More importantly, she was riding toward help, while they would have to follow her route exactly. Every moment they spent organizing pursuit was another moment closer to potential rescue.
Hold on, she told herself as the bay’s hooves drummed against the packed earth of the road.Hold on and ride like your life depends on it.
Because it did. And for the first time since Lockwood had smashed through her father’s terrace doors, Lady Courtney Montague felt truly, gloriously alive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucien was tired.He’d not really slept the night before, spending pleasurable hours in Courtney’s bed, but the tension strumming through him kept his eyes from closing.
The thunder of eight horses’ hooves against the packed earth of the Great North Road had become a rhythm in Lucien’s blood—relentless, desperate, driving him forward through the moonlit night. Thank God it was a full moon on a clear night, or they’d see nothing.
His horse’s flanks were lathered with sweat, but the animal seemed to sense his rider’s urgency and maintained its punishing pace without complaint.
Beside him, the Duke of Blackstone rode with the grim determination of a man who had already lost everything that mattered. Behind them, Rockwell, Wolf, Julian, Tarquin, Fane, and Axton formed a formidable hunting party that would have intimidated any sensible criminal.
But Lockwood had proven himself far from sensible.
They had been riding hard for hours, stopping only to change horses at coaching inns where they learned that a carriage matching Lockwood’s description had indeed passed through. Each confirmation drove Lucien harder—they were on the right track, but were they gaining ground?
Now, as the first pale light of dawn began to creep across the horizon, Lucien’s eyes swept the road ahead with desperateintensity. Every shadow might conceal danger. Every bend in the road could bring them face to face with their quarry.
“There!” Julian’s sharp cry cut through the morning air. “On the right side of the road!”
Lucien’s heart stopped as he saw what had caught Julian’s attention—a dark shape crumpled in the tall grass beside the road, partially hidden by the shadow of an ancient oak. Even from a distance, he could see the pale yellow of what looked like a woman’s dress.
Was it her? Please let it be her and God let her be alive! “Courtney!” The name tore from his throat as he urged his horse forward, the others thundering behind him.
He was off his mount before the animal had fully stopped, his boots hitting the ground at a run. The sight that greeted him made his chest constrict with a mixture of relief and terror.
Courtney lay motionless on her side, her yellow morning dress torn and stained with grass and dirt. Her auburn hair had come completely free of its pins and spread around her like a halo, with bits of leaves and twigs caught in the tangled strands. Her hands were still bound behind her back with rope that had chafed her wrists raw, and there was a livid bruise forming along her left temple.
But she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell with reassuring regularity, and as Lucien dropped to his knees beside her, her eyelids fluttered.
“Courtney,” he said softly, his hands hovering over her as he tried to assess her injuries without moving her. “Can you hear me, love?”
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and confused. When her gaze found his face, she blinked several times as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
“Lucien?” Her voice was barely a whisper, slurred with confusion. “You’re…you’re here. I knew you’d come for me. You must find my horse. He must be frightened…he saved me…”
“What horse, darling?” he asked gently, even as Julian worked to cut the ropes binding her wrists. The relief of finding her alive was so overwhelming he could barely think straight.
“The bay,” she said, her words still not quite connecting properly. “I took the gelding from the inn. Not my horse. Fast horse. Very fast. But the rabbit…” She trailed off, her eyes losing focus again.
Lucien exchanged a sharp glance with Rockwell. She had escaped. Somehow, his brave, brilliant Courtney had gotten away from Lockwood and been trying to reach them.
“She’s not making sense,” Tarquin said grimly, kneeling on her other side. “Head injury, most likely. When did you fall, Court? How long have you been here?”
Courtney tried to sit up, but Lucien gently pressed her back down. “The rabbit ran right in front of us,” she said, her voice stronger but still disoriented. “Scared him. The horse shied and I…my hands were tied, I couldn’t…” She looked at her freed wrists in bewilderment. “They were tied. I couldn’t hold on.”
“A rabbit spooked your horse,” Rockwell said, understanding dawning in his voice. “You were thrown.”
“The straw,” Courtney continued, her narrative jumping erratically. “I hid in the straw pile. They looked in the fields. Wrong direction.” A small, triumphant smile crossed her bruised face. “I fooled them.”
“Yes, you did,” Lucien said, his throat tight with emotion and pride. His brave, clever Courtney had not only escaped her captors but had managed to steal a horse and ride toward help. “You magnificent, brilliant woman.”
Julian had produced a flask and was helping her take small sips. “How long ago did you escape, Court? Do you know where Lockwood is now?”
“Behind me,” she said, some clarity returning to her eyes as the water helped clear her head. “They’ll be searching for me. They’ll be so angry…” Fear flickered across her face. “Ashley. Is Ashley—?”
