Page 49 of The Viscount's Unwanted Bride
Sophie’s smile faded. “Do you want to call off the engagement?”
Kate considered that. “No, I don’t think so, but it’s making me uneasy. What if it’s something serious, and I don’t find out until after we’re married? I’ll have no way out.”
Perhaps she was making this all sound a little bit more dramatic than it was, but her future was on the line. If Blackwell was keeping secrets, there was no knowing what they might be.
CHAPTER 16
Rain thundereddown as Theo guided the horses along the muddy road between Blackwell Estate and South Wye. Even though it was only afternoon, the darkness from the storm clouds above made it difficult for him to see.
A gust of wind dislodged a branch from a tree and hurled it toward the carriage. The horses reared back and the wheels skidded in the mud. Theo’s heart lurched. Another branch followed, and a moment later, the entire carriage toppled over.
Theo thudded to the ground, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. He rolled over, groaning at the ache in his ribs, and froze when the horses took off, dragging the overturned carriage behind them. Even from here, he could see that part of the wood was smashed in.
Frantic, he looked around for Elizabeth, but there was no sign of her. She must still be inside.
He rushed after the carriage, making shushing noises to soothe the horses. It was all he could do to keep up with them, but eventually, they stopped. He freed each one from their harness immediately to prevent them from doing any damage should they take off again, then dropped to his knees. Waterfrom a puddle soaked into his trousers as he grabbed the window and ducked to look inside.
His stomach dropped as he struggled to absorb the sight before him. Elizabeth was wedged in the doorway, her lower body inside the carriage while her upper body must be on the other side of the door, having been dragged between the carriage and the road.
He got out and struggled to shove the carriage off her, to free her from its weight. He was too weak, so he grabbed a fallen branch and used it as a lever. When he finally pried it up, he used every ounce of strength he possessed to heave it off her.
The door opened, and she flopped onto the ground.
“No,” he sobbed, his breath catching in his chest.
Her clothes were torn and shredded, stained with both mud and blood. Her face was scraped on one side, and blood soaked her hair and trickled down her forehead. Her eyes—usually such a rich shade of brown—gazed sightlessly into his own, a faint glassy sheen proving that he was too late.
She was already gone.
He clambered over to her and felt for a pulse. When there was nothing, he put his ear to her mouth, desperate to feel her breath on his cheek, hoping with every fiber of his being that he was wrong. But as he drew back, her features changed. They formed a pointed chin and high cheekbones, the blank eyes switching from brown to gray.
Lady Katherine.
Dear God, she was dead. He’d lost her just as he’d lost Elizabeth.
He bolted upright, his shirt clinging to his torso, which was drenched with sweat. His heart hammered wildly, and he looked around, unable to relax until he’d confirmed that he was in his own bedroom.
“It was just a dream,” he whispered to himself. The words didn’t make him feel any better, though. This time, it had been a dream, but there was nothing to say it wouldn’t come true in the future.
Needing a physical release, he got up, wiped the sweat from his body, dressed in his boxing clothes, and made his way through the silent house. The gray light of dawn lit his way as he walked to the room where he went to wash away his sins.
He wrapped his hands and beat the boxing bag until his fists ached, his muscles screamed, and his breath came in ragged bursts. Slowly, the gray light brightened, and the faintest hint of blue sky became visible through the windows.
Mopping the sweat from his brow, he slunk to the stool and dropped onto it. He stared into space, willing the image of Lady Katherine’s blank eyes to disappear from his mind. When that didn’t happen, he undid his wraps and took them with him back to his bedchamber.
The sheets had been stripped from his bed and his bathtub had been filled while he was gone. One of the maids must have heard him in the boxing room—or, more likely, Mrs. Taylor had, since she seemed to know everything that went on in the house at all times.
He undressed, relieved that his blood was pumping from the exercise he’d just done, otherwise it might have been too cold in his room for comfort. He tossed the clothes where he’d discarded his fist wraps and got into the tub.
The water was warm but not hot, and a cake of soap had been left beside the tub. He washed himself with brisk movements, grimacing when he noticed that one of his knuckles had split. Hopefully no one would notice at the wedding tomorrow. The last thing his reputation needed was for him to look like he’d been in a brawl.
As it was, he’d noticed that Lady Katherine hadn’t been herself at the engagement ball. They needed to hold everything together until after the wedding, which meant he couldn’t draw attention to anything that could be considered inappropriate.
He stood, water sluicing from his body, and dried himself quickly as the droplets cooled on his skin. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and he rubbed them, then wound the towel around his waist before summoning his valet.
Barlow was a tall, thin man with a thick mustache and sideburns, his clothes as impeccably maintained as Theo’s own. He helped Theo into his clothes for the day—he had to dress well, as he would be calling on his fiancée—and tsked at the sight of his knuckles.
“Would you like me to bandage that?” he asked, his nose turning up in clear disapproval. “If you leave it as it is, you might bleed on your white shirt.”
