Then she’d deal with James.
The rain had started to fall. Helena urged her horse faster, the trees lining the road blurring as her cloak snapped in the wind.
She could hardly feel her fingers. Her mind raced.
Just get to Downfield. Just get to Charlie.
A shadow loomed ahead.
A rider. Large. Fast.
Her heart jerked. Her hands trembled, but then, the horse veered toward her, cutting her off with frightening precision.
She yanked at the reins too late.
“Helena!”
The voice thundered—familiar. Furious.
Silas.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Silas growled, eyes wild beneath wet hair.
Helena barely had time to react before he was off his horse and grabbing her reins.
“Let go!” she snapped, trying to back her horse, but he was already reaching for her arm, dragging her from the saddle.
“What in God’s name are you running from—or toward?” he shouted over the rain.
“Get off me!” she struggled, shoving at him. “I don’t have time for this!”
“You don’t havetimeto tell someone where the hell you’re going in the middle of a storm, alone, unarmed, no escort?—?”
“I don’tneedyou to?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice was ice. “Because if I hadn’t found you, what then? Whatthen, Helena?”
She tried to break away again, but he caught her and held fast. “You’re soaked through, you’ve clearly been riding for miles, and you thought, what? That I wouldn’t notice?”
A carriage rolled into view behind him, its oil lamps glowing in the grey mist.
She hesitated, breathing hard.
“Come with me. Now,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Ican’t?—”
“Youwill.”
He didn’t give her a choice. He picked her up, tossing her into the carriage before she could react. She hit the cushioned seat with a startled gasp as the door slammed shut behind her. Silas climbed in right after, knocking on the ceiling.
“To Highcliff,” he barked to the driver.
The carriage jerked forward.
Silas slammed the door behind him so hard the walls of the parlor seemed to flinch.
