Chapter 8
There was safety in a moonless night. Black crevices to hide in.
No light to betray her. Even the wind was hardly more than a secret, as if it held its breath.
The scent of moist earth lingered in the cool air, leaves rustling softly with each tread of Juliet’s horse.
These were the best sort of evenings to lay a snare, trap a quail, bag a feast. Even so, she frowned as she guided her mount through a maze of trees.
Such darkness wasn’t helpful at all when following a man in a black coat riding on an inky stallion.
She squinted ahead to make out Mr. Russell’s imposing figure atop his horse, familiar now with his broad shoulders and regal posture.
She knew the trail well enough, but not the man.
If he turned and she wasn’t paying attention, she’d lose him.
And that was the sum of the entire past week, tagging Henry Russell’s heels around Bedford Manor.
Together they’d explored potential weaknesses where an intruder might breach the security of the house and scouted for signs of any recent ill-intentioned activity—the very purpose of this late-evening ride.
She ducked beneath a low-hanging branch.
Then again, he’d shadowed her as much as she had him.
Yes, he’d allowed her to gather her belongings unhindered at Aunt Margaret’s last week.
He’d even shown much generosity by hiring a nurse to attend her aunt and sending over baskets of food.
But those good actions were offset by the uncertain gleam in his eye every time he looked at her—and he did look. He watched her unceasingly.
She adjusted her grip on the reins, her pulse quickening. His wary scrutiny chafed, yet it also stirred an attraction to the very man she’d stolen from.
And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
Juliet shifted uneasily in the saddle, her thoughts tangling with each step through the darkened woods.
So much had changed in the past week she hardly knew what to think anymore—which meant it would probably be better to simply focus on the task at hand.
Upping her horse’s pace, she strained to see ahead.
A sudden whinny broke the stillness.
Something hit the ground. Hard.
Then a grunt, a groan, and hooves pounding against the earth, growing more distant with each passing second.
Her heart lurched. “Mr. Russell?”
Nothing but the hoot of an owl answered.
She dug in her heels, urging her mount around the next bend, then pulled up short. Five paces off lay a dark figure in the dirt with no horse in sight. Panic bubbled at the back of her throat as she dismounted. What was she to do if Mr. Russell had snapped his neck? “Mr. Russell!”
Kneeling at his side, she pressed her hand to his shoulder, bracing for the worst. For an agonizing eternity, he didn’t move, the silence louder than the thudding of her own heart.
“Henry?” Her voice was a shiver in the darkness.
This would be a good time to pray, to plead for this man’s life.
She’d seen enough death and felt the stab of it too keenly when she’d lost her brother.
But her lips remained sealed, trapping the prayer on her tongue.
Would it really do any good to beg for mercy now, when her past prayers had fallen on deaf ears?
Then again, could it hurt?
With a jolt, he sucked in air, eyes flying open. “What—what happened?”
Shaking his head slightly, he pushed up to his elbows.
She drew back, relieved beyond measure. “You were thrown. You could have split your skull.”
His white teeth flashed in the dark, a devilishly handsome smile. “You underestimate how hard my head is.” He sat up fully then, brushing away leaves and dirt from his trousers.
“Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps you ought to take it easy for a moment.”
“I am fine. The only thing damaged is my pride.” After a roll of his shoulders, he held out his hand. “Though I wouldn’t mind a shoulder to lean on as I stand.”
Still jittery from the whole affair, she steeled herself and helped him to his feet.
His fingers wrapped around hers, and despite the thin leather of his gloves, something sparked between them—warm, steady, real.
Not at all like Colin Chamberlain’s touch, which had always felt like a performance meant to charm but never truly reached her.
When Henry pulled away, he teetered a moment before regaining his usual confident stance.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “What spooked your horse?”
“I do not know. I came wide around the bend, yet I saw nothing.” He rubbed his temple, wincing slightly. Evidently he was not quite as fine as he claimed to be.
“I’ll take a look.” She retraced her steps towards the curve, scanning the brush. That’s when she spotted it—a thin, frayed line hanging from a trunk, tied at chest height for a horse. She crouched, fingering the dangling twine now broken.
“Over here,” she called. “Looks like someone rigged a snagline. Wouldn’t hurt a horse—but enough to spook it.”
“No wonder Apollo bolted.”
She straightened. “It is fresh, barely weathered. Someone was here not long ago.”
Henry planted his hands on his hips. “Who the devil would set something like this?”
“Good question.” Juliet scanned the darkened woods—eyes more than adjusted to the lack of light. “Whoever did it might still be nearby.”
Henry caught up to Juliet as she mounted her horse, unease churning in his gut.
The woman’s determination both impressed and concerned him.
She was fearless—too fearless—but now that true danger might be afoot, ought he really subject her to such a threat?
What had at first seemed like providence when she’d been caught poaching—an answer delivered at just the right moment—now felt dangerously close to presumption.
Had he mistaken a convenience for a godsend?
Had he foolishly leaned on human help rather than waiting for a wiser course?
And if he had … would she be the one to pay the price for it?
Thank God he’d been in the lead instead of her!
If she’d been thrown … well, he would not even think of it.
“Perhaps you ought to wait here while I ride on ahead.” He offered his hand to help her down.
She glanced from his fingers to his face, a slight shake to her head.
“I am no wilting flower, Mr. Russell, and I intend to keep my end of the bargain. I will help you find this villain.” Instead of accepting his hand, she held out her own.
“We will make better time if you ride behind me. I realize it will not be proper nor comfortable … that is, unless you prefer to wait here while I go?”
