Page 68 of The Lord Meets His Lady
She searched the dark woods. Where to hide? Rain-soaked trees were everywhere. The middle. It was darkest there. She leaped over a log. Her hem snagged on a jutting piece, jerking her back. She cried at being stuck and crouched low. Frenzied hands yanked hard until cloth ripped, and she was free.
Footfalls crashed behind her. Closer. Louder. Peeking over the fallen tree, she spied his dark form. He scanned the woods, his blond queue light on his black collar. Reinhard stilled, and slowly, slowly, he turned on his heel.
“I see you, Genevieve.”
The blasted red cloak.
The metallic taste of fear spurted across her tongue. She grabbed her skirts and fled. The forest blurred despite her wide-eyed search for safety. Running, she glanced back. Reinhard’s long legs ate up the ground. Big arms swung back and forth, matching his determined strides. He was gaining on her.
Low branches tore her hair. Her lungs burned. The cold. He was going to catch her. She looked back, her hair whipping her face. Her toes caught on a rock. The forest spun wildly, and her knees slammed the earth. The heels of her hands skidded over sodden leaves and dirt. Wetness stung her eyes.
Every sense screamedGet up!
Fight was not an option with Reinhard Wolf. Flight was all she had.
She pushed off the ground and tripped again, colliding with a tree. Bark scratched her palms, her cheek. Panting, she clung to the tree trunk, her eyes squeezing shut. Heavy footfalls crashed behind her. Her heart banged painfully against her breastbone. She shook from head to toe, lips and fingers numb.
She was caught.
A large hand gripped her shoulder. “Why do you run from me?”
Reinhard breathed heavier from his sprint. At least the chase had cost him some discomfort. Air billowed from Genevieve’s lungs. He spun her around, and she slumped against the tree.
“I thought I was free,” she whimpered.
His big hands brushed hair off her face. “Free? How can you say that? Have I not given you much?” His thumb stroked her jawline. “You know how much I want you.”
Her heart sank.
Possession was what Reinhard Wolf wanted. Full possession.
“Please,” she begged. “Can’t you let me go?”
Light-blue eyes stared at her, oddly piercing with the black ring around light blue—a predator’s eyes glowing in the dark forest.
“Never.”
Her heels hit the tree trunk. Why couldn’t she want him back? And be the kind of woman who gloried in the arrangement he offered? Herr Reinhard Wolf was handsome and accomplished. The wide planes of his face, his wheat-blond hair, and shoulders broad enough to carry life’s burdens should tempt her. Women in her position would dance a jig to be with him.
But she didn’t.
His presence loomed. Black clothes and clean, white shirt. His soldier’s bearing, staunch and proud in the twilight forest. Everything was wet, smelling of decaying wood and rich loam. Birds warbled from branches, disturbed by the chase, their twilight songs a reminder of the man she’d leave behind.
“So contrary, my Genevieve.” Reinhard traced her cheek. “You know you belong to me.”
Her face crumpled. Dreams for her future vanished under his claiming touch. Reinhard Wolf never gave back what he thought was rightfully his, and she was foremost on his list of possessions. She’d miss Pallinsburn—the horses, the cottage, and, most of all, the charming master for whom she’d toiled. So much gentleness here, but there was no escaping her fate.
“You have a hunter’s sense, Reinhard. You miss nothing.”
“All the better to keep you by my side.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, we’re leaving.”
Footfalls smashed the underbrush.
A pistol cocked. “Not with her.” Lord Bowles. His cheroot-rough voice came from behind Reinhard.
The Prussian turned, his grip firm on her elbow. Lord Bowles and Mr. Beckworth stood side by side, pistols drawn.
“You must be Lord Marcus Bowles,” Reinhard said, his face a stoic mask.
