by Anna Bradley
Ciaran Ramsey reached under his coat and pulled a pistol from his waistband. “Take this one. If you find her, shoot it into the air. We’ll cover more ground if we split up. Lachlan and I will take the south edge.”
“I’ll go around to the north side and enter from there.” Huntington swung his gaze to Hugh. “Pierce, you’ve got no obligation here—”
“I’m going in right there,” Hugh interrupted, his lips tight. He pointed his riding crop at the place where he’d last seen Isla. “I’ll head straight north and try to meet up with Huntington. With any luck, we’ll find her before then.”
Huntington nodded and grabbed his reins. “If any of you find her, don’t wait for the others. Shoot into the air so the rest of us know you’ve got her, then get her out of there.”
Hugh waited just long enough to hear Lachlan and Ciaran mutter their agreement, then he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and set off at a run.
Once he breached the tree line, his heart sank.
As soon as he passed under the trees, it was as if a lamp had been extinguished. Anyone could become disoriented in this gloom, and once you got turned around, the smallest misstep could lead to disaster. Isla could be deep into the woods by now, and if she was, there was a chance they’d never find her, even with four of them searching.
Hugh shoved the thought aside before it could take root. He pointed his horse’s head to the north and began to wind his way carefully through the trees.
He’d find her, because he wouldn’t stop searching until he did.
Or until a tree falls on me.
The hair on his neck prickled in warning with every ominous cracking sound, but until the crack became a thundering crash, there was no way to know where a branch might fall. By then, the tree was already on top of you. Whether he made it out of here in one piece was a matter of pure, dumb luck.
He used to think of himself as a lucky man, but that felt like a long time ago.
He made his way steadily forward, his ears straining to hear beyond the sounds of the woods, his eyes blurring with the effort it took to search for a hint of a blue riding habit hidden among the thousands of shades of green. It was like riding into another world, one where minutes melted into hours without him being aware of time passing. It was only when the sky went from gray to black that he understood night had fallen.
He’d been searching for hours and hadn’t seen a single trace of her. The ice was still raining from the sky. It melted when it hit his skin, then dripped in a relentless trickle from the edge of his hat down his neck. He continued to make his way slowly through the woods, his reins slippery in his hands from the thick layer of ice frozen to his gloves.
Still, there was no sign of Isla.
Even if she had come this way, the storm would erase any evidence of her as soon as she passed. Hugh’s chest constricted at the thought.
The first time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing a yellow gown, and he remembered thinking, before he’d even spoken a single word to her, that the gown, the ballroom, and even London itself was too small to contain her.
Like trying to catch the sun in a bottle…
It seemed wrong these woods could have swallowed something so vibrant without leaving a single trace, but then it was easy to forget how small Isla was, and how breakable. Her body couldn’t hold out long before she succumbed to exhaustion. He was much bigger than she was, but the cold had sunk so deeply into his bones he’d become slow and dull with it. How long would it be before it overcame her?
Snap!
Hugh jerked his head toward the sound, his shoulders tensing. This noise was different than any he’d heard since he’d entered the woods. It wasn’t the sharp crack of limbs breaking or the deafening sound of branches crashing to the ground. It was quieter, like the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. He went still, his breath held as he waited, but for a long time only silence met his ears.
Had he imagined it? Perhaps he’d wanted to hear it so badly he actually conjured the noise from the silence around him—
Snap!
This time his horse lifted his head, his ears pricking with sudden interest.
No, he hadn’t imagined it, and now he could hear a rustling sound as well, as if someone were moving through the trees.
“Isla?” He urged his horse forward. It was too dark for him to see much of anything, but he thought the sound was coming from right in front of him. “Isla, are you there? It’s H—it’s Lord Pierce.”
There was no reply, but Hugh could sense something moving through the gloom, and whatever it was, it was drawing nearer…
His horse let out a welcoming nicker, and a moment later a large shape emerged from the gloom. Hugh stared, his heart leaping out of his chest.
Isla’s horse.
But as the horse drew closer, his heart, so hopeful only moments before, dropped right into his boots. It was her horse, but Isla wasn’t astride her. The horse was wandering through the woods alone, her reins dragging on the ground, her saddle slick with ice.
Damn it. It wasn’t a good sign.
An experienced rider like Isla would never willingly abandon her horse. She might have lost control of her and fallen off, or she might have been thrown. If she had been thrown, she’d almost certainly be injured. It was too much to hope she hadn’t struck something—a branch or a tree—before hitting the ground.
Hope struggled back to life in Hugh’s chest when the horse shuffled toward him and thrust her velvety nose into his palm. “There. It’s all right.” He stroked her nose, studying her. She was a gentle mare, and now he got a closer look at her, he could see she was the same horse Isla rode every day.
He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think this horse would throw Isla. Horses could be unpredictable when they were agitated or frightened, certainly, but there was no question this horse, who was now nibbling his palm, knew her rider well. Isla had likely fallen off, and if the horse hadn’t bolted in a panic, there was a decent chance she was close by.
