Selina’s gaze lingered on him, her voice full of worry. “Promise me you will send word when you arrive safely.”
“I will,” Nicolas said, offering her a small smile. “Thank you.”
With a nod to his friends, Nicolas turned and left the room, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily on his shoulders. He knew the journey ahead would be fraught with danger, but there was no alternative. Joslyn needed him.
As he reached the stables, James caught up to him, his eyes filled with determination. “Nicolas, let me come with you. I will have my coach readied at once.”
Nicolas paused, tempted by the offer. He pulled his greatcoat closer to block the wind. Traveling with a friend in a well-equipped coach would be safer. “I appreciate it, James, but this is my burden. I will not drag you into it. Besides, a horse would be both faster and better able to navigate the mounting drifts.”
James’s frown deepened. “You would be better protected from the storm in a coach.”
Nicolas clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It is merely a winter squall. I have survived worse, James. I will be fine.”
After a long, assessing look, James sighed. “Very well. But remember that no man is invincible, and act accordingly.”
“You have my word,” Nicolas assured him, reaching for his reins.
James nodded, stepping back as Nicolas mounted his horse. “We will be waiting for word.”
With one last glance at his friends, Nicolas spurred his horse into the approaching storm. Soon snow swirled around him, the wind howling as he rode through the icy landscape. The cold bit at his skin, but he hardly felt it—his mind consumed with thoughts of Joslyn.
Forge’s actions were unforgivable. Though aware of the man’s reputation, Nicolas never imagined he would stoop so low. The no good scoundrel had manipulated the situation to force a marriage, knowing full well what the consequences would be for Joslyn.
Nicolas’s blood boiled at the thought. He would stop Forge, whatever it took. He urged his horse faster, the wind whipping at his coat, but the storm was closing in. Snow fell thickly, obscuring the path ahead, and the road grew slick with ice.
Still, Nicolas pressed on, pushing his horse through the deepening snowdrifts. Joslyn’s happiness depended on him reaching London in time to save her. He could not afford to fail.
Suddenly, a deafening crack of thunder split the air, the ground shaking beneath him. His horse reared in fright, nearly throwing him from the saddle. Nicolas fought to regain control, his heart pounding in his chest. “Easy, boy,” he said, trying to calm the panicked animal.
With a wild snort, it bolted toward the trees, its hooves slipping on the icy ground. Nicolas leaned forward on his horse, his hands gripping the reins as the animal plunged ahead, blind with fear.
“Damn it,” Nicolas cursed under his breath as he struggled to steer the horse back onto the road. They were veering dangerously close to the dense tree line.
The wind howled around them, the plump snowflakes creating a thick, blinding sheet. His pulse raced as he fought to regain control, pulling hard on the reins to slow his horse. But just as the animal responded, another crack of thunder split the sky.
The beast reared again, and this time, Nicolas lost his grip. His body lurched forward, and before he could react, his forehead collided with a low-hanging branch. Pain exploded in his skull.
He hit the ground with a heavy thud, knocking the breath out of him. His head spun violently, the world around him a blur of white and grey.
A fleeting image of Joslyn, pale with fear, her future in limbo, flashed in his mind—a reminder of what was at stake.
Then darkness claimed him.
Two
Lady Emily Fairchild set down her teacup, the soft clink of china barely audible over the mounting howl of the wind outside. The frost-laced windows of Greystone Manor framed a bleak view. The snow, which had drifted lazily this morning, now gathered strength as the storm closed in. A chill slipped through the cracks of the old house, making the candle flames flicker.
“The storm shows no sign of letting up, my lady,” Brinks, her butler, said as he entered the room. His silver hair gleamed in the dim light, and his posture was, as always, impeccable. “The sky is quite foreboding.”
Emily glanced at him, a polite smile curving her lips. “Yes, Brinks, I have noticed. Let us hope it does not prove too severe.”
Yet, despite her composed words, a nervous flutter tightened her chest. A storm in the countryside could mean days of isolation, and with the winter winds gaining force, even Greystone’s sturdy walls felt fragile against nature’s wrath.
“Shall I have the staff bring in more wood for the fires, my lady?” Brinks inquired.
“Yes, see to it.” She rose from her seat. “Ensure the stables are in order as well. We must prepare for the weather to worsen.”
“Indeed, my lady.” Brinks offered a respectful nod.
