Page 70 of A Widow for the Earl
She thought, for a moment, that the wind through the branches grew a little louder.
“Does that mean yes or no?”
The leaves rustled, but she was none the wiser. Perhaps, somewhere, there was a secret book on how to understand the language of trees. Alas, it was not in her collection.
“Is this part of my curse?” she said, squinting at the moonlight. “Has he gone away because that is the only way he can be saved from the same fate as the others?”
She could have forgiven him if that was true, but he had not offered any explanation beyond simplywantingto leave. If he had just said that he was afraid of dying if he were to marryher, she would have understood. But he had abandoned her with nothing but confusion, no questions answered.
Furiously, she brushed a fresh tear from her cheek. “Is there a way I can break my curse? Is there a way I can?—”
A horse whinnied again, her attention snapping toward the graveyard gate and the driveway beyond it. The carriage was nowhere in sight, the sound too close.
Where is that coming from?
Just then, she heard a dull thud behind her, as if something had fallen out of the tree… or something had leaped the wall, into the graveyard.
She twisted around in time to see a shadow, running so fast toward her that she had no time to think. And so, she screamed, as loud and as shrill as she could. The driver would hear her; he would come to her aid.
Get up!her mind bellowed as her scream shivered through the night air.Get up! Run!
With all of her might, she pushed off from the bench and ran for her life, certain that the dead would forgive her just this once for sprinting across their graves. Her arms pumped hard as her shaky legs carried her around the headstones and onto the path, cutting straight toward the gate.
“Help!” she cried out, her lungs burning. “Help!”
Her hand touched the gate, fumbling for the latch in the darkness. Panic pounded in her skull, her veins, her chest, as the drumbeat of thudding footfalls drew closer… closer…
The latch lifted, and she wrenched the gate open, tearing out onto the driveway.
She made it no more than ten strides before a powerful arm seized her around the waist, a rough hand snaking across her mouth to silence her. She had been snared, but that did not mean she had been caught.
Fueled with pure terror, she bit the soft pad of the hand that threatened to smother her. She bit as if she were a feral beast with nothing left to lose. She bit as if her life depended on it.
A hiss of pain erupted from her captor, a deep voice calling her a word that no one had ever saidtoher before.
The blow that struck the back of her head was angry in its force, and reactive in its suddenness. She blinked in a daze, uncertain of whether the dark spots dancing in her eyes were real or not. Behind her, holding her fiercely, her attacker muttered words she could not decipher. Her hearing had become strange, as if she were underwater.
“Who are you?” she whispered, fighting against the black spots that seemed to be swelling in her vision, trying to conceal the welcoming lights of Wycliffe Manor from her.
Is it someone seeking revenge?She thought of her first two husbands. Their families had made it clear that they despised her and blamed her, but they had had months to seek their justice. Why would they do it now?
She was aware of being dragged backward, and of shapes appearing in the distance, silhouetted by the glow of Wycliffe. She was aware of a gruff voice muttering, the nicker of a horse, and being thrown bodily onto the back of such a beast.
After that, there was nothing, her consciousness blotted out entirely by the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Four days? Is that all?
Vincent stood on the terrace, a glass of brandy in hand, watching the sun set over the sprawling gardens of Grayling House. The last of the summer roses would soon wilt and fade, the blooms retreating in preparation for winter, the verdant landscape becoming stark and barren. Heshouldhave been savoring the lingering beauty, but instead his heart felt empty, his eyes unable to enjoy the sight.
The staff had been pleased to see him, and his mother had been overjoyed, but it was not the home he had left. It felt foreign to him, everything familiar becoming strange.
It is an adjustment, that is all. I will settle again soon enough.
Indeed, he couldjustconvince himself that it was merely the absence of Prudence that made the house so odd. She neverallowed the manor to be silent, and she was far away from its hallways and rooms, safely situated with their aunt.
“It is a beautiful evening,” a soft voice said, casting him out of his grim reverie.
