For now, the chance for freedom, even only one quarter hour of it, beckoned with a temptation she could not ignore. The wind on her cheeks was slashing and cool. But at least the gray clouds overhead had not lived up to their ominous portent of rain.
Yet.
She decided to take Echo on their old favorite route, down the lane to the path that circled what had become Cousin Bartholomew’s lake. It was a rather gargantuan affair, with a swan presiding over its smooth surface, and Persephone despised it as much as she loathed the life she was about to consign herself to here.
Oh, Rafe.
Where was he now? What was he doing? She hated allowing her mind to wander and wonder, but how could she not? In her old life as Miss Wren, she would have been happily ensconced in the sunshine-filled Mayfair nursery with Anne and Elizabeth. On occasion, they had been accompanied by one of Mr. Sutton’s dogs. Usually Motley, who possessed a particular affinity for Rafe.
She could not blame the pup, for she felt the same way.
There was something about Mr. Rafe Sutton. She was sniffling again by the time she and Echo had rounded a copse of trees, blotting out the sight of Silwood Manor sitting loftily on the hill. Weeping was an almost constant state for her now, unless she knew she would be facing Cousin Bartholomew. Tears vexed him mightily, and she had learned he was not averse to showing her just how much during their journey to Oxfordshire.
The bruise had faded, but she had not forgotten.
Her tears were reserved for moments of solitude now, like this one.
She was so lost in her misery that she failed to hear another rider approaching until he was almost upon her. For a wild moment, she feared it was Cousin Bartholomew come to denounce her for her willful disobedience, until she took note of the man’s form. He was not as large as Cousin Bartholomew.
And he had blond curls beneath the brim of his hat.
Her heart leapt. Surely it could not be Rafe! Here? In Oxfordshire? No.
She was dreaming.
“Persephone!”
His voice reached her, familiar and deep and laden with an emotion she could not define.
It was him. Somehow, Rafe Sutton was racing toward her on the back of an Arabian gray. She blinked furiously, sure she was somehow ascribing his traits to someone else. For how could he be here, at Silwood Manor? And how would he have known where to find her?
As the questions swirled, her body overtook her mind, and suddenly, she was riding toward him, heart leaping. Each gallop of Echo’s hooves brought her nearer, Rafe’s giving more credence to the wild and unbelievable notion that he had somehow come to her.
“Rafe!” she cried, pushing Echo as fast as she dared, unable to shake the fear he would disappear before she could reach him.
Their mounts pulled abreast of each other and they reined in at once. Persephone slid from the saddle at the same time Rafe dismounted, and in two steps, she was flying into his arms. Their collision was so forceful, her teeth knocked together and she bit her tongue, but she did not care.
All she did care about was Rafe’s arms closing
around her, strong and protective. His scent, mingling with the fresh earth and grass and the sharp scent of autumn leaves drying and falling to the ground.
“Ah, God, lovely.” He pressed his cheek tight to hers, his hot breath falling on her ear. “I’ve missed you.”
She clung to his neck, tears streaming down her cheeks. “How are you here?”
“I rode the bleeding horse behind me.”
His unexpected attempt at humor caused her laughter to burst forth, mingling with the sobs. “I saw you on the horse. What I meant to say was how did you find me? How did you find me here, in Oxfordshire?”
She had never mentioned her past to him, and when she had left the Sutton town house, she had left without divulging her true name or a hint of all the shadows and secrets that kept her running.
“Long story we haven’t the time for.” He reared back, his hazel gaze traveling over her face as if he had just been presented with a miracle. “Will you ride with me?”
Fear crept over her. “Where? Cousin Bartholomew only allotted me one quarter hour. He will note I have not returned and come riding after me.”
“That arsehole didn’t allot you any time to ride.” Rafe scowled. “Did you think he would allow his prisoner to slip from ’is fingers so easily?”
“How do you know?” She searched his face, his gaze, seeking answers.