“Stop the coach!” Ian rapped on the roof of the carriage so fiercely, he knew he was endangering its integrity.
“Keep calm, Holt, it’s only a bit of lightning—”
“Now!” He pounded again, cursing the driver and the horses and all of their future offspring for taking so long to bring them to a halt.
The thing was still moving when he sprang out. He only made it a few steps before Sunderland arrested his sprint with a powerful pull on his arm.
“I saw Diana.” Ian peered at the surrounding vineyard. “On the road, in the lightning. She’s still in the dress. The red one.”
Sunderland turned his head to the fields, then back to Ian. He didn’t ask him if he was sure. He didn’t call Ian a madman either.
Instead, he bellowed for the coachman’s lamp. “Which way did she go?”
Ian spun around in circles. His eyes strained to find anything in the murky night.
He paused, gathered his breath, and sent every atom of energy in his body to his voice so it would rise above the rain and the wind.
“Diana! I’m here!” He searched for some sign that the figure he’d seen on the road hadn’t been a dream, or a nightmare. “If you can hear my voice, make a noise!”
Sunderland swiveled. He held the lamp aloft as they both examined the black shadows of the night.
“Please, Diana,” Ian begged. His throat was raw from shouting. “I never should have insisted we separate. You should have been by my side the entire time. I can’t do any of this without you. Tell me where you are,tesora!”
From the eastern field, a faint screech of a barn owl sounded.
Ian seized the lamp and tore off, shouting Diana’s name and alternating with the whistle cry of the Stags. “Where are you, love? I’m coming for you.”
The whistle sounded again, fainter, but Ian followed it through the tangle of vines.
And finally found Diana lying on the ground.
He fell to his knees. His fingers caressed her jaw, detected her pulse and found it weak, but steadily beating. “Diana, we’re here now. Open your eyes for me,tesora,please. Say something so I know how you are.”
Sunderland brought the lamp closer so Ian could examine her. Blood caked around her left arm, and when he tried to roll up the sleeve, the matted fabric caught.
She uttered a small moan.
Ian wanted to worship the sound. And murder it.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. “Ian? I was coming to find you.”
“Good, because I was lost without you,” he murmured.
“Birdie and Widow are close,” she rasped. “Can’t risk a doctor.”
“I know.” He’d argue with her after she was safe inside the coach.
“San Genaro,” she murmured as he gathered her into his arms. “Take me to San Genaro. Doctor there. Safe.”
Sunderland guided their way back to the road and helped Ian hand her into the carriage. “We should listen to her.”
“I always listen to her,” Ian snapped.
The duke shook his head as he sat back across from him in the carriage. “San Genaro. That’s where we were heading. The name of the villa where Miss Hunter is staying is San Genaro.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thedrivetookthreeof the most agonizing hours of Ian’s life.
