Page 22 of Surrender Your Grace
“Scamp,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to her lips. “Don’t distract me. We need to hurry before we lose the light.”
The woods thickened with every step, the canopy filtering what little light remained. Cici picked her way over slick roots, her skirts catching damp underbrush. She stumbled once—boots sliding on wet earth—and instantly, Andrew’s hand steadied her, pulling her closer. Less a catch than a claim.
A glance behind showed the horses lost to the trees.
“Are you sure this is the way? It looks like nobody has been through here in ages.”
He didn’t hesitate, guiding her forward with a steady hand that didn’t allay her growing unease.
“Would I lead my viscountess astray?” he asked simply.
She opened her mouth to reply, but he squeezed her hand. “It’s just ahead.”
At last, they reached a clearing. In the center, half-buried and silent, lay the ruins. Its crumbling walls were blackened with age and covered in moss. Ivy climbing up the stones like veins. One crooked archway stood like a gravestone sinking into the earth.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you mean, whatwasit?” Andrew asked. “This was once the village chapel. It fell into ruin after a fire in the mid-1600s. Legend says the blaze began on a stormy night, when a young couple from feuding families came here to be secretly wed. The vicar escaped, but the bride and groom were never seen again.”
“How tragic. Maybe they escaped and started fresh elsewhere,” she offered hopefully.
“Perhaps,” he replied, noncommittally.
She glanced his way, trying to read his expression. “Why didn’t they rebuild?”
“The villagers refused to come near here. They still won’t.”
Her gaze drifted to the chapel, dread and curiosity mingling. “Why not?”
“For almost two centuries, many have claimed to hear their cries on stormy nights.”
A sudden gust of wind sighed through the broken walls. Something fluttered above—perhaps a bird, perhaps a scrap of old cloth. She couldn’t tell.
Cici moved closer, pressing against his side. His arms came around her, warm and solid in the sudden chill.
“I never used to believe in ghosts,” she whispered, eyeing the eerie old church.
“And now?”
“I’m not so sure.” She glanced up at him. “Why bring me here?”
He looked past her to the ruin then back. “Because, like the manor, this place has a long history. You’re bound to hear the stories. I didn’t want you to come exploring without me.”
“That shouldn’t have been cause for concern,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have ventured past the woods.” She looked up at him. “Do you believe any of it?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “I’ve been here many times, day and night, in clear weather and foul.”
“You were testing the legend,” she charged.
“As a boy, yes. Even with a vivid imagination, I never experienced anything ethereal. Still, I believe grief lingers.”
A rush of wind swept through the broken arch, blowing a lock of hair across her cheek. She reached to brush it aside just ashe did. Andrew tucked the strands behind her ear, and his hand lingered at her cheek.
She leaned into him—heart uncertain though her body was sure. His presence stilled something restless inside her.
He leaned down, poised to kiss her, then hesitated. “We should go,” he murmured. “You’re trembling.”
A silence hung between them, thick with meaning. She stepped back, fingers trailing down his chest. “Yes. We wouldn’t want to keep dinner waiting.”
