Page 42 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“And did you see her return to the castle?” Horatio demanded.
“No, Your Grace. She let the little rabbit go and then went into the trees. I didn’t see her come back and I was sweeping her room out just an hour ago and she weren’t there.”
“Where did she go into the woods?”
“Just over the stone bridge. The one at the back of the stables.”
So, Frances had lied. She had entered Juliet’s room and had told a barefaced lie. All to poison Horatio’s mind against her cousin, to persuade him thatshewas the most viable candidate to be his bride.
Anger filled him, a towering rage at being manipulated and taken for a fool. It must have been visible in his face because themaids shrank back. The tea things on the tray rattled with the trembling of the maid’s hands.
Horatio stalked out of the room, striding back to the guest wing. He passed the doors of Lady Margaret’s room and that of her daughter and stopped at Juliet’s. Without knocking or pausing, he opened the door and strode inside. Through the anteroom and into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made and the room had been cleaned, as the maid had suggested.
He went to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. It was hard to tell if there were clothes missing. Certainly, there were gaps where garments might have hung. A box full of straw sat at the bottom of the wardrobe, empty. There was no sign of the rabbit anywhere. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Suddenly, the wind and rain seemed to increase their assault on the castle. It was as though thinking of a defenseless woman abroad in such a storm had caused it to grow stronger, to remind him of its power.
Juliet had left the castle and he did not think it was simply to return her patient to the wild. Where would she have gone? The nearest village was Little Hinton, four miles to the southwest. But the country between Ravenscourt and Little Hinton was wild and bare. Farmland began closer to the village. Around the castle itself, there was a mile or two of woods and low, rolling hills.
He slammed the wardrobe doors shut, his eyes drawn to the window. Its surface was a mass of water, striking the glass andthen being smeared across it by the wind. It blurred the view, but Horatio could make out the swaying tree tops, buffeted by the storm.
He sprinted from the room, seeing Lady Margaret stepping out of her door as he passed, ignoring her. He ran all the way to his own rooms and threw on an ulster and his riding boots. Then, he grabbed his second-best ulster overcoat, rolled it into a bundle, and tied it with a leather belt, slinging it over his shoulder. If Juliet had gone out in anything but a well-oiled cloak, she would be soaked to the skin and would need something warm and dry to cover her. Cursing the foolish woman, he hastened from his room, taking the shortest route to the stables.
Tearing through the servant’s quarters and kitchens, he ignored the shout of concern from Hall, whom he barged past as he shouldered open the back door to the stable yard.
For a moment, he headed for Thunder’s stall but then thought better. Thunder, brave though he was, would be terrified in these conditions. He would not risk the animal in a storm.
Instead, he turned and went out through the small gate in the brick wall beside the stables and down the narrow, stone steps beyond. An earth track led to a small wooden platform, from which he knew Hall liked to fish, and another set of steps up to the stone bridge across the moat. He heard the stable door opening and Hall calling out to him but ignored him.
Once on the bridge, Horatio set off at a brisk run towards the woods and Juliet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Juliet held the hood of her cloak with one hand, holding the garment closed about her with the other.
She envied the rabbit that she had released. It would have immediately found shelter beneath the verdant undergrowth. Eventually, it would reach the safety of a warren, waiting out the storm in the warm and dry.
But she had no such refuge.
The trees crashed and quivered in the wind and cold rain had soaked through the woolen cloak. The garment was clearly more for show than for hard wear, the water penetrating the loose weave easily. Her fingers were stinging where they were exposed to the cold water, as was her face when the wind snatched the hood from her grip and slapped her cheeks.
What worried her most was the ominous growls of thunder. That meant lightning. Juliet was very aware of the proximity of manytall trees, any one of which might attract the lightning. The fact that it had struck the tree and not her would do no good when it burst into flames as she passed. Or even exploded.
The worst of it was that her sense of direction had completely fled her. Keeping her head down beneath the hood meant she hadn’t been paying close attention to the direction in which the path she followed was taking her.
Now, there was no sign of sun behind the black storm clouds. She could not tell in which direction she faced or what direction Little Hinton lay. Trees clustered all around her, denying her a view of the landscape so that she might look for landmarks such as a church steeple. She might be wandering in the opposite direction, off into the wild countryside. It might be miles before she came across a habitation, let along a road. And in that instance, the combination of exposure and the weakness that was brought on by the illness might render her unconscious.
It was not inconceivable that a person in England in the nineteenth century could become lost and die of exposure. Without horse or transportation, the open countryside of England became a very big place.
She stopped, wondering for the hundredth time if this was a wise course of action. She could still return to Ravenscourt. No,impossible. She could not face Horatio’s doubt. Or Frances’ crowing victory as she hung on the Duke’s arm.
It was too much.
Resuming her march, her foot slipped on a patch of mud. Before she could recover her balance, Juliet found herself slipping to land on her side, catching herself with one hand. Rain assaulted her as the cloak was flapped open by the wind, the hood falling away.
The purse of coins dug into her hip where it lay beneath her. She got to her feet, wearily. Ahead and to the left, off the path, was a felled tree. Its roots had torn free of the ground and were exposed, leaving a substantial hole in the earth where they had once anchored the tree. Its considerable trunk and cluster of dead branches would provide some shelter and it should be safe from lightning, surrounded by so many upright trees.
Deciding it was sensible to wait out the storm somewhere that she would not get any wetter than she already was, Juliet hurried for the tree, brushing through dense undergrowth, and then crawling on hands and knees under a large bough that jutted from the stony bark. The ground was wet, but the downpour on her head was lessened to a series of drips.
