Page 55 of In the Bed of a Scoundrel Earl

Chapter Twenty-Four

Aweek later, once the dust had somewhat settled on the shock announcement of their engagement, Rose and Dorian decided to watch the dawn rise from the meadow that had fast become their sanctuary. Regardless of the gossip that circulated through the house, they could always find peace here, where the true depth of their affections had made itself known.

“It’s always so beautiful here,” Rose cooed, reveling in the golden miasma that spread across the vivid green of the grass and the vibrant reds, blues, and yellows of the wildflowers. She nestled against Dorian’s chest, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders to keep out the chill of early morning. “Is it as pretty in the winter?”

Dorian pressed his lips to her hair. “Oh yes, especially when it snows. I will bring you here when we have our first snowfall, and we will build a snow-stag together.”

“Like him?” Rose gestured to the silvery beast who always seemed to come to the meadow at the same time as the engaged couple. She liked to think of him as a good omen, watching over them. After all, he had led her eye to see her father in the woods that day, alerting her to potential danger.

Though my father appears to have abandoned his hopes of dragging me back to London.She smiled, thinking of the serene, joyful week that she and Dorian had spent together. There had been no more sinister letters, no more sentient shadows, no more bristles on the back of her neck that made her feel as though her father was observing her. She hoped that news of the engagement had scared him off and that he might never return to darken her doorway.

“Exactly like him,” Dorian confirmed. “Perhaps, we could fashion a doe for him, too, so he is not alone?”

Rose nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Have you considered our wedding any further, my doe?” He chuckled against her hair, holding her close. Since the proposal, she had noticed that he had been more at ease than she had ever seen him: freer with his smiles and his laughter and his kisses, though he was careful to save the latter for when they had more privacy. Even Mrs. Whittaker, who had mellowed toward the idea, had remarked upon the metamorphosis.

“He’s as giddy as a pup,” she had said one morning, nudging Rose gently. “I’ve not seen him like this since he was a wain at Christmastide. I ain’t sayin’ I’m suddenly approvin’ of the two of yer, but… yer seem to have done somethin’ wonderful to him, and I don’t mind that one bit.”

Rose blinked up at her husband-to-be. “Lord Bentley showed me the estate’s private chapel. I think it’s perfect.”

“He is furious that you refuse to call him Hudson.” Dorian tilted her chin up and kissed her on the lips, letting it linger until she quite forgot what he had been talking about.

He laughed, pulling away slightly. “I think the chapel would be ideal, and then we may have our wedding breakfast at the house and enjoy a quiet reception of you, myself, Hudson, and perhaps Mrs. Whittaker, if she has thawed by then.”

“I think she is already beginning to,” Rose replied, utterly at peace here with Dorian, surrounded by the raw beauty of nature and the brightening warmth of what promised to be a glorious summer’s day. “I might pick some flowers for my bed-chamber. Would you mind?”

He feigned reluctance. “I do so love to watch you among the flowers, but I hate to have to relinquish you from my arms.” He cracked a smile. “I suppose the blooms may have you for a time, while I doze here upon the blankets.”

Planting a kiss upon his forehead, she jumped up and walked to her favorite spot, where proud cornflowers grew in abundance. They had swiftly become her flower of choice, for their remarkable blue petals never failed to cheer her. She had just stooped to begin selecting the best blooms when she heard a strange low sound behind her: a strangled call that inspired an explosion of rooks to burst out of the forest.

“Was that the stag?” she asked as she continued.

“It was,” Dorian replied. “Enjoy your flower-picking, I am just going to investigate, in case the dogs have ventured into the woodland.” He had turned them loose that morning, as he did every morning, but he did not like them to disturb the wildlife too much. They were not specifically hunting dogs, and she knew he hated it when they brought a rabbit or a badger or a squirrel to his feet as a gift. No doubt, he felt sorry for the poor beast that had lost their life.

She did just that, humming to herself as she crouched to select a few stems of cow parsley to go with her mostly blue bouquet. She would likely take some buttercups as well, to add a spray of yellow.

A minute or so later, she lifted her head in confusion, for she felt confident that she could hear the sound of a horse’s hooves approaching. Slowly, she turned, wondering if it might be the stag or a spooked deer instead, only to find a hooded rider charging straight for her. He dug his heels into the side of an enormous black horse, whose nostrils flared with menace as it bore down on her.

“Dorian!” she screamed, but he did not answer.

Panic jolted through her like ice tumbling down the back of her collar. Lurching to her feet, she broke into a run, knowing that the rider would run her down if she did not. Sprinting for the woodland ahead of her, in the opposite direction to where Dorian had gone, she prayed that if she could just make it into the tree-line, she would be safe. On horseback, the rider would not be able to follow, for the oaks and horse chestnuts were much too densely packed together.

With every stumble she made over the hidden dips and hollows in the meadow’s terrain, she glanced back to see if the rider was gaining. She was barely fifteen paces from the tree-line when she saw him reach into his boot and draw out a long, glinting blade.

“This is a warning! You were told, and you did not obey!” the rider bellowed, though she could see neither his face nor his eyes, only the faint dark glitter beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Rose!” Further behind, Rose saw Dorian erupt out of the trees, his face a hazy picture of terror. The moment he saw what was happening, he took off across the meadow, trying to catch up, but Rose knew it was futile. He would never make it in time.

I just have to make it to the trees. I just have to make it to the trees.She kept her gaze forward and pumped her arms and legs as fast as she could, hating that safety seemed so far, and yet it was just within her reach.

She was about to dive for the shelter of the forest shadows, when she felt a thud in the back of her leg, followed by a sharp sting of pain that ricocheted up her thigh and up the length of her spine. The peculiar impact made her right knee buckle involuntarily. Helpless to stop herself, she crashed into the ground, putting out her hands to break her fall. As her palms struck the grass, the second crackle of pain jolted up her left wrist, prompting a cry of agony to slip past her lips.

“Don’t kill me… Please, don’t kill me,” she begged, twisting her neck so she could see her assailant. He had pulled his horse to a halt a short distance behind her, the blade no longer in his hand. As she tried to crane to look at the back of her leg, she understood why. The bone handle was lodged in the back of her right thigh, just above the knee, seeping blood into the delicate lavender shade of her dress.

“I shan’t kill you,” the rider replied, his voice raspy and low, as though he were feigning a voice. “I am no murderer, unlike the man you have chosen as a husband.” He clicked his tongue and dug his heels into the side of the horse, barreling away as Dorian fought to reach Rose.

He was a… soldier. He couldn’t… help but… kill who he was… told to kill.Her thoughts came into her mind, fuzzy and disoriented. Judging by the crimson mess at the back of her dress, she was losing blood, and fast.

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