Chapter 12 #2
At the sapling where Juliet had first found the fabric, she crouched, her keen eye seeking clues.
She was a hound on the hunt, determined despite the fact that he’d basically coerced her into this arrangement.
This was not her battle, yet here she was, giving it her all.
If only he had met her at another time, in another place, with no dire distractions or societal expectations to keep them apart.
But that was an irrelevant thought here in the thick of night, pursuing a ruthless villain with the woman who’d stolen his game.
Juliet faced him with a grim set to her jaw. “We may not know where the man went, but we can trace these tracks to the part of the manor he visited—and I highly suspect it will lead us to your sister’s window.”
A growl ripped out of him. “Heaven help the rogue when I do catch up to him.”
“Yes, I suspect he shall need it.” With a faint smile, she pivoted, carefully picking her way through the trees.
And once again he followed, trusting her instinct yet scanning for any signs she might miss—not that he could see as well as she in the growing dark. Her keen senses continued to astound, truly.
Once they cleared the tree line, she picked up speed. Bedford Manor loomed ahead, black against the coming night. On this back side of the house, no warm light glowed behind the windowpanes, making it appear lifeless. Cold. Empty.
Almost like an omen.
Ten paces from the western wall, Juliet turned left. He stopped her with a touch to her shoulder. “My sister’s chamber is the other way.”
“That may be, but I am following the tracks. They are faint, but deep enough to distinguish where a heel has disturbed the soil.”
He ground his teeth. Hopefully this route wouldn’t end as abruptly as the last one. For now, he had to trust her. But in the morning, by the light of day, he would ask Carver to do his own search of the grounds for anything she might miss.
“Very well.” He dropped his hand. “Lead on.”
She turned back to the task at hand, skirting along the edge of sculpted boxwoods moulded against the manor’s stone wall. Twenty paces more and she stopped, her face lifting, her lips parting, yet no sound came out.
He followed her gaze, and his blood turned to ice. “Do not tell me this is where the trail ends.”
“Very well. I shall not tell you.”
“Then I am right. This is where the man stood, is it not?”
She remained silent, but the dark gleam in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
For a long moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. That patch of flattened grass sat directly below the window belonging to Juliet’s bedchamber.
And now she was in peril as well.
“It is dark, Henry.” Her voice traveled soft and brave on the night air. “I am a simple poacher, not a man hunter. I could be wrong.”
“I never should have brought you into my world of troubles. Now you are in danger.” He flung out his hand.
“I highly doubt that. This is a mind game. Nothing more than to scare me off.”
“Perhaps it should.”
She planted her fists on her hips. “I do not scare so easily, sir.”
“I am aware of that.” She truly was a remarkable woman.
Still, did he really have the right to allow her to share his burdens at the cost of possible harm to herself?
If he suggested ending their bargain here and now, would her pride allow her to retreat, or would she refuse him?
The thought twisted his lips into a smirk.
He could already imagine that stubborn tilt to her head.
But he had to try.
“Juliet, this threat is getting worse. There is no telling what the man might do to you or my sister. I will have her sent away to safety, and I will have you—”
“What? Thrown into prison?” Dry laughter rattled out of her. “The vaporous threats of an anonymous man are far more innocuous than the hangman’s noose.”
His chest tightened. Whether the law allowed it or not, did she really think he would stoop to such a violent act? “I would not have you hanged.”
“And yet that is the price for poaching,” she parried.
“I will not press charges.” Widening his stance, he folded his arms, a rock not to be moved. “Besides, you have served me for a fortnight now. I should say that more than covers the game you bagged, hence we are even. I release you from our agreement.”
Confusion rippled across her face. “You are an anomaly, sir. Why such mercy for a woman you barely know?”
“Let us simply say I should like to get to know you better and leave it at that.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, yet what was the point in even thinking of taking them back?
For they were true.
She blinked, apparently speechless, and she had every right to be. What sort of man said such a thing when standing beneath a woman’s bedchamber window?
