And yet, even in this moment—alone in the hall, licking his wounds—he thought only of himself.
Arran wrenched himself out of his misery.
He was done indulging fear.
He was done letting her run from him.
He would find her. And he would not let her bolt a second time.
He took off running.
After he cleared the hall, with no sign of her, Arran gripped the nearest footman by the shoulder.
“Miss LeBeau,” he said harshly. “Have you seen her?”
The tall, slender, bewigged gentleman gave a slight nod. “The young lady was for the outside.”
Arran’s heart thumped harder. This time, he took the servant by the lapels of his gold brocade jacket.
“Which outside?” he demanded, giving the fellow a slight shake.
“Saw her take off through the nursery, Captain McQuoid.”
Arran released the servant abruptly and turned.
The young parlor maid, Hannah—the one who’d made that soft announcement—pointed.
“Thank you, Hannah.”
Arran bolted the rest of the way there.
He staggered into the nursery. The frosted windowpanes distorted the snowy grounds outside.
And yet it took a single glance for his eyes to find her.
His gaze had a way of doing that.
She possessed the same pull as a compass arrow, leading him true when he was at sea.
On silent treads, he approached. His eyes remained locked on her. She stood immobile, devoid of a warming cloak amidst the snow.
In nothing but her festive crimson riding dress, she had the look of a fairy queen. Flakes drifted about her regal, warrior-princess shoulders. Not so much as a chill shook her proudly held frame.
And yet, for all her grace and strength, one wrong sound from him would send her into flight like a skittish doe.
He knew it. Because he’d come to know this woman.
And for it, he would never be the same.
And this time—he would not let her slip through his fingers.
Chapter 13
Lucy knew the moment Arran entered the greenhouse.
With the winter wind gusting about her, she hugged her arms tightly to herself.
Silent though he may be, she felt his presence.