Hugh stroked the mare’s nose for a moment longer, soothing her, then he gathered her reins in his hand and clicked his tongue. “Come on, sweetheart. Show me where she is. Take me to her.” He tugged gently on her reins. She blew a deep, fluttery breath from her nostrils, then turned and wandered back in the direction from which she’d come. Hugh urged his horse into a walk behind her, letting her lead the way.
They wound quietly through the trees, Hugh choking on the shout burning at the back of his throat. Everything inside him urged him to yell for Isla, but if he started shouting, he’d frighten the mare. This horse was going to lead him to Isla. He was certain of it—as certain as if he’d already gathered Isla into his arms.
Even so, when they came upon her at last, he nearly missed her. She was on the ground, half-hidden beneath the branches of a fallen tree. She was curled onto her side, with her arms around her head, as if to protect it.
“Isla.” Her name rushed from Hugh’s lips, his voice low and hoarse. He leapt from his horse and stumbled over to her, relief making him clumsy. “My God, Isla.”
He leaned over her, carefully moving her arms down so he could see her face. Christ, she was so still and white…
“Isla.” He tapped his fingers gently against her cheek, but she didn’t answer or show any signs of life. For one despairing moment he was certain the tree had fallen on top of her, but when he slid an arm around her waist, he found he was able to easily roll her out from under the branches. She wasn’t trapped, and there was no blood or obvious injury, but she also wasn’t conscious, and her skin was so pale and cold, alarm shot through him.
“Isla? Can you hear me?” He lifted her into his arms and held her against his chest, hoping to transfer to her what little body heat he had left. “You’re safe now,” he murmured against her hair, but even as the words left his lips, he knew them for a lie.
They were far from safe. They were deep in the middle of the woods, it was bitterly cold, and the branches and tree limbs were still giving way to the wind and the weight of the ice.
He had to get her out of here at once.
“I’m going to seat you on my horse, Isla.” Hugh rose with her in his arms and lifted her into his saddle, keeping a hand on her hip to hold her steady as he struggled out of his coat. “Then we’re going to find our way out of here.”
“Can’t. Tried to find the way, but…lost.”
Hugh’s gaze snapped to her face, and he was momentarily stunned into silence. Her eyes were still closed, and her voice was no more than a whisper, but she was conscious.
A faint frown twisted her lips, as if she were puzzled. “I rode and rode, but we just kept going deeper into the woods.”
A shudder went through her, and he reached for her, wrapping his hands around her freezing fingers. “I know you’re lost, Isla, but I promise you I’ll find a way out of here.”
He waited for a moment, but she seemed to have drifted off again and didn’t reply. Hugh swung up onto his horse’s back, settled himself behind Isla in the saddle, then draped his coat over her. “There. Lean back on me.” He pulled the coat tight around her chin, then wrapped his arm around her waist and eased her back against him.
“I can’t leave Sophie. She’s scared.”
Quite unexpectedly, Hugh felt a small smile curve his lips. “Aren’t you scared?”
Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she let out a little sigh. “I was, but I’m not anymore.”
Some emotion pierced through him then, something both bitter and sweet at once. Bitter, because he knew she wasn’t his, but sweet, because…
For now, in this strange, otherworldly moment, he could pretend she was.
Isla nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder and wrapped her fingers around his arm. “I’m glad you came. I don’t think you’re Sydney, though. You’re not, are you?”
Hugh’s smile faded. “No.” He pulled her tighter against his chest and eased his horse into a walk. “No, I’m not.”
* * * *
Hugh did remember to fire Ciaran Ramsey’s pistol into the air, but he never considered waiting for Isla’s brothers to find them.
He didn’t bring her back to Huntington Lodge but to his own estate, Hazelwood. It was much closer, but even so, by the time they reached the front door he was half-dead with exhaustion, and Isla was slumped against his chest, her lips blue.
Once he’d gained his entryway at last, however, he paused. Where should he take her? One of the empty bedchambers seemed the likeliest place, but he hadn’t ordered a fire laid in any of them. He couldn’t take Isla to a cold room.
“Lord Pierce?” His butler was hurrying down the hallway, but Hugh waved him off. Though he cursed himself for a fool, he couldn’t quite make himself abandon her to his servants yet. So he brought her to his study. He laid her down on the sofa closest to the fireplace and built up the fire as high as it would go. Once it was roaring, he slid his wet coat from her shoulders and wrapped her in a dry, soft blanket.
When he was finished, he sank down onto the other end of the sofa and sat there, staring at her, not sure what else to do.
It was a miracle he’d found her, and in one piece. Aside from the shivering that still racked her body, she appeared unharmed. She didn’t wake, but she lost some of her pallor, and a faint glow of pink rose to her cheeks from the warmth of the fire.
He continued to stare at her, his gaze tracing the soft curves of her face, an emotion he couldn’t name creeping into his throat—some confusing mix of joy and anger, perhaps. Joy, because his heart still insisted on soaring hopefully every time he saw her, and anger because his heart was a bloody fool, second only to another foolish organ, which also surged eagerly whenever Isla Ramsey was in the vicinity.
But there was longing there too, because no matter how many times he reminded himself he would never have her, there was a stubborn part of his heart that still thought of her as his. He’d tried to root it out—he’d dug and clawed and torn at it, but it was lodged too deep. On his worst days—the days he stood before his study window and waited for hours for a glimpse of her—he knew he’d never be free of it.
