Chapter 2
Josephine wrapped both hands around the cup of steaming stew, letting its warmth seep through her chilled fingers.
The scent of herbs and something earthy—perhaps rabbit—wafted upward, making her stomach twist with hunger.
She wanted nothing more than to drink it down in one gulp, but forced herself to take small, careful sips.
A lady did not devour her food, no matter how hungry she might be.
Her gaze, however, never strayed far from the man seated only a few feet away.
He sat beside the hearth, elbows braced on his knees, watching the fire with a calm that unsettled her. He had done nothing but help her since he’d found her in the stable. Still, wariness pulsed through her veins. Why was he helping her? Men rarely did so without wanting something in return.
Once, she would not have thought such things. But that was before Mr. Broderick had cornered her on the veranda, pressed a pistol into her side, and forced her into his coach. Before she learned how swiftly trust could turn to betrayal.
The man’s voice cut through her dark musings. “Are you still hungry?”
Josephine blinked, glancing down at her cup. It was empty. She hadn’t even noticed she’d finished it. “No, thank you,” she replied, startled to hear how small her voice sounded.
“I hope the stew was to your liking,” he said. “I made it myself.”
“You cook?”
He gave a soft shrug. “A man learns to fend for himself out here. There’s no cook to scold when the rabbit burns.”
Despite herself, Josephine’s lips twitched. “It was quite good.”
His expression warmed, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Then I’m glad.” He stood and stretched. “Shall we get you to bed?”
Josephine shot to her feet, the blanket sliding from her lap and pooling at her feet. “I beg your pardon?”
He raised both hands quickly. “Forgive me—that came out wrong. I meant the bed is yours for the night. You will sleep there. Alone.”
She narrowed her eyes, still uncertain. “And where, pray tell, will you sleep?”
He gestured towards the armchair by the hearth. “There. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.”
Her gaze flicked to the bed in the corner. The quilt looked soft, inviting. She was exhausted, her limbs heavy, and her mind aching from everything that had happened. But the thought of closing her eyes near a stranger made her pulse quicken.
“I do appreciate your generosity,” she said slowly, “but how do I know you won’t take advantage of me once I close my eyes?”
He didn’t look offended. Instead, he smiled faintly, as though he understood. “You don’t. But you have my word—you’re safe here.”
There was something in his voice—quiet conviction, not bluster—that made her believe him. Against her better judgment, her shoulders eased. She was still cautious, but she felt an unfamiliar calm in his presence. Strange. The man lived alone in the woods, yet she sensed no menace in him.
Her eyes drifted to the small window where rain battered the glass. “How long do you think it will last?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But you should rest. You look exhausted.”
“I am,” she admitted.
“Then go,” he encouraged, motioning to the bed. “Sleep.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Whose land are we on?”
“The Duke of Ashmoore’s.”
Her head lifted in surprise. “Truly? I met the duke once. He visited my mother after my father died. He was kind… considerate. My father always spoke highly of him.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “It’s been many years, but that doesn’t make it easier, does it?”
“No,” he agreed. “My mother died a few years ago. I still miss her every day.”
Josephine’s chest tightened with empathy. “My father was an honorable man,” she said wistfully. “I miss our talks at supper, his steady presence and his firm embraces. They always made me feel safe. Protected.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “May I ask you something?”
“That depends on what it is.”
“How did you end up here? Torn gown, bleeding forehead, alone in the woods?”
Her body went rigid. “It doesn’t matter. I just… am.”
He held up his hands again, palms outward. “You don’t have to tell me. But perhaps I could help.”
“That’s kind of you,” she said, “but unnecessary. I’ll be leaving the moment the rain lets up.”
“And then what?”
She lifted her chin, feigning confidence she did not feel. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”
He studied her for a moment longer, then leaned back in his chair. “Do as you please. It’s probably better that way.”
Guilt pricked at her. She sounded ungrateful, and he had been nothing but decent. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “For everything. I would have frozen in that stable without you.”
He turned his head, giving her a wry smile. “It was nothing.”
“To you, perhaps,” she said, “but to me—it was everything.”
He nodded once, then after a pause, asked, “Dare I ask your name?”
She hesitated. Should she tell him? What harm could it do? “My name is Josephine.”
