Chapter Thirty
R ockford paced his study, replaying the scene with Lora over and over, each time more painful than the last.
“I should have told her sooner,” he berated himself. “I avoided the truth.”
A knock at the door drew his attention. “Come in,” he said wearily.
Barrington entered, concern etched on his face. “I came as soon as I received your message.”
Rockford sank into a chair. “She despises me, and she has every right to.”
“You did what you thought was necessary,” Barrington reasoned, his voice heavy with regret. “But perhaps it’s time to trust her fully. I should have insisted on it earlier.”
“I fear it may be too late.” He couldn’t look Barrington in the eye.
“Not necessarily,” Barrington countered. “There’s something else you need to know.”
Rockford looked up, a chill creeping up his spine at Barrington’s grave expression. “What is it?”
“Simms sent word that there is a rumbling of a plot, something more… lethal,” he disclosed. “But still no attribution.”
Rockford’s jaw tightened. “Greene came to see me. I am the target. Hastings is the mastermind. He’s becoming more desperate.”
“We need to be vigilant,” Barrington warned. “Perhaps stay out of sight for a while.”
“I won’t hide.” Rockford shook his head and then glanced at Barrington. “But, if anything happens to me, promise you’ll protect Lora.”
Barrington clasped his shoulder firmly. “We’ll both will protect her. But let’s not let it come to that. Simms and Watts think they may be close to identifying the major people involved. I’m off to meet them. Do you want to come along?”
“I wouldn’t be much help. You go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Barrington paused on his way to the door. “If it’s any consolation, I bear responsibility, too. I counseled you not to say anything to her. I regret that now.”
“Thank you for that, but ultimately, the decision was mine.”
Barrington nodded and left.
*
For the next three hours, Rockford tried to concentrate on the clinic finances, examining ledgers and questioning bank statements. He put down his quill when he felt everything was in good order. Jeffers had brought him dinner, but he had hardly touched it.
He needed to talk things through with someone. Rockford decided to visit Adam. He was the only man to whom he could talk about this.
“Jeffers, have my horse brought around,” Rockford instructed.
A few minutes later, Jeffers returned, looking concerned. “Your horse threw a shoe, Your Grace. I’ll have the carriage waiting for you instead.”
Rockford nodded, accepting the change in plans. The carriage ride along the cliff gave him little solace. The lanterns cast long, wavering shadows, and an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. As they approached a narrow bridge over the swiftly flowing Sommer River, the horses suddenly reared, neighing in panic.
“What’s happening?” Rockford called out, bracing himself as the carriage swayed erratically.
“The reins, the horses are not responding!” his groom shouted, struggling to control the terrified animals.
Before he could react, one of the carriage wheels struck an obstruction, and the vehicle lurched violently. Rockford was thrown against the side as the carriage tipped precariously toward the edge of the bridge.
“Jump, Your Grace!” his groom yelled.
Without a second thought, Rockford flung the door open and leaped into the night. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact as the carriage teetered and then plummeted into the river below, splintering into pieces upon contact.
Pain radiated through his shoulder, but he forced himself upright. His groom lay nearby, groaning. Rockford hurried to his side. “Are you alright?”
“Aye, sir,” his man winced. “Just a bit shaken.”
Rockford scanned the darkness, the reality of the situation settling in. This was no accident. The reins had been cut. The wheel had struck something placed with precision. A trap. Someone wanted him dead, and they had nearly succeeded.
“Stay here,” he instructed. “I’m going to get help.”
He moved swiftly, driven by sheer determination and the urgency of the situation, which seemed to dull his pain. As he made his way toward town, shadows shifted in the periphery of his vision. Footsteps echoed behind him.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, reaching instinctively for a weapon he didn’t have.
Silence answered.
His anger flared, fueling his resolve. He quickened his pace, the urgent need to get his groom help propelling him forward. The thought of confronting whoever was behind this filled him with a fierce determination. No one would get away with endangering his life and those he cared about.
*
Lora sat on the chaise in her room. She read the same page for the fourth or perhaps the fifth time, she wasn’t certain. Her mind was a maze of conflicted emotions.
Despite her anguish, worry gnawed at her. She hadn’t spoken to Rockford since their confrontation. Part of her wanted to reach out to hear his voice, but pride and hurt held her back.
A soft rustling drew her attention. Turning, she saw Axbridge standing respectfully at the doorway.
“Forgive the intrusion, milady,” he said gently. “But there’s news of which you should be aware.”
Her heart skipped. “Yes, Mr. Axbridge?”
“There’s been an incident. The wreckage of the Duke Rockford’s carriage was found by the river.”
She was on her feet at once. Cold fear washed over her. “Is he…?”
“I do not know, my lady.”
Lora’s mind raced. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course, milady.” He turned to leave.
Lora barely heard him. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Rockford’s carriage, wrecked. She forced herself to breathe, to think. He needed her. “Mr. Axbridge, please have the carriage ready for me at once.”
As Axbridge left, she grabbed her cape out of her wardrobe, her thoughts in turmoil. Someone had tried to kill Rockford. The realization shattered what was left of her anger.
“I can’t lose him,” she whispered, tears welling anew. Despite everything, the thought of him being hurt, or worse, was unbearable.
She pulled on her cape and gloves and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Axbridge stood ready at the door and helped her into the coach.
“Take Lady Lora to Rockford Manor.”
Lora looked at her butler from the carriage window and graciously nodded. Her carriage traveled quickly down the silent boulevard that led to the other estates.
Her mind was a jumble. She was afraid of what she would find, but she couldn’t stop herself from going. Let him be safe. Let him be safe. Let him be safe. Was the cadence the wheels made as they rolled over the hard-packed lane.
Her carriage turned down the manor’s drive, and moments later, Lora stood before the grand entrance, her heart pounding.
The heavy oak door opened to reveal the footman, his expression one of polite concern. “Good evening, Lady Lora,” he greeted with a respectful bow.
Lora took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Good evening, James. I came to inquire about His Grace’s condition. I heard about the accident and… I want to know how he is faring.”
James’s eyes softened slightly. “Of course, milady. His Grace is in a delicate condition. While he has sustained some injuries, they are not as grave as initially feared. However, the situation is still quite serious. He is receiving the best care possible.”
Lora’s eyes widened with worry. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, her voice catching with emotion. “I… I hope he recovers swiftly.”
The footman hesitated for a moment. “Would you like to see him, Lady Lora? I’m sure it would lift his spirits.”
Her heart ached to see him, to assure herself that he was truly safe. But what then? What would she say? What could she say? She swallowed hard. “No. I just needed to know.”
“As you wish, milady,” the footman said with a nod.
She managed a small smile, turned, and returned to her carriage.
James closed the door gently behind her, the echo of its closing resonating through the silent hall.
Outside, Lora paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts before continuing on her way. She could not yet face Rockford directly, but knowing he was alive and receiving care brought her a small measure of relief. Lora hesitated for just a moment before stepping toward the waiting carriage.
Unbeknownst to her, upstairs in a darkened room, Rockford stood by the window, watching. Rockford’s eyes followed her retreating form, his heart aching with regret. The sight of Lora, even from a distance, stirred a fierce determination.
“Your Grace.”
“Yes.” He watched the groom help her into her carriage.
“Lady Lora inquired about your health.”
“Thank you.”
The footman left, but Rockford remained at the window, watching her carriage disappear down the drive. Her trust had been his guiding light, carrying him through the darkness. He had been a fool to risk it, a greater fool to lose it. His hands clenched at his sides. “Lora, I will prove myself worthy of you—no matter the cost. This, I vow.”