Chapter 3 #2
She had never spoken so openly to a man before—not even to her brother. Yet here, in this small cottage surrounded by darkness and rain, she found herself confessing truths she had long kept buried.
Perhaps it was because Jude listened—not as a man who judged, but as one who understood. And that, more than anything, unsettled her. It confused her in ways she could not quite name.
He was not at all what she had imagined a gamekeeper to be. There was a refinement in his manner, a quiet authority in the way he spoke. His voice carried the ease of a man accustomed to being heard, not one who spent his life taking orders.
Her gaze drifted to the bookshelves again, to the array of leather-bound volumes arranged with such care.
It was hardly the home of a simple country laborer.
And then there were his words—thoughtful, precise and far too articulate for a man who supposedly lived by trapping rabbits and mending fences.
Still, maybe she was being unfair. Her thoughts had a habit of running away with her. After all, desperation and gratitude could twist her perception. She was alone in a cottage with a man she barely knew, one who had saved her life and given her shelter when he had no obligation to do so.
But the more time she spent in his company, the more the contradictions fascinated her. She wanted to press him, but she had no right to do so—not when he had only shown her kindness. And yet, despite her best efforts, curiosity tugged at her heart all the same.
The first hint of dawn crept over the horizon, the pale light glinting off the frost-dusted ground as Jude fastened the saddle onto his horse. He tightened the strap, the leather creaking beneath his hand, though his thoughts were far from the task.
He needed to ride to his father’s country estate before the day was properly begun—to fetch a second horse, yes, but also to make sure the household staff remembered their instructions.
They were to treat him as the gamekeeper, not as the son of a duke.
The less Lady Josephine knew about who he truly was, the better.
But as he adjusted the stirrup, his mind betrayed him. He saw her again—her blonde hair tumbling in loose curls over her shoulders, her gown torn and muddied, yet her chin still lifted in defiance. That spark in her eyes—fierce, proud, unbroken—stirred something in him he had no right to feel.
She hadn’t whimpered or complained, not once. Instead, she had faced her misfortune with quiet determination. It humbled him. And, curse it all, it intrigued him more than it should.
Jude exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his hair.
He had no right to think of her that way.
Soon enough they would send word to her family, and she would be whisked back to her world of silks and candlelit assemblies.
He might see her again, perhaps, across a crowded ballroom, but she’d be wearing jewels, not the coarse blanket she had wrapped about her shoulders.
And he would be nothing more than a polite bow and a memory she’d rather forget.
“Are you leaving?”
Her voice broke through his thoughts.
Jude turned towards the stable door. There she stood—Josephine—framed by the golden spill of early morning light. Her hair tumbled in loose waves down her shoulders, and though her gown was torn and smudged from their ordeal, she looked far too beautiful.
“I am,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than intended. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the emotion tightening there. “I’m going to the Duke of Ashmoore’s country home.”
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her ruined gown. “At this hour?”
He allowed a smile to tug at his lips. “I thought you’d be eager for me to send word to your family.”
“I am, but…” She paused, biting her lower lip. “Could I not go with you?”
His smile faded. “And how would we explain your presence if we arrived together on a single horse? I rather think it would draw unwanted attention.”
She looked down. “You are right, of course. I just—” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I don’t like the thought of being out here alone.”
“You’ll be safe, I promise. Have some stew and read one of the books on the shelf. I’ll be back with another horse before you have time to miss me.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “At least I have the muff pistol you gave me.”
A twinge of guilt pricked him. “Yes, well… I should probably tell you that the pistol isn’t loaded. It’s mostly decorative.”
Her mouth parted in surprise. “Oh. I hadn’t realized. I’ll confess, I’ve never handled a pistol before.”
“I only gave it to you so you’d feel safer,” he admitted.
“It did help,” she said quietly, and there was something in her tone that made his chest ache.
He smiled faintly. “Then perhaps I can make it up to you. I will teach you how to shoot properly, assuming your family doesn’t come straightaway to collect you.”
