Charlotte pressed her knees hard against the heaving flanks of the horse beneath her. Sweat gathered in the hair at her temples and even through the heavy skirts of her riding habit she could feel the damp heat of the horse against her legs as he raced across the grounds like a demon turned loose from hell.
Hell, or Hadley House. It amounted to the same thing, didn’t it? Except she was the demon, and she’d never truly be turned loose from her hell. Her freedom was a thing of the moment, nothing more.
She eased her grip on the reins and gave the horse his head, her gaze focused on the distant tree line, but she didn’t see it. She didn’t see anything, hear anything, or feel anything other than the smooth, powerful strides of the horse, his hooves reading the landscape as he sailed over the rocks and the tree roots that grew larger and thicker as they neared the forest.
She was nearly there. A steep incline into the dense ridge of trees, wide open parklands on the other side, and then, at the far western edge of the property the tiny summerhouse at the crest of a hill where she liked to stop and gaze at the sweeping views of the valley below, to remind herself there were still places she found beautiful.
But maybe this time she wouldn’t stop. Maybe this time she would ride over the parklands forever, her hair flying out behind her and the wind whipping color into her cheeks—
Charlotte, stop!
The shout drifted over her, brushed against her, but she paid it no heed. Why should she stop? She was flying, because when the ground collapsed from beneath you, and you could no longer run, you flew.
When Julian walked into her study a week ago, the ground had trembled under her feet, but she’d pulled that lovely numbness around her like a cocoon and burrowed into it, and she’d held her footing. But then they’d walked in the garden, and he’d asked about Hadley.…
An accident… It’s time you stopped blaming yourself for it.
And the thick, dense cocoon protecting her had dissolved like spun sugar on a warm tongue. The ground had given a mighty wrench, and she was left dangling in mid-air, raw, her skin flayed from her bones and her feet scrambling for purchase.
So she ran. But running wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t fast enough.
So she flew.
Charlotte! Stop, stop, stop…
Louder this time, a shout, hoarse and panicked, borne forward by the wind. It was behind her, the sound of pounding hooves drawing closer.
Julian’s voice.
Charlotte brought her arm down, hard and fast. Her crop sliced through the air and her horse surged so violently beneath her she swayed sideways in the saddle.
From behind her came an agonized roar.No!
And then in the next breath he was there, impossibly he was there, beside her, their knees almost touching as his horse paced hers. One of his hands reached for her reins and her heart stuttered to a halt, froze, her terrified gaze on his one white-knuckled hand still holding his own reins.
One hand.
Dear God, he would fall. “No! Let go!”
The wind tried to steal her scream, to silence her, but Julian heard her. He jerked his head hard, once.No.
Panic clawed at her as her horse plunged for the tree line, his head low and his sinewy legs devouring the ground at their feet. Julian couldn’t hold him for long at this pace without being thrown to the ground and trampled to death under his horse, or hers.
Please don’t let him fall, please don’t let him fall, not again, not this time, not Julian…
“Let go! You’ll fall!”
He knew the danger, he must know, buthe wouldn’t let go.
The tree line ahead dipped and rose crazily in front of her as it drew closer and closer, and oh, dear God, one of them would strike a tree—him, it would be him, she knew it, and her rein was wrapped so tightly around his gloveless hand the leather must be cutting into his flesh, and yet still he held on.
He held on to her, and wouldn’t let go.
Charlotte wrapped her calves as far as she could around her horse’s belly, threw her weight backward in the saddle, and yanked on her reins. Her horse screeched a protest and pulled viciously on the bit to loosen her hold, but she kept her elbows tight to her body and held on, and miraculously the horse began to slow. His pace slackened until at last, with a toss of his head and a sulky snort he came to a halt.
Julian dropped both reins and leapt down from his horse, but Charlotte remained frozen in the saddle, her fingers curled into claws around the leather in her palms.
Let go. Let go. Let go.
