The two oafs laughed and ignored her wish.
“Please listen to me. I live here.” She wiggled and tried to kick them, but they walked too fast for her efforts to be of any consequence.
Upon reaching the gates, the men tossed her roughly onto the dirt road, the iron gates slamming shut behind her with a resounding clang. Louisa winced, pain shooting through her knees from the hard impact, and when she glanced down, her palms were scraped and raw. Tears stung her eyes, but it wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the humiliation, the helplessness of being thrown out like a trespasser from the home that had once been hers. Her chest tightened with the weight of sorrowand frustration as she lay there, the hopes she had clung to unraveling with every painful breath.
“Don’t come back, or we’ll inform the constable of your trespassing,” the shorter one snipped.
The constable.The thought sparked a flicker of hope in Louisa’s chest, giving her a reason to breathe again. If she could find the constable, she would demand he take her home—or at least to Frank. Her cousin would surely recognize her. Wouldn’t he?
She glanced down at her ragged, tattered clothes, a deep frown forming on her face. Despite her appearance, she knew one thing for certain—she had to get back into that house and confront Frank, no matter the obstacles.
With frustration bubbling inside her, Louisa tore herself away from the iron gates and broke into a run toward the village. Her heart pounded in time with her hurried footsteps as she fought to shake off the sadness and the confusion that had plagued her since arriving.
She needed answers today—answers to the questions that had haunted her for years. And she wouldn’t stop until she had them.
Chapter Two
Trevor Worthington, fifthDuke of Kenbridge, clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the reins as frustration burned through him. The relentless gossip, the incessant whispers about his late wife, were enough to drive him mad. If he heard her name uttered one more time, he’d be hard-pressed not to throttle the speaker. The weight of betrayal still pressed heavily on his heart, making the already difficult mourning period nearly unbearable. Why couldn’t people just let the past die?
He urged the horse to quicken its pace, wishing he’d opted for his steed rather than the curricle. The stiff formality of the dinner party he’d just left had called for appearances, and against his better judgment, he had attended, thanks to his mother’s insistent prodding. She had been adamant—now that his year of mourning was over, it was time for him to reenter Society. But Trevor had no desire to return to a world that reminded him of everything he’d lost.
The more Trevor thought about his deceased wife, the angrier he became. He didn’t want her ghost haunting his thoughts, didn’t want to dwell on the betrayal that still twisted like a knife in his chest. All he longed for was a normal life, free from the chains of the past. But one thing was certain—he would never trust a woman again.
A cloud drifted over the moon, casting deeper shadows across the road, mirroring the dark thoughts swirling in hismind. Whether it was the night’s creeping darkness or the gloom within his own head, both were equally maddening, and he silently cursed them, wishing they’d vanish as easily as they came.
Trevor slowed his horse as he rounded the bend, easing the reins slightly. He wasn’t about to risk flipping the curricle just because someone at the dinner party had uttered Gwendolyn’s name, stirring his anger. The last thing he needed was to lose control now, despite the storm of emotions raging inside him.
As the clouds parted and moonlight spilled across the road, something caught his eye—a shadow shifting along the edge. His heart lurched. Before he could react, a figure darted out from the darkness and straight into his path. Trevor shouted, yanking hard on the reins, but it was too late. His horse clipped the person, sending them tumbling to the ground.
Cursing under his breath, Trevor brought the horse to an abrupt stop. He leapt from the curricle, heart pounding in his throat, praying he hadn’t killed anyone. He frantically scanned the area, but the figure was nowhere in sight. How could they have vanished? He was certain he’d felt the impact.
Straightening, he scratched his head in confusion, certain the body had to be nearby. Off to the side, the road dipped into a small gully. Trevor crouched low, squinting through the heavy shadows, hoping to find some sign of the mysterious figure.
“Is anyone there?” He waited, and then said, “Please answer me. I need to know if you are all right.”
The moon’s light vanished behind a thick veil of clouds once more, casting everything in near-total darkness. Trevor, moving carefully, slid down the steep hill into the gully, the damp earth making his descent treacherous. His heart pounded, dread building with every step. As he reached the bottom, his foot struck something soft—something that wasn’t moving.
He froze, a surge of panic gripping him. Bending down, he extended a shaking hand, his fingers brushing against the warmth of a body. He recoiled, his breath catching in his throat.Good heavens.It was a girl!
Without wasting another moment, Trevor dropped to his knees beside her, his mind racing. His hands trembled as he gently ran them over her arms and legs, searching for any sign of broken bones, blood, or injury. The girl was so still, her body limp beneath his touch, and a deep sense of responsibility weighed heavily on him. Had he killed her? The thought was unbearable.
His fingers brushed her face, feeling the softness of her skin, then moved downward to her slender neck. He held his breath as he pressed his fingers to her throat, desperate to find a pulse. For a moment, he feared the worst, but then—there it was. A heartbeat. Faint and fragile, but still there. Relief flooded him, though it was quickly replaced by fear. She was alive, but barely.
Hastily, Trevor scooped the girl into his arms, her limp form barely stirring. A soft moan escaped her lips, but she didn’t wake. As he adjusted his grip, his fingers brushed against something warm and sticky on her arm. His heart sank—blood.
Groaning inwardly, he knew he didn’t have much time. She needed a doctor, but his manor was closer than the village. He’d have to get her there and send for his physician immediately.
With careful urgency, he carried her up the slope, his muscles straining as he climbed out of the gully. Once he reached the curricle, he gently laid her on the seat and climbed in beside her. As he urged the horse forward, her fragile body shifted, rolling toward him. He braced her with his arm, trying to keep her steady, though her awkward position made maneuvering difficult. Every bump in the road sent a jolt through his spine, but he kept a firm hold on her, focused on the path ahead.
The horse and road, thankfully, cooperated, and soon enough the familiar sight of his manor came into view. Relief washed over him, but he knew the real work was just beginning. He slowed the horse to a stop before carefully lifting the girl once more, cradling her close as he hurried up the steps. Bursting through the door, he shouted for his servants, his voice echoing through the grand foyer.
Within moments, his butler appeared, eyes widening at the sight of the unconscious girl in Trevor’s arms.
“Fetch the physician—immediately,” Trevor ordered Hobbs, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. The butler nodded quickly, disappearing to carry out the command, while Trevor stood there, his heart still racing, silently willing the girl to hold on. Her dirty face held a mixture of smudges, scratches, and blood.
Without another thought, he rushed up the stairs. He carried her to the closest guest room and toward the bed. Mrs. Smythe, the housekeeper, bustled in only seconds behind.
“Oh dear,” she exclaimed, wringing her hands against her middle. “What do we have here, Your Grace?”