But she didn’t return his smile. Instead, she glanced away towards the woods, her voice barely above the whisper of wind through the trees. “What if the Duke of Ashmoore’s household won’t take me in?”
“They will,” he asserted.
“How can you be so certain?”
He took a slow step closer until he stood but a few feet from her. “Because I know the household well. They’ll help you. I promise.”
Her eyes met his, filled with quiet doubt. “I hope you are right.”
“I am.” Then to lighten the moment, he added, “But if by some strange chance they turn you away, you’re welcome to stay here—so long as you don’t mind rabbit stew for every meal.”
That drew a small laugh from her. “How do you not tire of it?”
“Because it’s the only thing I know how to cook,” he said with a grin.
“That’s admirable,” she replied. “I was banned from the kitchen years ago. Our cook still tells the tale of my disastrous attempt at baking bread.”
He chuckled. “You’re a lady. No one expects you to cook.”
“True,” she said with a faint shudder, “though I daresay it’s a useful skill.”
The tremor in her voice caught his attention. He studied her for a moment. “Are you cold?”
“No,” she said quickly—too quickly.
Without another word, Jude shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Let’s get you back inside the cottage before you freeze.”
She clutched the coat tighter. “Thank you.”
He offered his arm, and they walked slowly towards the cottage, their footsteps crunching against the frosted earth.
“Stay inside and bolt the door once I leave,” he told her. “You’ll be safe here.”
“I can do that,” she murmured.
At the cottage door, he stepped ahead to open it for her. Once she was inside, he crossed to the small wooden table and opened the box where he kept his ammunition. “May I have your muff pistol?”
She fetched it from beneath the pillow on the bed and placed it carefully in his palm. Without a word, he measured the powder, rammed the ball down, and primed the pistol before handing it back. “There. Now it’s loaded. Be careful with it.”
She examined it with uncertainty. “So I just point and shoot?”
“Not quite. You’ll need to cock it first—but yes, that’s the idea.”
“I think I’ll leave it on the table,” she said, setting it down. “I’d rather not accidentally shoot the furniture.”
“That would be wise,” he said, smiling despite himself.
She slipped off his coat and held it out to him. “I truly appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“You don’t need to thank me again.”
“But I must,” she insisted. “You’ve been far kinder than I deserve.”
He accepted the coat and slid his arms into the sleeves. “If the situation were reversed, I’ve no doubt you’d have done the same for me.”
“I would like to believe that.”
He hesitated, then met her gaze squarely. “I wouldn’t leave you here if I thought for a moment it wasn’t safe. I’ll return before you know it.”
Her eyes lingered on him, full of quiet worry. “What will you tell the servants about me?”
“I haven’t decided,” he admitted. “But you have my word, I won’t betray your confidence. Still”—his voice softened—“you belong in a grand house, not this tiny cottage.”
Her gaze drifted over the modest space. “I’m not certain that’s true. It’s rather peaceful here.”
He found himself smiling again. “Then I’m glad you think so. Now, bolt this door behind me, and open it for no one but me.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a little salute.
Jude laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and for a moment, he stood there in the quiet morning, torn between the duty that awaited him and the warmth he already missed.
The morning air bit at Jude’s cheeks as he led his horse from the stable.
The animal tossed its head, eager for the ride, and Jude murmured a quiet word of reassurance while adjusting the bridle.
Swinging himself into the saddle, he exhaled slowly, glancing once more towards the cottage hidden by trees in the distance.
She’s safe. That is all that matters.
Turning his horse towards the narrow, well-worn path, he urged it forward.
The trail wound through thick woodlands and he kept the pace measured, unwilling to risk the horse’s footing on the uneven ground.
The rhythmic clop of hooves and the faint scent of damp earth filled the air, his mind drifting between thoughts of duty and the woman he’d left behind.
When the trees finally broke into a wide clearing, Jude gave his horse its head. The animal surged forward with a burst of power, hooves pounding against the frozen soil as the wind rushed past his ears. His heart quickened—not just from the ride, but from the sight that rose before him.
Ashmoore Hall.