He strode to the front entrance and grabbed his overcoat, throwing it on as he ran to the stables. Judging by where he had seen the light, he should go to the area where the road traversed the west woods. Thankfully, that area, an artificial park made to look like a forest, was not very dense. With luck, light from the moon would infiltrate through the trees.
Avondale entered the stables silently. He located Samson, his gray stallion, and saddled him quickly. Then he grabbed a lamp and some matches and set off.
It didn’t take long to reach the area where he thought the lightning had hit. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No burning meteorite, no charred wood from a lightning-struck tree - nothing. Everything was eerily normal. He could almost believe he had imagined the light. Almost.
Samson pranced beneath him, shying away from something and rearing in the air. Bringing his horse under control with the skill of an experienced rider, Avondale looked around. What had spooked his normally steady horse? There. On the ground. What was that lumpy shape?
Avondale jumped from Samson and approached cautiously. A cloud moved past the moon. The newly revealing moonlight glinted off long, light colored hair. The lump had the shape of a woman crumpled on the ground. Oh dear Lord. He leapt into action. Please let her be sleeping. The alternative was not worth considering.
He fell to his knees in front of her, his hand gently smoothing her hair to the side as he reached for her neck to feel for signs of life. He exhaled, somewhat relieved that his fingers picked up the faintest of pulses. Leaning closer to check she was still breathing, he turned his head to listen and froze as her warm breaths caressed his cheek, sending shivers coursing down his spine and throughout his body.
Confused, but immensely glad the woman lived, Avondale leaned back to better assess the situation. She was cold. Was she badly injured? He needed more light. He lit the lamp he had brought and scanned her for injuries.
She wore rather strange clothes—some sort of trousers that were shredded in places. But the rest of her garments seemed to be in good condition.
After assuring himself she didn’t have any wounds or broken bones, he finally looked at her face. And for the second time that night, his breath caught.
To simply call her beautiful didn’t do her justice. She was stunning. A perfect oval face, straight little nose, and full kissable mouth. Her hair, long and wavy, was several shimmering shades of blonde. Her dainty features were the definition of ethereal beauty, and for a moment he had the strange thought that she was a fairy or an angel, some sort of otherworldly creature cast to this mortal plane.
A fairy? He snorted. Poppycock. Fancies when he needed practical action. You should take care of her, you idiot. She had been injured. He had to get her to the manor, warm her up, and call the physician to examine her. What if she had been struck by lightning?
There was no sign of horse or carriage, so either she had been on foot or her mount had run away.
“Where did you come from, sweetheart?” he mused, softly caressing her cheek.
Was she running away from something or someone? His protective instincts flared at once. He had spent years trying to save countless women, trying to make up for the one he had failed to save. Yet here was a woman in need he could help personally. It felt different. As if finally he was being offered a chance at redemption. This time, he would not fail.
Moving carefully, he lifted her and set her over the saddle. Then mounted the horse and settled her comfortably between his legs, gathering her against his chest. With one arm, he held her while he maneuvered the horse towards the house. “I’ll keep you safe.”
CHAPTER 3 - The mystery of the peculiar lady
HOLDING THE WOMAN INhis arms, Avondale strode straight to the front door and kicked it. The footman stationed near the door at night looked sleepily through the peephole and, upon seeing his master, hastened to open the door. When he saw the unconscious woman, his eyes rounded.
Avondale didn’t pay him any mind. He marched toward the staircase, tossing orders over his shoulder. “Wake Mrs. Simmonds, and have her attend me in my room. Send a groom to the village to get the doctor immediately, and see to my horse.”
He took her straight to his bedroom. He didn’t even consider any other possibility. His was the only bedroom that was ready, anyway. By the time he had deposited her in his bed, the housekeeper slipped in through the door, still tying the sash of a robe tossed hastily over her nightclothes.
