Page 43 of A Touch of Charm
Where was hisprincess?
Andre’s heart lurched. The space she’d occupied mere moments ago was now a void that screamed louder than words. Panic surged through him with a force that left him breathless. The world tilted, and his vision narrowed to a tunnel of urgency and fear.
The orangery doors swung open with a sharp click, the sound echoing through the quiet space as Stan stumbled out. His face, customarily composed, was drawn and pale, the absence of his coat revealing a hastily wrapped bandage stained with fresh crimson.
Andre’s heart lurched at the sight. A dash replaced Stan’s usually assured stride, his eyes wide with urgency. The sunlight streaming through the glass illuminated the stark contrast of blood against his white sleeve, each droplet a vivid reminder of the danger that lurked unseen.
“Where’s Thea?” Andre’s voice cut through the air, a mixture of fear and determination woven into each syllable. “She was just here.”
How could she be so close one moment and gone the next?
Stan grimaced, his expression a tapestry of pain and frustration. “Someone was inside and hit me. He ran away, and I came to find you. Where is she?”
The words hung heavy, pulling Andre into a harsh reality. The familiar warmth of the surrounding greenery, usually a sanctuary filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees, felt suddenly oppressive—the danger was anywhere. The distant chatter of birds seemed muted, the tranquil atmosphere disrupted by the moment’s urgency.
Standing beside Andre, Mary gasped softly, her hand instinctively reaching for support.
Andre’s mind raced the peaceful serenity of moments before, shattered by the intrusion of danger. The vibrant colors of the garden seemed to dull, the vivid greens and bright floral hues paling in comparison to the stark red of Stan’s injury. Fear coursed through him, sharpening his senses and urging him to action.
Andre’s resolve hardened, and the need to protect Thea overrode everything. His gaze met Stan’s, a silent promise exchanged—a vow to find her, to ensure her safety amidst the chaos that had descended upon their world.
“Stan,” Andre barked, urgency sharpening his voice.
Stan’s eyes widened, darting between Andre and the space where Thea had been. Understanding dawned, stark and cold. “I’m going to find her.”
He winced and Andre saw Stan’s tension originated from his shoulder.
“I’m going.”
“No, she is my sister.”
She is my Thea.Andre gave Stan a hard look. “We’re wasting time. And you’re hurt, it’ll slow you down.”
Stan nodded, scooping Mary up with his healthy arm, her jar clinking as she clutched it tightly. “Take Mary. Get inside. Lock the doors. Don’t open them for anyone.” Andre watched them retreat toward Cloverdale House’s orangery, the child’s questions trailing behind them like specters.
“Where’s Miss Thea?”
But Andre had already turned his back to Cloverdale House, his gaze sweeping the park, taking in every shadow and whispering leaf.
“I’ll find her,” Andre called, but he was already running along the hedge, past the giant oak tree, and onto the open grassy part of the park.
He moved, each step purposeful, the ground firm beneath his feet yet somehow distant. The park stretched wide and empty, a labyrinth of paths and hedgerows. He ran, his breathing harsh and ragged, but he dared not call her name. He couldn’t risk drawing attention, couldn’t risk his capture because there wouldn’t be anyone else to save Thea.
In the distance were a few men on horseback. Near the fountains, he could make out the silhouettes of women and parasols. But they couldn’t have gotten that far with Thea.
The air was alive with the scent of damp earth, the faint, sweet perfume of wildflowers, and the bitterness that Thea was missing. The sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows that danced across the grass. He pressed on, his senses honed, listening for any sign, any hint of movement that could lead him to her.
Ahead, a cluster of trees loomed like a dark giant with mysterious shadows, their branches whispering secrets he wasn’t privy to. Like so much in his life, he was excluded from something that mattered. Andre slowed, his heart pounding a relentless rhythm in his chest. He paused, straining to hear beyond the quiet rustle of leaves.
A muffled sound, barely audible, reached his ears. He pivoted, the motion fluid and intuitive. His gaze locked onto a figure moving swiftly through the trees, and his heart clenched with recognition. He followed. Shielding his face from the branches, he stepped out of the park’s sunlight into a corridor of darkness between the dense trees, his steps cushioned by the fallen leaves on the ground.
He hadn’t seen much of the highwaymen when they traveled back to London, but he smelled liquor and sweat just as he had that night. It was the same man, at least one of them.
In the dim glow of the tree shadows, Andre strained his eyes to discern the figures standing too close to Thea. The air was thick with anticipation, and each breath was laced with the scent of damp stone and tree needles. His mind raced with calculations—how many was he up against? The shadows seemed to multiply, an indistinct mass that shifted between the trees in the distance.
He approached cautiously. Cold sweat slid down the back of his neck, the clammy dampness clinging to his skin like a second, suffocating layer.
It was then that he heard it—a slight gasp that sliced through the oppressive silence. The sound sent a tremor down his spine, unmistakable in its familiarity. It was Thea. He would know her voice anywhere, her breath’s gentle rise and fall like a melody etched into his very soul.
