Page 68 of Unmasked By a Captivating Lady
Chapter 32
Miles was instantly aware the minute that Ara appeared in her bedroom window, peering out. His heart started to beat frantically, and he felt a strange tingling all over.
From atop the horse, he could see everything clearly. He still could not believe the transformation. She looked a new woman after changing from her bedraggled and torn gown into a fresh one. It was plain; a light linen in a shade of pale green. Her hair had been washed and brushed off her face, too, into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She was still pale, but she was smiling tentatively.
He let out a silent sigh of relief. She was safe. She was well. In that moment, that was all that mattered.
He thought about what had just passed between them in the drawing room. At long last, she had admitted that she loved him too. The utter wonder and joy of it was still so fresh in his mind, he could barely concentrate on the task ahead.
Her smile widened as she saw him. Her dark eyes seemed to shine, like gemstones. But she didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t wave. She just stayed where she was, in the window. Behind her, he glimpsed Ruth, standing behind her like a sentinel.
His heartbeat quickened. He knew that she was standing at the window to see him off, against their advice, just like when she had gone to the drawing room to see him. They probably didn’t even want her to leave her bed. The fact that she had done it showed him everything that he needed to know. His heart expanded, exponentially.
He glanced over at the other horsemen, all waiting to ride away from Rudwick House. Edward Stalk was well secured. They were just waiting for the word from him.
He took a deep breath. With one final glance at Ara, he headed the horse towards the gates of the estate and into the fields beyond, with the rest of the riding party closely on his heels.
He didn’t look back. His heart suddenly seized. He hoped, and he prayed, that she would still be waiting for him when he finally returned.
***
Miles swayed slightly in the saddle. He gripped the reins firmly, trying to concentrate.
They had ridden hard, into the late afternoon, and had made good time. He estimated that they were probably an hour, at the most, from the outskirts of London. He was familiar with a stretch of highway, near the city, where there was a large outpost of the Watch. That was where he was planning to deliver Edward Stalk.
He gritted his teeth, willing himself to go on. But the wound in his arm was throbbing with such pain that everything was starting to blur slightly. And he felt so hot, as if it was a blazing summer’s day. The sweat was pouring off him. He could feel it running down his neck and back, soaking his clothes.
Bryson, one of Mr. Nott’s men, drew alongside him.
“You look like you are about to fall from the saddle, my lord,” said the man, staring at him earnestly. “We should stop for a rest. We all need a drink, and the horses need a rest and a drink too.”
Miles gritted his teeth harder. He didn’t want to stop, now, when they were so close. But there was truth in the large man’s words that he could not deny. It wasn’t only him that he needed to think about. The horses had been ridden hard and were starting to foam at the mouth. The men were all probably uncomfortable from being in the saddle so long.
“Ten minutes,” he said, gazing at the man. “Only ten minutes.”
Bryson nodded. “It does not have to be long, my lord. There is a stream, further up ahead, where we can rest and drink. I will lead the way.” He spurred his horse ahead.
Miles sighed wearily. Then he spurred his own horse on, following the man.
***
He slid off his horse, walking towards the stream. When he got there, he squatted down, cupping his hands and drinking deeply. The water was cold, and fresh, and instantly invigorating. He cupped more, splashing it over his face.
He stood up, staring at the others, who had all dismounted. The man who held Edward Stalk pushed him along, towards the stream. The thief wasn’t happy. He kept glaring back at the man, muttering under his breath.
Miles sat down on a rock, staring out over the landscape. It was verdantly green, but rocky, on this stretch of land. The stream snaked its way through it, expanding at various points, contracting at others. Where they rested, he thought that the water was probably waist deep, high enough to wade into.
Sweat was still pouring down his back. It was also trickling down his face, stinging his eyes. Furiously, he wiped it away. A sudden, intense wave of nausea gripped him, and it was all he could do to not lean over and dry retch into the grass beneath him.
“My Lord.”
With difficulty, he looked up. Bryson was standing over him, watching him closely.
The large man dropped down to his knees. “You don’t look well,” he muttered, frowning. “Is it your arm giving you grief?”
Miles grimaced. “Yes. It hurts like the devil….”
“If you want, I can look at it for you,” said the man. “I have some experience cleaning up wounds. And I know what to look for, if it isn’t right…”
