Besides, he did not need to use violence, when a letter would soon find its way to Alan Fry’s employer at the courthouse, informing them of the man’s criminal past. Signed by a duke, Alan’s employment would soon be no more.
“Blast it all!”
Out in the street, Henry lifted his face to the cold, drizzling rain to cool the ire that burned in his face. After all of that searching, all of his friends’ hard work, they were back where they had started, with no evidence or clues to guide them further forward.
Almostno clues.
Henry paused to take a breath, to steady his mind.Wherehave I seen that coat of arms before? That crest, where have I seen it?
He did not know why, but it felt like a missing piece. Yet, no matter how hard he willed his mind to place its familiarity, nothing came to him. He would have to wait and see if Owen fared any better, comparing it to the crests and names in his extensive archives of English nobility.
More waiting, potentially for no reward; Henry did not know how much more he could bear. He still believed with all conviction that it was no coincidence, that the incidents were connected, and the longer it took him to prove it, the more time there was for it to happen again. As long as the culprits were still out there, Thalia was at risk of a third ‘accident,’ and the next one might truly be fatal.
Nothing mattered more to him than Thalia’s life, not even his own. But what else could he do when the trail seemed to have run cold?
The rain had snuck up on Thalia, ruining the perfectly pleasant walk she had been enjoying in the orchard. She had hoped that searching the apple trees for new signs of fruit would distract her from the events of last night, but it had not worked… not until the icy deluge began to fall.
The shock of the downpourcertainlytook her mind off Henry, the weighty droplets drenching her almost instantly. It fell so hard that it was like a haze in every direction, a veritable waterfall tumbling from the edge of her bonnet, a chill setting into her bones as the rain seeped through her cloak and clothes to her skin.
Is this your way of telling me to get a hold of myself?she silently asked the heavens, as she squinted toward the manor.
Why did it have to be so far away? Why had she not gone to the lake instead, where she might have sought refuge at the boathouse? She had planned to go there to continue sifting through the rest of her letters and diaries, but she had decided on doing something different today. A mistake.
“At least the flowers and the ducks will be happy,” she muttered as she broke into a run, hopelessly holding her hand to her bonnet as she sprinted across the wet lawn.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Drawn to it, she marveled at the sight of two rabbits in the same situation, darting for sanctuary. As they bolted down a hole, she almost felt envious of their warm, dry warren, so focused on the idea of curling up inside a peaceful underground cavern that she did not notice the rabbit hole right in front of her.
Her foot, however, did not miss it.
One moment, she was running. The next, she was flat on her face in the sodden grass, her ankle throbbing, her nose stinging where she had bumped it on the lawn.
“Thalia!” a voice pierced the hammering percussion of rain and the thunderous beat of her own heart in her ears.
She lifted her head and squinted into the downpour, barely able to make out the shape of a horse in the distance. A figure in dark clothing had just slid down from the saddle, now running across the grass toward her.
Oh, this is the last thing I need. Another humiliation.
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. Her ankle ached, bringing a wince to her lips, as she stared down at her dress. It was a mess of mud and grass stains, the front of her cloak not faring much better, the rim of her bonnet entirely bent out of shape.
“Thalia!” Henry called again.
She had half a mind to run in the opposite direction, if it meant avoiding the embarrassment of him seeing her like this. He would scold her or comfort her, and she did not think she had the strength to endure either after last night.
All of a sudden, he was there, his arm around her. He pulled her into him, holding her in a tight embrace as if he thought his body would be able to fend off the rain.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” He gazed down at her, his hand cradling her cheek. “Do you remember me?”
She could not hold back the soft laugh that escaped her throat. “Are you going to ask me that every time I suffer the smallest stumble?”
“If I must,” he replied. “Now, tell me, are you injured?”
“My ankle is a little sore,” she admitted.
Without warning, she was in is arms, swept off her clumsy feet in an instant. She did not have the dignity left to protest as he carried her toward the manor, wielding her with a strength that took her breath away.
As he carried her through a side door into the secondary drawing room, she finally began to wriggle in objection.
“Set me down, Henry,” she urged. “I will drip all over the floors if you carry me any further. And if this mud gets on any of those Persian rugs, even Mrs. Fisher will not be able to get the dirt out.”
