Page 53 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
Her left arm lay twisted at an unnatural angle, revealing that the bone had clearly been broken.
The only sound within the wreckage was the fading echo of the disaster, the slow, agonizing creak of the carriage settling into ruin. There was no indication that the countess was breathing, and her motionlessness told Francis why. She is dead, he thought, swaying on his feet as he stared at her stilled body. Outside, the horses continued to whinny, their frantic distress ringing through the air. No one answered. No one would. The world was frozen, and Francis was helpless to heed any call.
***
The library felt suffocating. Gabriel paced the length of the room, his movements restless, and his pulse hammering in his throat. The crackling fire did nothing to ease the chill gripping his chest, nor did the muted glow of candlelight soften the gnawing unease that had settled deep within him. He could not focus. Genevieve's fury, and immense pain lingered in his thoughts, as did her insistent determination when she stood before him, refusing to yield. He could still hear the echo of her voice and the sting of her accusation. “You do not trust me,” she had said. The words carved themselves into his mind, reverberating with sharp precision. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He had let her go. He had not wanted to let her out of his sight. But she had hurt him deeply with her words, and he did not want her to think him the heartless beast everyone else said he was. And yet, as he glanced toward the tall windows, his gaze landing on the darkening sky beyond, a foreboding weight sat heavily his chest.
She will be quite well, he thought, trying to reassure himself. The escort is strong.
The reassurances sounded hollow. His eyes flicked toward the clock. The hands moved agonizingly slow. Suddenly, something sharp and cold twisted in his stomach. It was a sensation he had felt far too many times during the war. Something was amiss. He knew it in the marrow of his bones. He tried to rationalize away the premonition, but it clung to him with relentless force.
Then, the library door burst open. James strode inside, his composure dissolved and his face was stark. Gabriel stilled immediately.
James’s voice was tight and urgent when he spoke.
“Word has just reached me,” he said. “A former sergeant at the coaching inn sent word.”
Gabriel did not move.
“What word just reached you?” he asked, each word feeling more impossible to say.
James inhaled sharply, forcing himself to deliver the report.
“There has been a terrible carriage accident,” he said. “It is Genevieve.”
The information struck Gabriel like a physical blow, shattering his composure, vaporizing every justification. His vague premonition crystallized into ice-cold certainty.
I allowed her to go alone, he thought as the room spun. I knew better, and I still allowed her to leave.
Agonizing regret crashed over him, nearly drowning him—but desperation surged faster. His voice cracked as he roared orders.
“Get my fastest horse,” he said.
The pounding of hooves against the earth reverberated through the evening air, a relentless rhythm matching the frantic beat of Gabriel’s heart. He urged Apollo forward, pushing the stallion to his limits, heedless of terrain, heedless of exhaustion. The world blurred around him, but none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the stretch of road ahead and the maddening need to reach Genevieve.
The silence of the ride was deafening. He could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing, the furious hammering of his pulse, the blood roaring in his ears. Even James and the half-dozen footmen riding alongside him were nothing but shadows in his periphery, their presence irrelevant to the singular purpose driving him forward. She will be fine. She must be fine. She is strong, Sophia said as much herself.
The reassurances burned like vile poison. He had told himself she would be safe, that her departure was necessary, that allowing her to go had been the right choice. He had made his decisions with logic, with cold calculation, with the unwavering certainty that control was the only safeguard against disaster. But none of that mattered now.
“There was a terrible accident,” he kept hearing James say. The words had struck like a blade, gutting him with merciless precision, stripping him bare. His justifications evaporated; his certainty reduced to ash.
I allowed her to go alone, he thought again, feeling more anguished than the first time he had reminded himself. The regret was suffocating. The thought of Genevieve crushed beneath the wreckage, bleeding, broken, terrified. Or worse. His grip on the reins tightened until his knuckles turned white. He could not lose her. The road twisted sharply ahead, cutting through dense woodland, narrowing as they crested the final rise.
The moment they reached the summit, the scene below unfolded in devastating clarity. The carriage was shattered, lying in ruin against the embankment. Splintered wood, twisted metal, and remnants of wreckage were strewn across the narrow passage. One of the footmen stared dumbly down at the horror, not even noticing when his master arrived. The sheer brutality of the devastation obliterated any lingering doubt. This was no accident.
Gabriel’s breath stopped. Cold fear, stark and absolute, clenched around his ribs.
He spurred Apollo recklessly down the slope, the stallion skidding against loose gravel, his hooves kicking up dirt as they barreled toward the wreckage. He barely registered James shouting behind him or the dangerous angle of the descent. Nothing mattered except reaching her. He reached the wreckage and flung himself from Apollo’s back before the horse fully halted, his boots hitting the ground in a near-stumble as he tore forward.
His hands found the shattered remains of the carriage, the sharp edges biting into his palms as he ripped through the debris with bare hands. He shoved splintered wood aside, barely aware of the way jagged fragments tore into his skin, drawing blood.
“Genevieve,” he said, yelling as though his loud voice would suddenly undo the rubble. His voice cracked, raw with terror, with desperation.
Another piece of wreckage was torn away, then another, until finally, through the twisted remnants of ruin, he saw her.
Everything inside him froze.
She lay amidst the wreckage, pinned beneath a heavy trunk, terrifyingly still. Blood matted her golden hair and streaked heavily across her pale face.
