Page 79 of Mail-Order Lady

“You can’t run out there.” His breath heaved. “It could be a trap.”

The words sent ice through her veins. A trap. Of course it could be. Draw her out into the darkness where⁠—

“Stop there.” A man’s voice cut through the trees ahead. Deep. Unfamiliar. An English accent.

She froze. Nathan’s hand tightened on her arm.

Two figures stepped from the shadows of the trees, moving almost as one. The taller gripped a shorter form, whose blonde hair had tumbled mostly out of her coif. Why would⁠—?

The glimmer of metal near her mother’s head sent a new fear churning in her middle. A pistol, aimed at her mother.

She focused on the man. Mr. Sutton.

Her mother gave a thin, terrified whimper. Nothing like the composed woman who’d sat in their parlor this afternoon.

“Come closer and she dies.” Sutton’s voice carried a calm authority. Not shouting. Not even raised. Just stating a fact.

Clara’s legs locked beneath her. Every instinct screamed at her to run forward, to do something, but Nathan’s grip on her arm kept her rooted in place. His fingers dug in hard enough to hurt.

“What do you want?” Nathan’s voice came out hard now.

The man shifted, and moonlight caught his face. Strong features. Dark hair. The same man who’d sat in their parlor that afternoon with barely a word spoken.

“Back to the house.” He spoke like he was giving directions to servants. “Both of you. Now.”

Her mother’s eyes found Clara’s across the distance. Even in the darkness, the terror in them made Clara’s chest crack.

“Please.” She did her best to keep her tone strong. “Don’t hurt her. We’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Then move.” He jerked his head toward the house. “I have armed men surrounding the place. Get inside.”

Nathan’s grip on her arm shifted, pulling her back a step. “We should do as he says.”

She wanted to argue. Wanted to demand he release her mother. But the cold metal pressed against Mother’s temple made her throat close around the words.

They eased a step backward toward the house. Then another. Each shuffle felt like moving through deep water. Nathan stayed close, his hand still wrapped around her arm. Not restraining now. Steadying.

Sutton and her mother didn’t move.

Nathan breathed hard behind her, each exhale a reminder that he’d been fevered and bedridden only hours ago. But his guiding hand stayed strong on her arm. Hopefully he was watching where they were going. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the man holding a gun to her mother.

Where was Robert? Had he heard the scream? Was he hiding in the shadows with his rifle trained on Sutton? Or maybe he’d run into trouble of his own.

God, protect him.

She could do nothing.

At last, they reached the porch steps, and Nathan halted.

“All the way in the house.” Sutton’s voice carried across the yard.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as Nathan guided her up the steps. The wood creaked beneath their feet—too loud in the stillness. Every sound seemed amplified now. The rustle of her skirts. Nathan’s labored breathing.

At the door, she reached for the handle, but her fingers trembled so badly she nearly fumbled it. The metal felt ice-cold against her palm.

Behind them, Sutton remained in the shadows with her mother. Still holding that pistol to her head. Still calm. As though this were nothing more than a business transaction. What exactly did he want?

The door swung inward, revealing the warm glow of lamplight in the main room. Safety. Or what should have been safety. Now it felt more like a cage they were walking into.