A wry smile tugged his lips. Stubborn, unconventional woman! He accepted her steadying grip and swung up behind her.
The moment he did so, he realized what a grave mistake he’d made.
She smelled of the air just before a rain, hinting at storms and life and promise.
Though she kept a rigid back, there was softness beneath that woolen coat—more than he might have expected.
A week of steady meals had already begun to fill out the angles left by too many months of hardship.
His hands barely touched her waist, but even that light contact was dangerous.
And far too memorable.
She urged the horse into motion, and Henry sucked in a breath. Each stride rocked her body against his, the rise and fall maddening in its rhythm, intoxicating in its innocence. Heaven help him, but he could not help wondering if she felt it too.
Bah! Banish the thought. This was a woman of wind and steel. She’d said herself her brother had made her into a tomboy. She probably thought of him as nothing other than a sibling seated behind her.
Yet … had she not called him by his given name when he’d fallen from his horse? True, it was a small thing, but it had stuck with him. And it might do him a world of good to think of her as simply a sister.
He leaned forwards a bit, speaking quietly. “You called me Henry earlier.”
She tensed. “I … I meant no disrespect, Mr. Russell.”
“None was taken. In fact, given the circumstances, I think it only appropriate we dispense with formalities. You are already on a first-name basis with my sister. May I call you Juliet?”
Hooves thunked steadily against dirt and undergrowth, the only answer to his question. At length, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression quite unreadable in the dark. “I am a poacher. You are my employer, or a redeemer, if you will. Do you really think such a leniency is advisable?”
“No—and yes. We are allies, are we not? Working together, living under the same roof, I believe there should be some measure of trust between us.”
“Trust?” She laughed, the sound light as a summer breeze. “This coming from the man who watches my every move?”
He shifted uncomfortably. Now there was a truth he wasn’t eager to acknowledge. He did keep a close eye on her—he had to. At least that’s what he told himself. “It is an obligatory evil. For now, at any rate. But using our Christian names might help build a bridge between us.”
Had he truly just said that? Is that really what he wanted?
Unwilling to battle that particular demon tonight, he pressed on. “The thing is I am not a man who revels in keeping my distance. At least, not from those I work closely with. And we cannot very well get any closer than we are now, eh?”
“I suppose I am practically sitting in your lap, Mr. Russell.” Once again she glanced back, this time with an arch to her brow.
“Or shall I say, Henry? And yes, you may call me Juliet since your sister already does so. Now then, to the matter at hand. I have found the best way to snare prey is silence—and this horse is loud enough.”
She faced forwards, which felt like a loss. He wasn’t sure if he ought to be irritated by her obvious censure or applaud her spunk. Still, he had gained a victory, which was enough for now.
As they rode on, he scanned the darkness, the woods black as a crypt. It was hard to detect anything other than shadow upon shadow.
Until one moved.
“Look to your left,” he whispered. “Beyond that white oak. What do you think?”
Her head swiveled, followed by a sharp inhale. “That is no animal.”
She nudged the horse into action, and he nearly fell off for the second time that night. Trees blurred as he fought to hold on to her slim form but not too tightly. A branch snagged his sleeve; holly tore at his trousers. Eventually they closed the gap, and she tugged on the reins.
But the figure was gone.
“He cannot have gotten far,” she breathed. “Hold on.”
They pounded away, then slowed as they reached the end of the tree line. Keeping them in the cover of the woods’ darkness, she stopped. He slid to the ground, boots landing with a thud, crushing leaves and sticks.
Which earned him a frown.
He stared into the dark as she dismounted, then slowly turned in a circle, straining to see.
Juliet crouched, pressing her fingers into the dirt. “Stay still.”
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Feeling for any kind of vibration. If he is nearby and makes a move, I will know.” She closed her eyes as if she might become one with the earth herself.
His breath hitched slightly at the sight. There was something primal about this woman and the way the forest spoke to her. Something he might never achieve.
Eventually she rose, a sad shake to her head. “Nothing,” she murmured. “If he was here, he is long gone by now.”
While he admired her ability to read the land like a novel, frustration nipped at him. They’d been so close! “You are certain?”
“I know what I am about, sir. I have been doing this for a year now.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Of course she knew what she was about. She navigated this land as if she were the master. “I do not doubt your skills, Juliet. I just … well, I had hoped we could put an end to this tonight. It is as if we are chasing a ghost.”
She dusted off her hands, shoulders straightening. “Sometimes all we have are ghosts. I understand your frustration, but that is where perseverance comes in.”
He blinked, once again taken aback. She pulled no punches, this one. “So, what now?”
“We try again in the morning, when the light is better, and I shall see if there is anything left to track. Whoever was here likely left behind some sign. They always do.”
He cocked his head. “You did not.”
A grin spread as she pulled herself up into the saddle, yet she said nothing. Which was a blessing in disguise as far as he was concerned, for the way his thoughts mired in a muddle, conversation was out of the question.
They might have foiled the tormentor’s attempt to unseat Charity on a ride, but that didn’t negate the fact that the villain had been here and slipped from his grasp.
How was he to protect his sister—and now Juliet—if he didn’t know who he was up against or when the cad might strike again?
Now that he’d actually spotted the man, the danger felt all the more real.
Juliet shifted in the saddle, and he could sense the tension still radiating from her. He should say something. Anything. But what? That he regretted this? That he didn’t want her in harm’s way? That he was starting to care for her in ways that complicated this entire situation?
No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. He wasn’t a man prone to sentimentality and he must foremost think of his sister. She was his first concern.
But the night’s ride had made one thing all too clear. Juliet was becoming a close second … a complication he hadn’t anticipated.