If only someone had fought for him with such passion. If only someone had thought him worth saving.
“If you fall behind, I will continue without you.” His words were deliberately blunt, harsh even. “We will need to cut through the forest on foot. It can be treacherous enough by day.”
She raised the hem of her gown a fraction to reveal a pair of sturdy brown boots and then gave a satisfied grin. “These will suffice.”
Mrs. Shaw stepped forward. “I’ll pack some water, bandages, a needle, and thread. Come, miss, you can wait for the master in the kitchen.”
Some five minutes later, Alexander strode out of the herb garden, through the alley of overgrown topiary to the door in the boundary wall, aware that his quarry tottered behind him in a bid to keep up.
He stopped as his hand curled around the iron ring on the door. “I’ll be quicker on my own,” he said, offering her one more chance to change her mind.
“I’m coming with you.”
The wooden door scraped along the ground as he forced it open and he raised the lantern to light their way.
“Be careful where you place your feet and stay close behind. If you fall, I won’t carry you.”
They made their way through the forest, the crunching and cracking underfoot breaking the uncomfortable silence. She tried to suppress a groan when she almost stumbled, and he resisted the urge to offer assistance.
“How did you get in?” He asked the question purely to prevent his solitude from being disturbed by another unwelcome intruder.
“The gate was locked,” she said pausing to catch her breath, “so … so I climbed a tree and dropped down over the wall.”
“Wearing a dress?”
“I had no other choice.”
“How did you know where to come?”
“My aunt said that the Earl of Hale lived nearby. I assume you’re him.”
“I am.” Or he had been once. Now he was but a fragment of his old self.
No doubt her aunt was the one who’d told her the tale of his scarred face, and she’d come to the house believing she’d be greeted by a monster. The lady certainly had courage in abundance.
“Wait,” she said, and he swung around to find her leaning back against a tree trunk, her hand covering her heart. “I think … I think we’re going the wrong way.”
Alexander lifted the lantern higher, purely for effect. “No, we’re not.” He imagined her inquisitive mind trying to establish how he knew the way. Her aunt must have lost a fair amount of blood as the potent smell hung in the air, drawing him closer. “It’s this way.”
She simply stared at him, her silver-blue eyes peering through the darkness like bright stars in the night sky.
“You knew the gate was locked,” he continued by way of an explanation. “Therefore, you took the lane at the fork in the road. I doubt you’re capable of running more than a mile, so I have a reasonable idea where I'm going.”
She raised her chin in acknowledgement, and they continued through the forest. Despite snagging her dress on bracken and dead branches, she kept moving, radiating a level of determination he found admirable.
When they found themselves out on the road, she barged past him and stopped in the middle of the path, thrusting her hands on her hips as she searched left and right. Eventually, she pointed to the left and said, “It’s this way.”
She didn’t wait for him but lifted her gown an inch and ran through the darkness, her torn cloak billowing behind her. Alexander followed, choosing to hang back rather than race on ahead.
“I think that’s the carriage,” she said, calling to him over her shoulder as a monstrous shadow appeared in view. “Aunt Beatric
e. I’m here.”
The carriage lay on its side, but there was no sign of the horses or the coachman. The lady tried to climb the wreckage in an attempt to reach her relative.
“Here, let me try,” he said tugging at her cloak for fear of touching her.
She stepped down and took the lantern. “Quickly. You must hurry.”