He tipped his head slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Josephine. My name is Jude.”
“Hello, Jude.” A yawn escaped her before she could stop it.
A glimmer of amusement entered his eyes. “I daresay you’re exhausted. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
The reassurance was unexpected, and oddly comforting. She lay down, pulling the quilt around her shoulders. For a long moment, she simply listened to the rain and the crackling fire. Yet sleep refused to come.
“How long have you been the gamekeeper?” she asked.
There was a pause. “Not long.”
“Do you like it here? Living in the middle of nowhere?”
“I do,” he said. “This cottage was built for the duke’s use when he wanted solitude. Few people even know it exists.”
“That was generous of him to let you stay.”
He gave a short, unreadable laugh. “Yes. Generous.”
She turned her head towards the firelight and saw his profile, all shadow and quiet strength. “You seem rather young to be a gamekeeper.”
He huffed. “I thought you were going to sleep.”
“I’m trying,” she said, smiling faintly. “Sleep just… eludes me.”
After a moment, he asked, “How does a young lady from high Society end up stumbling to my door in the middle of the night?”
She stiffened again. “Who says I’m from high Society?”
He arched a brow. “Your gown—though torn and muddied—is made of the finest muslin. And your speech, your manners… they give you away. That, and the fact your father called a duke his friend.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His expression softened instantly. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to understand.”
“It is I who should apologize,” she said. “I’ve imposed on your kindness. It’s only… I don’t know if someone will come looking for me, and that frightens me.”
“Is this man your husband?”
“Heavens, no,” she replied, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. “But he wants to be.”
“Then whoever he is, I hope he never finds you.”
For the first time since her abduction, Josephine felt the sting of tears. She looked away, blinking them back. “So do I.”
“Will no one else come looking for you?” he asked.
Josephine’s gaze dropped to her hands where she twisted the corner of the blanket between her fingers. “I doubt they would know where to start looking,” she admitted. “But yes… I am certain my mother and brother are searching for me.”
“Are you close with them?”
“I adore my mother. But my brother, Alexander…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “We used to be very close, when we were children. Since he has inherited the estate, he has grown… distant. Everything he does now seems to revolve around ledgers and Parliament.”
Jude leaned closer to the hearth, the glow of the fire casting his face in warm, shifting light. “It is a great responsibility,” he said, “to have so many people depend upon you.”
“I know,” Josephine replied. “But I can hardly remember the last time I saw him smile. He used to laugh so easily, and now—” Her voice caught. “Now he seems burdened by every breath. I wish I could help him, but he will not let me.”
The room fell quiet except for the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. Then without warning, a loud bang echoed from outside.
Josephine jumped, clutching the quilt to her chest. “What was that?”
Jude straightened immediately, his eyes flicking towards the door. “I forgot to close the stable door when I carried you in earlier.” He rose, crossed the room to a small table and opened a wooden box that sat atop it. Inside gleamed the dull shine of metal.
Her pulse quickened as he lifted a pistol.
“It’s better to be prepared,” he said calmly, checking the weapon with practiced ease. “In case I run across any wild animals.”
“What about your rifle?”
“In the stable,” he replied, tucking the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. Then he reached again into the box and drew out a much smaller weapon—sleek, with delicate engraving along the barrel. He held it up. “This was my mother’s muff pistol.”
The flickering firelight glinted along the silver finish, and Josephine murmured, “It’s beautiful.”
He stepped closer to the bed, extending it towards her. “You should hold on to this,” he encouraged. “At least until you leave. Just as a precaution—nothing more.”
For a moment, she only stared at it. No man had ever handed her a weapon before. It felt like an extraordinary act of trust. She reached out slowly, her fingertips brushing his as she took it. “Thank you,” she acknowledged.
Jude’s gaze met hers, steady and unguarded. “I want you to know,” he said, “that you are safe here with me. I mean you no harm.”
Something in the quiet conviction of his tone made her chest tighten. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I believe you,” she replied. “I… I feel safe.”
He inclined his head, as if relieved. “Good.” Turning towards the door, he reached for his coat.
She watched him, the small pistol resting in her lap. The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, but she had no desire to see him walk out into it.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked suddenly.