and just bolted after it.”

“That blasted boy!” Emma hissed.

Victor paused, scanning the ground with practiced efficiency. “There.” He pointed to a nearly invisible disturbance in the fallen leaves. “Small footprints heading northeast.”

They followed the trail deeper into the woods, the last remnants of daylight barely penetrating the dense canopy above. Emma tripped over an exposed root, but Victor’s hand was instantly on her elbow, steadying her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his grip lingering a moment longer than necessary.

A cry pierced the gathering darkness. It was unmistakably Tristan’s voice, edged with pain and fear. Emma’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

She didn’t have time to swoon over the Duke’s touch!

“This way,” Victor urged, guiding her toward the sound, with one hand pressed protectively against the small of her back.

They broke into a small clearing dominated by a massive oak tree. Emma’s gaze shot upward to where Tristan clung precariously to a branch some fifteen feet above the ground, one arm streaked with blood.

“Mama!” he called, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry! The fox went up, and I thought I could—” He let out a startled yelp as the branch beneath him cracked ominously.

“Don’t move!” Victor commanded, already shrugging out of his coat and moving toward the trunk of the tree. “Hold perfectly still.”

Emma pressed her hands to her mouth, paralyzed with terror as he began to climb, moving with surprising agility for a man of his size. The branch gave another sickening crack.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” Tristan whimpered, his injured arm clearly weakening.

“Look at me,” Victor instructed calmly, now just a few feet below the boy. “When I tell you, let go. I’ll catch you.”

“No!” Tristan cried, clinging tighter to the branch. “I’ll fall!”

“Trust me,” Victor insisted, positioning himself directly beneath the boy. “I won’t let you fall.”

Emma watched in horrified fascination as her son’s gaze locked onto Victor’s. Something in the Duke’s steady expression seemed to calm him.

“Now, Tristan!” Victor ordered, just as the branch made a final, splintering protest.

Tristan released his grip, plummeting through the air with a strangled cry that pierced Emma’s heart. Victor’s arms shot out, catching the boy’s slight form against his chest with enough force to knock them both back against the trunk of the tree.

For one terrible moment, silence reigned in the clearing. Then, Tristan’s sobs broke the stillness, and Emma found herself released from her frozen state. She rushed forward as Victor carefully descended the last few feet, her son clutched securely against him.

“Let me see him,” she demanded as soon as they reached the ground, her hands already examining Tristan for injuries.

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