to a rest, ignoring her throbbing leg, she scrambled down from the vehicle and stumbled for the protection of the trees that edged this section of the road. She heard Tynedale’s shout behind her but the sound only added wings to her flying feet.
The trees enveloped her and she gave fervent thanks for the night and the storm. Heedless of the branches that whipped at her and the debris that tangled around her feet she plunged forward, deeper and deeper into the concealing forest. Tynedale’s cloak impeded her progress, but she dared not throw it aside—her white nightgown would be a beacon for him—if he was following. She stopped once, listening intently, but beyond the furious howl of the storm, she heard nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and her own labored breathing. She smiled suddenly. She had no idea where she was; she was cold and sodden and frightened, but, by God, she had gotten away from him!
Chapter 3
Nell stood under the branches of an oak tree for several more moments, catching her breath and planning her next step. The fury of the storm had not abated and she was aware of the danger of lingering beneath the tallest object in the area.
Pulling the cloak up over her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain, she left her shelter and began the arduous task of finding her way out of the rain-slick forest. It was not easy; she fell to her knees many times, sliding on the slippery branches and brush beneath her bare feet. The rain and the lightning and the booming crash of thunder overhead did not help matters. Nor did the utter blackness of the night and the wind that howled through the treetops.
Time was suspended and Nell lost all sense of direction. Now and then as she fought her way through the darkness, she had the eerie feeling that she was trudging in circles and she feared that she would walk right into Tynedale’s arms. Her first burst of euphoria at having escaped from him had vanished long ago, and as the minutes played out and she grew wetter and more exhausted and her leg began to ache and drag, she almost hoped that she would stumble into him. Almost.
Thunder rolled overhead and a second later, right in front of her, a bolt of lightning slashed through the darkness. The strike was so close Nell was knocked to the ground. Several minutes later, dazed and shaken but unhurt, she scrambled to her feet. More importantly, in that blinding flash of light her disbelieving eyes had spied a cottage or hut a few hundred yards in front of her.
Hope surging through her, she half-stumbled, half-ran toward the promise of shelter. Another blaze of lightning revealed that she had not been mistaken and, her breathing ragged and labored, she fought her way to the small building that sat in the open, a few yards from the forest.
It was indeed a cottage and relief poured through her. She was safe! Help was at hand. But with a sinking heart she became aware that there was no welcoming candlelight flickering in the tiny windows and no sign or sound of human habitation. Suppressing a sob, she sagged against the wooden door-jamb, disappointment knifing through her as she realized that the dwelling was abandoned and deserted.
But at least the place offered shelter and, gathering the last of her strength, she pushed open the door. The door gave way easily and another streak of lightning revealed that there was nothing to steal or pilfer beyond a scarred table, three or four rickety chairs and a bed of rushes against the wall.
Despite the rubble on the floor, leaves, branches and the worthless debris left behind by its previous inhabitants, the interior looked like a palace to Nell as she stepped inside and out of the bruising storm. Relying on the lightning bursts, she explored her domain on unsteady feet.
The place was small, consisting of just two rooms, the one she had first entered and one other. There was a rough stone fireplace and some old faggots resting on the hearth, but they did her little good—she had no way of starting a fire.
Having completed her survey, she dragged herself back to one of the dirty windows and looked outside. She glimpsed a wide, muddy expanse of road through the rain and lightning and guessed that she had stumbled upon an abandoned toll keeper’s cottage. Travelers would once have had to pay a toll to travel this portion of the road, but no longer, and hadn’t for some time, if the condition of the cottage was anything to judge.
At the moment none of that mattered to Nell, she was simply grateful to be out of the storm and free of Tynedale. Feeling battered and exhausted, too worn out to think beyond the next second, she wrapped her damp cloak around her slim form and somewhat gingerly made herself comfortable on the bed of old rushes.
Her back against the wall, her legs curled beneath her, she sat watching the lightning as it danced and dazzled in the darkness. She shivered from the cold, her torn and bruised feet were throbbing, and she was conscious of a great weariness stealing over her. At least the intensity of the storm was lessening, she thought drowsily, the crash and boom of the thunder just a faint growl in the distance, the lightning no longer so terrifyingly near.
A huge yawn overtook her and she blinked sleepily. Tynedale was still a danger to her, but she was beaten. She could run no farther and it was possible, indeed likely, that she had given him the slip. Her mouth twisted. Of course, it was also possible that the road in front of the cottage was the Great Road North that Tynedale had taken from London and that at any moment he would come driving up to the front door of the cottage. She yawned again. She didn’t give a damn. She had run her race and could not run any longer. Her head dipped and a second later her body followed. She slept sprawled on the rushes, her small frame concealed by the heavy folds of the cloak.
Cursing the storm, his stepmother and particularly his stepsister, Julian urged his horse forward. Of all the devilish inconvenient, inconsiderate things to have happened! He still didn’t quite believe that he was out in the black of night, far from London in the wee hours of the morning, riding along in the midst of one of the most powerful storms he had seen in many a year. Blast Elizabeth! If she was going to make a runaway match with Carver, why the hell couldn’t she have chosen less inclement weather?
The wind tore at his cloak, and rain blew down on him while the lightning and thunder made his horse shy and dance crookedly down the road. He didn’t blame the horse—he was miserable, too. And wet. And tired. The jagged streaks of lightning exploding across the black sky did not help the situation, the bay stallion snorting and half-rearing at each strike. It was a thoroughly unpleasant ride.
At this hour, Julian thought bitterly, he should have been at home, warm and asleep in his own bed, and he would have been if Diana hadn’t fallen on his neck the instant he had returned home. As he tried to disentangle himself from Diana’s stranglehold, he became aware that his spacious hall seemed awash with people. Meeting Julian’s eyes, Dibble, his butler, had sniffed and declared that he knew nothing of the affair. Elizabeth’s maid suddenly left off wringing her hands and wailed that she had only been obeying Miss Elizabeth’s orders by not delivering Elizabeth’s note to Lady Wyndham sooner. Clinging to him, Diana had shoved the tear-damp note under his nose, sobbing that he must save her baby. Now.
Ignoring the note that Diana seemed insistent upon thrusting up his nose, Julian pushed it aside and taking Diana by the arm, escorted her into the morning room and got the tale out of her. It seemed that Miss Forest, chaperoned by Lady Milliard, Julian’s great-aunt, had not yet returned from the Ellingsons’ ball. The hour was not late and Lady Wyndham, having attended a social function of her own, had only returned home a short while ago. She had not been alarmed by Elizabeth’s absence until Elizabeth’s maid delivered to her, not ten minutes previously, a note stating that she was running away with Captain Carver.
Julian was disinclined to set out in pursuit. His ride home in the sedan chair he had hailed upon leaving Boodle’s had already acquainted him with the fact that there was a wicked storm moving through the area. And if Elizabeth was damn silly enough to throw away her future on Carver, let her!