She blinked again, but this time it wasn’t shock—it was resolve hardening behind her eyes. “No,” she said simply.
His brow lifted. “No?”
“I will not walk away. Not while your sister is still in danger.”
“But I just released you—”
“You cannot release me from my conscience.” Her voice quivered with quiet conviction. “Charity is kind. Brave. She treats me like a person, not a criminal. I won’t abandon her. You may have hired me for my skills, but I stay because I care. Do not make me leave.”
Her loyalty shook him more than if she’d run.
Wasn’t this what he’d asked God for? Help?
Wisdom? But now, staring at Juliet beneath the very window of her room, he wasn’t sure if this was provision …
or another test. Was he stewarding it rightly?
Or simply dragging another soul into danger?
Either way, the determined set of the woman’s jaw signified she’d brook no further argument on the matter, leastwise for now.
He forced a nonchalant tone. “Look, it is late. I highly doubt anything more will happen tonight, and we are both tired. I shall have Carver inspect the grounds in the morning. In the meantime, I will see you to your room.”
“Thank you, but I am quite capable. There is no need to accompany me as if I were a tot afraid of the dark. Good night, Henry.” She stepped around him.
“Not so fast.” He caught up to her, matching her stride. “I do not deny your courage, Juliet. Please, just humour me. I will not forgive myself if anything happens to you or my sister.”
She cast him a sideways glance as if to deny him, yet finally relented with a slight nod of her head.
They walked in silence, more awkward than companionable, and he cursed himself for letting things grow so strained between them. What a fool.
Into the manor, along the corridor, up the stairs, every single step, he could think of nothing to say.
An impossibility, really, for he was acutely aware of her at his side, breathing in her rosemary scent, stealing multiple glances at her graceful figure.
Moonlight slid through the windows, painting a silver halo atop her dark hair, caressing the curve of her cheek, the hollow of her neck.
Her lips pulled into a pout, as if she too wrestled with how to break the sudden awkwardness.
When they finally came to her room, he suspected she was as relieved as he was. He reached for the doorknob at the exact moment she did, and when their fingers touched, heat against heat, a charge ran up his arm.
She pulled back with a sharp intake of air, her gaze seeking his with questions he couldn’t answer.
Even so, he stepped closer, knowing he shouldn’t yet helpless to remain apart from her.
His hand hovered in the air with an urge to brush back that loose lock of hair, feel its silkiness, feel her.
Her luminous eyes locked with his, her lower lip slightly aquiver, not an invitation necessarily, yet neither a denial.
Her chest rose and fell noticeably—something he definitely ought not be noticing.
There was a line here. A thin one. One he dared not cross.
Should he?
The air between churned with want, need, promise. Yet what could he possibly promise her right now but threat and danger?
He retreated with a small bow. “Good night, Juliet.”
“Good night,” she said softly, then vanished into her room, closing the door.
The moment the latch clicked, he leaned back against the wall, heart pounding an irregular beat. He didn’t have time for this now, and yet here it was, this draw—this irresistible pull—to a woman he suddenly couldn’t bear to lose.
He closed his eyes. Hadn’t he asked God for help? And Juliet Finch had appeared—resourceful, sharp-eyed, brave. Was she the answer to that prayer or the consequence of his pride?
Because the truth was hard and unforgiving … ever since he’d brought her into this, the danger had only grown. More letters. More shadows. Now a man standing beneath her window. This wasn’t a solution. This was escalation.
For a moment, he nearly turned on his heel and penned the letter he’d sworn never to write.
One word to his father and the man would be on the next ship, walking away from peace and headlong into a storm.
But the cost would be more than passage.
His father had finally begun to fully live again after his mother’s death, to find beauty in the world after years of mourning.
No, he could not call him back unless it was truly time—and he wasn’t sure if what held him back now was confidence or cowardice.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, suppressing a moan.
Oh God, help me get this right. I cannot afford to fail my father, my sister … or Juliet.