This was an instance where one needed to think with one’s head and not one’s heart.
Chapter38
Anthony adjusted his pistol at his waist, tucked an extra pistol in his satchel, hid his blade in the calf of his Wellington boot, and pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes.
Charlotte could not have gone very far on foot, and he knew exactly where she was headed. He would overtake her, surely.
He guided the horse from the courtyard and out the gate in the direction of Thoms Tor, where he allowed his horse to break free into a canter. Bits of rain pelted his face as he and his horse flew over the grassland and faded heather. A glance up at the sky confirmed that the rain was not likely to end anytime soon. He urged his horse to move faster, all the while scanning the landscape, looking for any sign of her.
He found her quickly, not far outside of Hollythorne’s property. He pulled his horse to a halt and sighed in relief. She was not walking as he’d expected but standing completely still with her back to him, looking out over the broad Blight Moor, with the wind tugging at her cloak and streaming her hair about her. Relief that he’d not found her in a perilous situation prevailed, and he dismounted and led his horse to her.
Neither spoke when he stopped next to her. When she finally turned to him, her face was raised and her eyes direct. “You were right, Anthony. I should have listened, I . . .” Her words fell silent.
But he needed no apology or affirmation. Relief flooded him, and he pulled her close. And this time she did not resist. She melded against his chest, and he tightened his embrace. The nearness and transporting sensation of her in his arms sent fire through him.
Hewouldprotect her. Hewouldfix this. For she was what he had been fighting for all these years—the dream behind every hope.
She wrapped her arms around his neck to draw nearer, and she looked up at him—the entrancing hazel of her eyes the same as he remembered. “I’m such a fool. It is that I—”
“No, no. You are not a fool.” He brushed her hair away from her brow, allowing his hand to linger as the memories of their previous times together rushed him. “You love your son and want to protect him. And we will.”
“I just keep thinking about what could be happening. He could be hurt, Anthony. He could be scared. Hungry. I can’t bear it.”
He cupped her face with his hand and wiped a tear from her smooth cheek with his thumb and redirected her focus to him. “Timmons or Broadstreet or whoever else has taken him wants the jewels, so Henry is the only power they have. They will not hurt him. For if they do, they’ll lose any bargaining tool they have. Their goal is to obtain the jewels, not to hurt a child. It is hard to think in those terms, but you must. It will help you to think practically.”
“‘Think practically,’” she repeated. “I’ve never been very good at that, have I?”
“My dearest Charlotte, you are impulsive and wild, emotional, and passionate. And that is why I have loved you from the first day I laid eyes on you on this very moor. And it is why I love you still.”
Something intangible shifted in the air; something ignited between them, like lightning striking during a summer storm. In the midst of a tragedy, the irresistible force of hope and desire, devotion and security, drew them closer together. They were not strangers. It was clear now—not even time could fracture the bond that had been forged between them years ago.
She rested her bare hands against the rough fabric covering his chest and fixed her gaze on him in a visceral manner that reopened the floodgates to the past and left no opening for misinterpretation. “You and I belong here, don’t we? We have done our best to leave Blight Moor, and the moor is reclaiming us. And Henry too.”
He slid his arms around her waist, pressing close. “I’m afraid we’ll never escape it.”
“I never want to.” She shook her head as she fussed with the button of his coat. “I want Henry to grow up here. To live this life. To be free.”
“And he will. He’ll grow to love it as we do. But before we go there is one more thing we need to do.” He framed her face with his hands, lowered his head, and kissed her lips with all the fervor that four years’ separation could muster. She melted to him, evocatively. Invitingly. Encouragingly.
This was home.Charlottewas home.
The ardor in her return kiss matched his in intensity, and she tightened her arms around his neck once more and trailed herfingers through his hair. He became lost in her intoxicating scent. Her allure. Her beauty.
At length he reluctantly released her, and she touched her fingertips to his face. “I love you, too, Anthony Welbourne. I always have, and I fear I always will.”
***
Charlotte loved him.
The very thought infused Anthony with a renewed sense of determination.
For now, his future was laid out before him in great clarity.
No, she’d made him no promises, but he knew that unmistakable expression in her eyes. He could feel it in the passion of her kiss—in the gentleness of her touch. Circumstances had separated them once before. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure that would never happen again.
But first, a very serious obstacle stood before them.
Charlotte and Anthony stood together in a copse of trees at the moor’s edge, looking down in the mist-soaked valley at the thatched cottage at the foot of Thoms Tor. The wind whipped through the bare ash and oak trees and over the dormant heather and scattered leaves, as if spurring them forward. For now, the rain had ceased, and a heavy fog blanketed all. They decided that since they were in such proximity to the small, crumbling stone cottage, Anthony would investigate the site so he’d have information to share with Walstead when he and the men returned with Ames from Leeds.
