Page 50 of Unmasked By a Captivating Lady
The man’s eyes widened. He obviously knew that the horse was worth a lot, because the next minute he had seized the reins, pushing off the man atop, and clambering onto the horse’s back. Within seconds he had skirted the felled tree, and was thundering down the road out of sight.
“My Lord,” cried the carriage driver, rushing to his side. “Are you injured?”
Miles nodded vaguely. The stinging in his arm had intensified, and now pain was shooting through it, feeling like stabs of lightning. He stumbled, clutching the wound. The carriage driver put his arm around him, supporting him.
“We have to get help for you now,” cried the driver, his eyes wide with fright. “There is too much blood, my Lord…”
“Get me to Thorn House,” mumbled Miles. He felt light headed and sick.
The driver frowned. “I cannot get the carriage around the tree, my Lord!” The man gazed around in panic. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “There is a grand house, just over yonder. It would only be a quarter of a mile and is our best bet for immediate help.”
Miles nodded impatiently. “Well, let us do it, then…”
Quickly, the man grabbed a cloth, tying it tightly around the arm wound. The next minute, they had abandoned the carriage and were heading into a green field, which was covered in wild yellow daffodils.
Miles saw the house, just over the horizon. It wasn’t that far away, but in his weakened state, it seemed to be on the other side of the world. How on earth was he going to walk all the way there without collapsing?
His thoughts were starting to shatter. He knew that it was the sudden blood loss. Random images reared vividly into his mind, swirling around in a cacophony of light and movement.
The carriage. The felled tree. The man, dressed in black. The gun. The sudden, stinging pain in his arm…
His eyes burnt with tears. The Arabian stallion. The man had stolen the horse.
He clutched his arm. Suddenly, he didn’t care that he had been wounded, or how much blood he had lost, or even if he might die from it.
All he could focus on was the fact that the horse was gone. His carefully chosen and prized gift to Ara had been taken.
His heart lurched. How could he show her how much she meant to him now?
Chapter 25
Ara drew her fingers slowly over the harp, tentatively strumming the strings. A discordant sound emerged. Sighing deeply, she dropped her hands, staring at Ruth, who was sitting at the piano, practising her scales.
“It is no use,” she cried in frustration. “I cannot get it to work! I am a hopeless musician!”
Ruth stopped playing, gazing at her cousin. “You would find that if you practised more, Ara, that you would become better at it. You cannot expect that you will play well when you barely take the time to do it.”
Ara sighed, staring out of the window at the fields beyond. It was a simply beautiful day. The sky was a pure, turquoise blue, and she spied the sun hovering high, golden as corn swaying in a field. She longed to be out in it, riding Pem. She almost felt the soft, warm breeze against her face, and the intoxicating feeling of freedom it always brought.
Abruptly she turned away from it, blinking back tears. There was simply no point even looking at it. It only made her more miserable, seeing how lovely it was and knowing that she could not partake in it. She had no choice but to sit in this stuffy library, practising the harp, which she had never enjoyed. But at least it passed the time. The hours seemed to drag, being so housebound, and finding activities to fill it was becoming increasingly difficult.
It had only been three days since they had returned to Dorset. Three days, in which she had painted, read, embroidered, knitted, and practised the harp. All of it badly, and with only half a mind.
“You are your own worst enemy, cousin,” said Ruth now, sighing. “You must stem the restlessness and settle. Focus your mind entirely on the activity…”
Ara smiled. “Yes, of course you are right, dear Ruth.” She took a deep breath. “I shall try harder.”
Ruth smiled back, resuming her scales. Within seconds, she was absorbed in her task.
Ara kept staring at her cousin. At least Ruth was speaking to her somewhat normally now. It still wasn’t completely back to what it had been, but her cousin seemed to have forgiven her for what had happened in London. But they hadn’t talked about it at all, and Ara knew Ruth was still very down over it.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang from downstairs, and voices raised in excitement. Ruth stopped playing, her hands suspended above the keys, gazing at Ara.
Ara jumped up, her heart pounding. She rushed to the door. Something was going on, and she had to find out what it was. At the very least it would break the awful monotony of the day, even for a little while.
***
Ara had just reached the bottom of the staircase when she saw what was going on. Harding, the butler, was dragging a man into the house through the front door.
