distance.
Chestleton had failed to meet a single person on the road all day, and thus he was surprised when, staring ahead towards the house, he could just make out an outline of a figure approaching the road on which he was travelling, at a right angle. He wondered what crazy soul would be out in such abominable weather, before he realised that the rider was moving too fast and too erratically to be fully in control of their mount. A bright bolt of lightning lit up the sky just as the figure was nearing a high, wooden fence separating the road from the stretch of field beyond it.
Jasper was further surprised when he saw that the figure was a female. He spurred Dante on towards the woman, but it was too late. He watched in horror as the woman’s mount leaped over the fence, and the woman lost her tenacious grip on the reins. As he drew ever nearer, she was flung from the saddle, and he thought he heard her cry out as she flew towards the waiting road, before landing and going limp. The doubtless-terrified horse galloped away before coming to a halt and dancing nervously in place, terror warring with the steed’s loyalty to its mistress.
As Dante drew near the fallen figure, Chestleton leapt from the horse and hurried over, kneeling on the wet road, heedless of his leather breeches. Chestleton could never resist helping a woman in such obvious distress.
Taking the unconscious woman by her wet shoulders, he carefully turned her over. Another flash of lighting illuminated her face, and in the unnatural light, her face appeared deathly white.
Jasper gasped at the unexpected vision. The woman inert in his arms was none other than Miss Araminta Barrington herself. Her hat had come off some time during her mad ride, and her hair had come free of its pins. The dark strands curled wetly around her face, framing her fragile, high cheekbones and her beautiful jawline. Her usually vibrant eyes were closed, as if in repose. Rainwater ran down her lovely face.
Cradling her delicate frame in his arms, Chestleton checked her pulse, his own racing at the thought that she might have done serious injury to herself in her fall. Although a pulse still beat faintly beneath her skin, she was soaked through from the rain and as still as the grave. Chestleton felt worry pierce him through the heart. For some reason he could not name, the marquis felt unusually protective towards the girl. He could not stomach the thought of letting her come to harm. He thought of her flashing eyes and unguarded laugh, and his stomach twisted with an emotion almost unfamiliar to him. Her pulse fluttered steadily against her throat, though it was weaker than it should have been. He hoped that she had not hit her head.
Dante whinnied skittishly as another rumble of thunder punctuated the steady pounding noise of the rain. Araminta’s horse looked about to bolt. Knowing that he had little time to waste, and hoping fervently that he was not too late, Jasper swept the unconscious young woman into his arms in a quick, determined motion. She was light in his arms, and he had no trouble lifting her onto his horse. With no time to waste, Jasper quickly retrieved Araminta’s own frightened horse and secured it to his stallion, Chestleton mounted and urged Dante toward Dillwood Park. He held Araminta pressed securely against his chest, one arm firmly around her waist and her head against his shoulder, as he pushed on towards the house.
All the while, his mind raced. What was Miss Barrington doing in the middle of Colestershire, when she ought to have been enjoying plays and soirées up in London? How had she happened across the country house he was renting for the summer? And what had she been doing, racing her horse all alone in the middle of a thunderstorm? Had the girl no sense at all? Or had something happened to drive her out in such weather? He felt the desperate need to have his questions answered, but he knew that it would be some time before the young lady
Chestleton had failed to meet a single person on the road all day, and thus he was surprised when, staring ahead towards the house, he could just make out an outline of a figure approaching the road on which he was travelling, at a right angle. He wondered what crazy soul would be out in such abominable weather, before he realised that the rider was moving too fast and too erratically to be fully in control of their mount. A bright bolt of lightning lit up the sky just as the figure was nearing a high, wooden fence separating the road from the stretch of field beyond it.
Jasper was further surprised when he saw that the figure was a female. He spurred Dante on towards the woman, but it was too late. He watched in horror as the woman’s mount leaped over the fence, and the woman lost her tenacious grip on the reins. As he drew ever nearer, she was flung from the saddle, and he thought he heard her cry out as she flew towards the waiting road, before landing and going limp. The doubtless-terrified horse galloped away before coming to a halt and dancing nervously in place, terror warring with the steed’s loyalty to its mistress.
As Dante drew near the fallen figure, Chestleton leapt from the horse and hurried over, kneeling on the wet road, heedless of his leather breeches. Chestleton could never resist helping a woman in such obvious distress.
Taking the unconscious woman by her wet shoulders, he carefully turned her over. Another flash of lighting illuminated her face, and in the unnatural light, her face appeared deathly white.
Jasper gasped at the unexpected vision. The woman inert in his arms was none other than Miss Araminta Barrington herself. Her hat had come off some time during her mad ride, and her hair had come free of its pins. The dark strands curled wetly around her face, framing her fragile, high cheekbones and her beautiful jawline. Her usually vibrant eyes were closed, as if in repose. Rainwater ran down her lovely face.
Cradling her delicate frame in his arms, Chestleton checked her pulse, his own racing at the thought that she might have done serious injury to herself in her fall. Although a pulse still beat faintly beneath her skin, she was soaked through from the rain and as still as the grave. Chestleton felt worry pierce him through the heart. For some reason he could not name, the marquis felt unusually protective towards the girl. He could not stomach the thought of letting her come to harm. He thought of her flashing eyes and unguarded laugh, and his stomach twisted with an emotion almost unfamiliar to him. Her pulse fluttered steadily against her throat, though it was weaker than it should have been. He hoped that she had not hit her head.
Dante whinnied skittishly as another rumble of thunder punctuated the steady pounding noise of the rain. Araminta’s horse looked about to bolt. Knowing that he had little time to waste, and hoping fervently that he was not too late, Jasper swept the unconscious young woman into his arms in a quick, determined motion. She was light in his arms, and he had no trouble lifting her onto his horse. With no time to waste, Jasper quickly retrieved Araminta’s own frightened horse and secured it to his stallion, Chestleton mounted and urged Dante toward Dillwood Park. He held Araminta pressed securely against his chest, one arm firmly around her waist and her head against his shoulder, as he pushed on towards the house.
All the while, his mind raced. What was Miss Barrington doing in the middle of Colestershire, when she ought to have been enjoying plays and soirées up in London? How had she happened across the country house he was renting for the summer? And what had she been doing, racing her horse all alone in the middle of a thunderstorm? Had the girl no sense at all? Or had something happened to drive her out in such weather? He felt the desperate need to have his questions answered, but he knew that it would be some time before the young lady
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