didn’t want to hurry the journey, but Penelope insisted. Not wishing to upset her friend, Claire made the decision to continue traveling.
It was near midnight when Claire glanced out the carriage window. The moon was full, casting enough light that Claire saw some creature dart across the road in front of the coach.
One minute they were rolling along at an even pace, the next they were going faster and faster, as if racing with the wind. The creature must have spooked the horses. A jarring bump sent Claire tumbling to the floor of the coach; she cracked her head soundly. They zigzagged from one side of the road to the other, Penelope screaming shrilly.
The horses’ tack broke free of the main compartment. Claire felt the moment it separated. There was a jarring sound and they tumbled over an embankment and crashed through the trees. There was a thunderous roar—
The world went dark.
She regained consciousness slowly. Her head was spinning. It ached abominably. She struggled to focus. It took a moment for the fuzziness of both mind and body to clear. Down the hill a man’s figure lay prone. It was the driver.
But her heart lurched. Pen was moaning.
Claire surged upright. She’d been thrown free of the coach, Penelope was still inside.
Fear lent her strength. She managed to grab hold of one of the doors and yank it free of the hinges so she could crawl inside.
Penelope was curled up on her side. She tried to roll, then winced. She began to cry. “Claire! Oh, Claire!”
Claire crawled up beside her. “Here, now. Let me have a look at you.”
Pen began to weep. One hand came to rest on her belly.
Claire stared down at her friend. Awareness closed in. No, she thought in horror. Oh, no . . .
Gray, too, had made the decision to return to London. It was late morning when he bid Clive and his guests good-bye. Restless, he decided to ride his horse back instead of his carriage. Thoughts of Claire kept intruding. He was impatient with himself. He needed to clear his head.
On horseback, he made excellent time. After stopping for a meal, he continued on. Evening shadows streaked the horizon. He slowed his mount to a trot. Pondering thoughts of Claire intruded anew. His lips thinned. The little witch! Did she have any idea what she did to him? She both infuriated and enthralled him.
Not since Lily had a woman so compelled him. Gray steeled himself, as he always did when he thought of Lily. He steeled himself against the stark, sudden shadow that blotted his soul.
Lily. Claire was nothing like her. Lily was softness and light, while Claire was fire and passion. With Claire, it was as if desire ruled both body and soul and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
She was nothing like the women he’d been with since Lily. She wasn’t a worldly sophisticate. She was so young to be a widow . . . too young to be a widow.
And that nagging little thought persisted. Wed for a year, she’d said, her husband dead for two.
His jaw thrust forward. They had not seen the last of each other, he vowed.
All at once he stopped. What was that? A scream? He reined in his horse and turned in the saddle, every fiber in him intent. What the devil . . .
The sound came again. Definitely a scream, but fainter this time.
He urged his horse ahead and down an embankment. There were ruts in the damp earth. Something had come through here. The brush was trampled, he noted, following the tracks. It was then he spied it, a carriage overturned, resting against the trunk of a tree. And a figure calling and waving at him.
It was Claire. His heart pounding, he reached her.
She collapsed in his arms.
“You’re hurt.” He smoothed her hair, touched a cut, bruised lump on her forehead. “Here, let me—”
“No, I’m fine. But Pen—” She gave a half sob, pointing inside the carriage.
A quick assessment. Penelope was laying on her side. She gave a low moan.
“I’ll make a fire, then go for help, Claire. You’ll be
It was near midnight when Claire glanced out the carriage window. The moon was full, casting enough light that Claire saw some creature dart across the road in front of the coach.
One minute they were rolling along at an even pace, the next they were going faster and faster, as if racing with the wind. The creature must have spooked the horses. A jarring bump sent Claire tumbling to the floor of the coach; she cracked her head soundly. They zigzagged from one side of the road to the other, Penelope screaming shrilly.
The horses’ tack broke free of the main compartment. Claire felt the moment it separated. There was a jarring sound and they tumbled over an embankment and crashed through the trees. There was a thunderous roar—
The world went dark.
She regained consciousness slowly. Her head was spinning. It ached abominably. She struggled to focus. It took a moment for the fuzziness of both mind and body to clear. Down the hill a man’s figure lay prone. It was the driver.
But her heart lurched. Pen was moaning.
Claire surged upright. She’d been thrown free of the coach, Penelope was still inside.
Fear lent her strength. She managed to grab hold of one of the doors and yank it free of the hinges so she could crawl inside.
Penelope was curled up on her side. She tried to roll, then winced. She began to cry. “Claire! Oh, Claire!”
Claire crawled up beside her. “Here, now. Let me have a look at you.”
Pen began to weep. One hand came to rest on her belly.
Claire stared down at her friend. Awareness closed in. No, she thought in horror. Oh, no . . .
Gray, too, had made the decision to return to London. It was late morning when he bid Clive and his guests good-bye. Restless, he decided to ride his horse back instead of his carriage. Thoughts of Claire kept intruding. He was impatient with himself. He needed to clear his head.
On horseback, he made excellent time. After stopping for a meal, he continued on. Evening shadows streaked the horizon. He slowed his mount to a trot. Pondering thoughts of Claire intruded anew. His lips thinned. The little witch! Did she have any idea what she did to him? She both infuriated and enthralled him.
Not since Lily had a woman so compelled him. Gray steeled himself, as he always did when he thought of Lily. He steeled himself against the stark, sudden shadow that blotted his soul.
Lily. Claire was nothing like her. Lily was softness and light, while Claire was fire and passion. With Claire, it was as if desire ruled both body and soul and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
She was nothing like the women he’d been with since Lily. She wasn’t a worldly sophisticate. She was so young to be a widow . . . too young to be a widow.
And that nagging little thought persisted. Wed for a year, she’d said, her husband dead for two.
His jaw thrust forward. They had not seen the last of each other, he vowed.
All at once he stopped. What was that? A scream? He reined in his horse and turned in the saddle, every fiber in him intent. What the devil . . .
The sound came again. Definitely a scream, but fainter this time.
He urged his horse ahead and down an embankment. There were ruts in the damp earth. Something had come through here. The brush was trampled, he noted, following the tracks. It was then he spied it, a carriage overturned, resting against the trunk of a tree. And a figure calling and waving at him.
It was Claire. His heart pounding, he reached her.
She collapsed in his arms.
“You’re hurt.” He smoothed her hair, touched a cut, bruised lump on her forehead. “Here, let me—”
“No, I’m fine. But Pen—” She gave a half sob, pointing inside the carriage.
A quick assessment. Penelope was laying on her side. She gave a low moan.
“I’ll make a fire, then go for help, Claire. You’ll be
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