Page 16 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

‘Only for the first ten metres or so. It would be bad for us if we lose the use of this room. I’ll move it to the central courtyard. It will be safer there.’

‘Then please be careful.’ Her brown eyes looked up at him awash with genuine concern. Something warm and needy kicked in his chest. He quashed it. ‘I’ll be fine. Unlock the courtyard door for me and I’ll come back in that way.’

Then he wrenched open the kitchen door, fighting with the wind to pull it shut behind him. Violetta watched him from the kitchen window as he pelted across the gravel and leapt into the driver’s seat. As soon as he started moving she also took off, to run through the corridors to the back of the house. Hopefully getting that courtyard door unlocked.

The buffeting of the wind rocked the vehicle back and forth on its chassis. Twigs, leaves, uprooted plants, all were flung at the windscreen as he drove the fifty metres to the U-shaped courtyard that was formed by the wings at the back of the house. As he turned into it the strength of the wind dropped considerably. He could see Violetta wrestling with the key of the door at the end of the courtyard. He parked the van in the most sheltered spot but as he stepped out the heavens opened on another mighty thunderclap. He raced for the door but was soaked through in seconds.

Her anxious face turned up to him, she was shouting but he could barely hear her over the whine of the wind.

‘Won’t budge...lock stiff...key not turning.’

Leo grasped the handle and tried twisting it from his side. Nothing.

‘Stand back,’ he yelled and, once she was clear, threw his weight against the door. Still nothing budged. The rain streamed down his face. He could barely see for it. He swept it away with a palm and gave one more almighty yank at the handle.

No movement.

She was frantically searching for another way in, but there was nothing. He was going to have to get back to the kitchen door he’d come out through.

He yelled to Violetta who nodded furiously and took off again. Ready to let him in. He hugged the house as much as he could, but once he’d left the shelter of the courtyard the force of the gale nearly took his feet from under him. He put up a hand to protect his face from all the swirling debris. A branch whipped by and a tangle of twigs wrapped round his ankles, nearly tripping him. He gasped, fighting to breathe as the wind rammed air into his lungs.

His progress back was painfully slow but eventually he reached the kitchen door. Violetta was waiting anxiously at the window and as soon as she saw him, she flew to the door and hauled it open. He staggered in and together they rammed the door shut again. Then both sagged against it, exhausted.

Leo looked down on Violetta. She’d taken a dousing when she opened the door for him. Water dripped down her hair and the front of her dress was drenched. All the perfect silk and lace was stained and smeared with wet leaves. ‘That blasted lock. I’m so sorry. It just wouldn’t budge.’

‘Some wedding day I’m having,’ he said and she spluttered, looking up at him with surprised eyes. But her expression changed instantly.

‘You’re hurt.’

He put his hand up to his forehead. It came back spotted with blood. He frowned at it. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Sit,’ she said, pulling out a chair.

‘It’s just a cut.’

‘Sit,’ she ordered and took his arm, pushing him into it. ‘There used to be a first aid kit.’

‘In the last cupboard by the door.’

He’d sat here before in this kitchen, with cuts or bruises, while Grand-Mère fixed him up, tutting over him and Seb and their fondness for getting into scrapes. One of those rare occasions in his life when he’d known what it was like to have someone care for you who wasn’t paid to do so.

Armed with plasters, a towel and antiseptic wipes, she hurried back to him.

She was focused on inspecting the cut above his brow, so he took the opportunity to study her.

Her eyes, he decided, were actually rather fine. Warm and dark. Like the best and bitterest chocolate. They kindled when she was angry with him, or, better still, when she was laughing up at him. He liked how her whole face transformed then.

‘You’re doing it again.’ Violetta had paused in her work.

He raised a brow in question.

‘Staring at me.’

‘I was just admiring the colour of your eyes,’ he said, not looking away. ‘I hadn’t noticed them before.’

She made a little harrumph in the back of her throat, but he could tell he’d pleased her. She quickly distracted him in an entirely different way.

He hissed as she dabbed at the cut with a wipe, but she was gentle. Nimble fingers working quickly, cleaning the cut and carefully applying a plaster.

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