Of her.
If there were a powder he could take, or a tonic he could swallow to rid himself of every memory of Isla Ramsey, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Hugh dragged a hand through his hair, anger and despair a heavy weight on his chest. Christ, what a fool he was. He’d lost her weeks ago, when she’d chosen another man over him. She was betrothed now, and he…
He’d made a choice, too. To move on with his life and be done with his hopeless passion for her. Isla Ramsey wasn’t the only woman in England—it just felt that way, because she was the most maddening. He wanted to forget her as she’d surely forgotten him and never think on her again. He didn’t want to see her face and remember that the first time he’d seen her, she’d made him think of sunshine.
Yet it was no use, pretending he didn’t love Isla still. A man didn’t spend all afternoon standing in front of a window to catch a fleeting glimpse of a woman he didn’t love. But it wasn’t a welcome love. It was an angry, resentful, bitter one. It wasn’t the kind of love that nourished a man; it was the kind that ate at him, ate through him, until there was nothing left inside his chest but an empty black hole where his heart had once been.
Damn it, he didn’t want her here. Already not a single wretched moment of a single day passed when he wasn’t haunted by thoughts of her. Now she was in his study, laid out on his sofa, her dark eyelashes curling against her soft cheeks, so close he could touch her, stroke his hand over her hair. He didn’t want to be this close to her, to watch her face as she slept or inhale her warm scent.
But there was little he could do about it tonight. Surely the weather would calm tomorrow. The moment it did, and he could return her safely to Huntington Lodge, he’d take her home.
Then he’d make himself forget her and embrace the life he’d chosen.
Hugh’s gaze drifted to the flames dancing in the grate, and he didn’t notice it when her eyelids fluttered.
“Lord Pierce.”
Her soft voice startled him, and he jerked his gaze back to her face. Her blue eyes were heavy, but they were open, and she was watching him.
“Isla.” Hugh cleared his throat and began again. “That is, Miss Ramsey. I’m relieved you’re awake.”
She stared at him for a moment longer, then sat up, propping her back against the sofa. “I, ah, why am I…what happened?”
Hugh hesitated. He didn’t want her to know he watched her every day from his window. “You rode out this afternoon and ended up lost in the woods.”
She looked baffled, but then her eyes flickered with understanding. “Yes, of course, I remember. I—” Her gaze met his, suddenly stricken. “Oh, my goodness, Sophie! Is she—?”
“She’s all right. I found her wandering in the woods, and she led me right to you. If it hadn’t been for Sophie, I might never have found you. You don’t need to worry for her, Miss Ramsey. My stableboys will take good care of her.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I…” She paused, her throat moving with a nervous swallow. “I don’t know how to thank you, Lord Pierce, for saving Sophie, and for, for…for the service you did me tonight. My family will be so—” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. They’ll all be frantic by now. I need to go home at once—”
“No, Miss Ramsey.” His tone was clipped. “You’re in no shape to venture out tonight, and in any case, the storm is still raging. I won’t allow you to go home until the danger has passed.”
Her lips pursed a bit at the word allow. “But my sisters and brothers will be—”
“Lord Huntington, Mr. Ramsey, and Mr. Ciaran Ramsey know you’re s
afe. I met them when they came out to search for you. I told them you’d entered the woods, and we agreed to split up. Whoever found you was to fire a pistol into the air to inform the others, which I’ve done.”
She blew out a relieved breath, but then her brows drew together. “I see. But how did you know I’d gone into the woods?”
Devil take it. Hugh opened his mouth, closed it again, then rose to his feet and hurried over to the sideboard. He sloshed a few fingers of brandy into a tumbler, then crossed back to the sofa and held it out to her. “Here. Drink this. It’ll help warm you.”
She didn’t argue, or press him for more answers, but accepted the glass and took several obedient sips.
“You’ll sleep at Hazelwood tonight.” Hugh winced at how stiff and formal his voice had gone. He became even more proper than usual when he was agitated. “My housekeeper, Mrs. Babcock, will provide you with all you require.” He held out his hand for her glass, then rang the bell for a servant.
Isla rose from the sofa, still clutching the blanket he’d given her. “Tomorrow, you’ll take me home?”
Hugh stared down into her empty glass for a moment without replying, then nodded. “Yes, as long as it’s safe.”
“Lord Pierce?” Mrs. Babcock appeared at the door and began clucking and fussing at once over Isla’s bedraggled state. “Oh, goodness me. You poor thing. Come with me, miss, and we’ll find you a nice hot bath and a warm bed.”
After Mrs. Babcock led Isla away, Hugh poured himself some brandy and stood in front of the window, watching the trees thrash wildly in the wind. The ice was still battering at the glass. He wanted to rid himself of Isla as quickly as possible, but he wouldn’t send her back to Huntington Lodge as long as the storm continued to pummel Buckinghamshire under its fist.
He tossed back the last swallow of his brandy and let it burn its way to the back of his throat.
A day with Isla Ramsey.
A single day, and then he’d be free of her for good.
