Mrs Fenwick thinks I’ve gone shopping after my visit to the house. She won’t worry or wonder where I am until the sun goes down.
I could lie here for hours – days! –before anyone finds me.
There are creatures in those woods and fields. Crows…and deer ticks…and adders.
She knew this, because Elinor had read up on Northumberland wildlife once they learned they’d be staying at Barton Park.
Marianne let out a piercing scream as another bolt of lightning seared the sky. She had to get up off of the ground and out of here – she had to.
Over the sound of the wind and the growling of thunder, she felt the ground beneath her begin to vibrate, and fresh fear gripped her.
Oh, arsing hell, she thought wildly, what is it now, a bloody earthquake?
But she soon realised that the steady, rhythmic sound she heard drawing ever closer was a horse’s hooves.
Marianne lifted her head just in time to see a horse and rider silhouetted against the sky, and relief swept through her. A man sat astride the horse.
He saw her then, and cried out hoarsely, “Are you all right? What’s happened?”
Without expecting or waiting for an answer, he leapt down from the saddle and ran towards her. Dark hair was plastered to his head and rain dampened the hard line of his jaw. His riding boots were soon muddied as he pelted across the field and knelt on one knee beside her.
“Are you hurt? Can you move?”
She nodded slowly. “I – I think so. I couldn’t for a moment.”
“You’ve had the wind knocked out of you.” He glanced up at the frayed rope ladder and turned back to her in disbelief. “Good God – you didn’t try and climb that old rope, did you? It’s hung from that tree above twenty years.”
“I confess I did. It was stupid of me.”
“Never mind that. Good thing you landed in the grass.” He reached out, and gently touched her leg, her ankle. “Can you feel that?”
“Y-yes.”
“What about your foot? Can you move it?”
Again she nodded, and – feeling a bit silly – complied.
“Good.” He eased off her shoe and took her foot in his hand, rotating it gently. “Any pain?”
She winced. “It hurts a bit, but it’s probably just a sprain.”
“I’m no doctor, but I’d say you’re right. Nothing seems to be broken. Here, let me help you sit up. Slowly, now.”
Gently, with the utmost care and concern, he slipped his arm round her shoulders and helped her to sit up.
“Thank you,” she managed to say, and shivered as the rain chilled her skin. “I-I think I’m all right.”
“I’m taking no chances,” he said, his words decided. He eyed his horse. “There’s a stable nearby; I need to secure Jasper. Will you be all right here until I return? I shouldn’t be gone above a few minutes.”
She stared at him, oblivious of the rain running down her face. He was quite the most handsome man she’d ever had the good fortune to meet, with a sweep of thick dark hair and firm, kissable lips –
“Miss –?”
Marianne blinked. “Holland. Marianne Holland,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t seem to be myself at the moment. And yes, to answer your question, I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t move,” he instructed. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
She nodded and watched as he rose and ran back up the hill to the horse and swung himself up. With an urgent command, her rescuer dug in his heels and pulled at the reins, and the horse galloped off into the rainy darkness.
Marianne shivered and wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to panic. What if he didn’t come back? she wondered. What if he changed his mind? What if she had a concussion and was having one of those hallucinations? It didn’t bear thinking about.
But she’d barely processed the thought when, true to his word, he returned barely five minutes later, breathless and soaked through.
“Now, let’s get you home,” he said, and glanced behind them. “Is that your car over there?”
She nodded. “It’s Lady Violet’s. She’s let me use it while I’m visiting.”
“Oh – you’re staying at Barton Park?” The news pleased him. “Then we’re practically neighbours.” He held out his hand. “Kit Willoughby. My aunt lives at Allenham Court.”
Marianne’s hand was eclipsed in his larger, warmer one. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Willoughby.”
“I’m glad I happened along when I did.” He frowned. “Do you object if I carry you to your car? I don’t think you’ll make it, otherwise. The ground’s a bog at the moment.”
She blushed and shook her head. “Not at all. I don’t think I can stand up without someone to lean on. To tell the truth, I feel a bit…muddled,” she confessed.
“I’m not surprised. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. I’m happy to take you home.”
So saying, Mr Willoughby scooped her gently into his arms and swung her up without effort. Rain dripped from the end of his nose and ran down his jaw, but as he carried her down the slope and across the muddied field to her car, Marianne thought that she’d never known a more handsome or gallant man in all of her life.
Mrs Fenwick opened the door to let them in a few minutes later. With a great deal of fussing and tutting she led Mr Willoughby into the drawing room, and hovered nearby as he lowered Marianne to the sofa.
“Are you sure you’re all right, miss?” the housekeeper inquired anxiously. “No broken bones? Should I call the doctor, or Lady Violet, perhaps –?”
“No need,” Willoughby assured her. “Miss Holland’s had a fall, and she’s a bit dazed, but otherwise seems fine. At least,” he added, “so far as broken bones are concerned.”
He smiled down at Marianne, and she caught her breath as his blue eyes crinkled attractively.
“Thank you, Mr Willoughby,” she said, and smiled back. “You’ve been really kind.”
“Kit, please. It was my pleasure, I assure you.” He turned to Mrs Fenwick. “Since Lady Valentine isn’t at home, would it be all right if I visit Miss Holland again tomorrow and see how she’s getting on, do you think?”
The housekeeper nodded, charmed. “I see no harm in’t. We’ll see you tomorrow, then, Mr Willoughby.”
“But how will you get back to Allenham, and Jasper?” Marianne asked.
“I’ll walk,” he replied easily. “The stables aren’t above a mile or two from here.”
“You can’t possibly walk all that way in this storm.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Please, Mrs Fenwick,” Marianne implored, “can’t someone drive Mr Willoughby back to the cottage?
“That’s not necessary,” he assured her.
“It most certainly is,” the housekeeper said firmly. “I’ll have my stepson Jack take you back. It’s the least we can do after you brought Miss Holland safely home.” She led the way to the front door. “This way, if you please, sir.”
Mr