Page 4 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

Above, lightning suddenly cracked across the sky. The low rumble of thunder followed. And with the drop in air temperature, Caspian was sure the rain was about to come back.

Where is that boy?

Suddenly, the path that Caspian followed opened as the forest fell back, and Caspian rounded the final bend to find himself in the middle of a large glade. What was more, a small abbey sat flush in the middle of the glade, and from the way the ground was churned all around it, Caspian guessed that it had recently been attended. A segregation, maybe?

A single carriage also sat at the abbey corner. It was unguarded, with horses quietly waiting, and Caspian wondered if their owner was inside.

However, such a spot was exactly where someone like Timothy would be hiding. The boy really was a menace.

Caspian sighed as he trudged through the mud and torn-up grass, shaking his head, reminding himself that when he found the child, he could not let anger take over. The boy wanted warmth? He wanted proof that he was cared for? It was time Caspian showed him.

“Timothy!” Caspian called as he strode into the abbey. “Timothy, are you…” His words caught in his throat.

Timothy was nowhere to be seen, but that did not mean the abbey was empty. The only person inside that Caspian could see was sitting alone beneath the altar, crying as if the world was ending.

Caspian started in surprise, very nearly turned and hurried away, but found himself frozen to the spot as he looked at the crying woman, utterly captivated and transfixed for reasons he could not explain.

She wore an emerald gown, currently bunched up around her as she sat with her knees pulled into her chest on the ground. The gown’s color highlighted the auburn in her hair, making it glow brightly as if her head was on fire. Her skin was as white as milk. The sound of her soft, sad crying gently floated across the abbey and cut straight to Caspian’s heart.

It took her a moment to realize he was there. Once she did…

She turned suddenly, dropped her hands from her face, and her eyes widened in surprise and fear. Her eyes were crystal blue, glistened red, and too big for her round face.

She is beautiful…

“Who are you?” she asked, a little aggressively, a note of panic in her voice. Those big eyes looked about, searching the abbey as if in worry. “Where did you come from?”

“Is something the matter?” Caspian asked, meaning it. He rarely cared about others, but worry flooded him, along with a need to help this woman he did not know. “Did someone…”

“You need to leave.” The woman was on her feet. She wiped her nose, looked around again, and the panic on her face grew. “Now!”

Caspian blinked. “I… What is going on? Why are you here?”

“You cannot be here.” She rushed down the aisle. “Please! Before he⁠—”

“Arabella!” The voice was like a clap of thunder, booming from outside and washing through the abbey in a way that had the young woman stumbling back as if she had been slapped.

“Arabella!” the shout came again.

“My father,” she said desperately. “If he finds you here… please!”

“Your father…” Caspian turned to follow where the voice had come from. He had no idea what was going on, but every instinct he possessed told him that he could not possibly leave.

“Embarrassed! Ashamed! Do not think to run, girl!”

Caspian firmed himself as the voice came closer, and he set a snarl on his face just as the owner of that voice stormed into the abbey.

Chapter Two

Miss Arabella Witherington had never felt so mortified. Her day was ruined, her life was left in shambles, and just when she thought the embarrassment could not get any worse, a strange man stumbled upon her just in time to see her broken and defeated and utterly spent.

He was handsome, she saw quickly. His face, a perfect shape made up of symmetrical lines, as if he were a drawing come to life. Dark hair too. Gray eyes that were surprisingly caring, as she might have expected a scowl to emanate from their depths because, in her experience, that was what most other men of this world would do.

Not that any of that matters!

She did not care that the handsome stranger had seen her in such a state of grief because it was not as if he knew her—or as if he could make her day any worse. What mattered most to her, and what took her breath away as she braced herself for the worst to come, was her father.

“There you are!” Lord Witherington burst onto the abbey in a way that made the storm outside pale in comparison.