Page 132 of Winterset
I lifted the hem of my skirt and ran down the stone steps. I couldn’t make my feet move fast enough.
The carriage door opened from the inside as I neared. There was no footman to help me inside, but the step was down, and Oliver reached out his gloved hand.
I slipped my hand into his, and he effortlessly pulled me up. He was sitting in the rear-facing seat, so I sat in the forward-facing one across from him. The carriage was dark inside, and Oliver wore a black hooded cloak, hiding his face, making this moment feel every bit the clandestine arrangement that it was. Perhaps I, too, should have taken more care to conceal my appearance.
Before I could worry too much, Oliver knocked his knuckles to the carriage ceiling, and it jolted into motion down the long drive.
Oliver relaxed back into his seat, and although I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel the intensity of his stare. I’d imagined that when I climbed into the carriage, he’d pull me into his arms and whisper words of love.
But he said nothing.
Not as we drove down the long drive or when the carriage swayed onto the main lane nor even after we’d traveled that road for a few minutes. And as I stared at him in the darkness, my delight was overshadowed by uncertainty.
Did Oliver doubt our decision?
And if he did, did I have the strength to tell him to turn back?
“Will you not say anything to me?” I asked him.
Oliver tilted his head stiffly to the side. And there was something in that small motion that didn’t feel right. That didn’t feel like Oliver.
But no.
I was sure I must be imagining it—worrying about what we were doing and creating doubts where none existed—but I wouldn’t be able to calm down until I saw his face and looked into his eyes. Then I would know for certain that he still wanted to marry me.
“Remove your hood,” I said.
He reached both hands up and gripped the sides of the hood and slowly pulled it back. But he was sitting too far back in his seat, and his face was still obscured by shadow.
“Lean forward,” I said.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slowly did what I said.
My gasp filled the carriage.
Not Oliver.
It was the stranger I’d danced with earlier.
Then with a swift motion, almost gloating, he removed his mask, and I wasn’t surprised to see that he was no stranger at all.
It was Lord Markham.
I threw myself at the door and fumbled for the handle. I found it and opened the door. Despite the fast speed of the carriage, I would have leaped, but Markham stepped on my hem, preventing my escape.
He grabbed my hair and dragged me back inside the carriage, then tossed me into my seat. Towering over me, he used his weight to pin me in place and held my wrists in one hand.
I tried to free myself from his grasp, but I was no match for his strength.
He worked to untie his cravat and then ripped it from his neck. I worried he was going to put it aroundmyneck, but he tied it tightly around my wrists. Then he tugged the cloth, and seeming satisfied that it was secure, he sat in the seat opposite me again andsmiled.
“Hello, Miss Lockwood. It’s been too long.”
Oliver
I’m standing at the edgeof a cliff.
Sea mist swirls around me, and I breathe in the salty-sweet air. Below, waves crash on the rocks.
