Page 17 of Mistress of Darkness

“Gwen!” he cried out as he wrenched her to one side. In just the span of a breath, he’d interposed himself between her and the frightened horse. “Easy girl,” he called out to the skittery animal, and held up his hands. “Easy now.”

He seemed to be successfully herding her toward a stall when another bolt of lightning flashed outside. As the frightened mare leapt for the door, he flung himself at the opening and just managed to get it closed before she escaped. The animal reared up at the last second, kicking furiously. Though Robert nimbly jumped aside, as the mare came back down, one of her hooves caught his foot.

“Robert!” Gwen screamed.

Somehow her voice must have cut through the roar of the tempest, for the mare seemed to recognize it, turning toward her. Robert capitalized on the moment and, with a great shove, pushed the horse into the nearest stall, slamming the gate behind her.

“Gods,” he muttered as he leaned back against the short wood door, and favored his injured foot.

“Are you hurt?” she said, running to him. “Is your foot broken?”

“It’s my ankle,” he said grimacing. “But I don’t think it’s broken.”

She put her shoulder under his arm. “Do you think you can walk?”

“I must try,” he said, and then took a faltering, heavy step. It seemed as though the ankle couldn’t support much weight at all.

She pulled his arm around her neck. “You must lean on me, Robert. It’s the only way we’ll get back to the house.”

“I fear you’re right, dear Gwen,” he said. “Nor do I think we can wait out this storm. While your mare will survive the chill, as rain-soaked as we are, we wouldn’t make it half the day.”

She nodded and tried to take more of his weight. “Then there’s nothing for it.”

As he limped and she staggered under his sizeable frame, they lurched to the stable door and managed to open it. Once through, the gale almost tore the door from their hands, but leaning into it with all their might, they shut and barred it.

“Good girl,” he yelled above the wind and pelting rain. “We’re halfway there now.”

If only that were true, Gwen thought, saving her breath for the arduous walk. But step by heavy step, she steered them around the slippery mud and still growing puddles.

“Not quite the morning walk we usually enjoy,” he said, breathing heavily.

As the entry to the hall finally came into sight, Gwen could hardly believe how utterly glad she was to see it. Her legs burned with the effort to support both their weights. Her arms ached and trembled from holding on to him so tightly. But finally, after what seemed to her like an eternity, they reached the house.

Slowly they lumbered up the steps, as Robert resorted to hopping on one leg for the last few. As they crossed the threshold, they collapsed together in a soggy heap, just inside the entry on the floor.

As the two of them stared at one another, open-mouthed and bedraggled, Gwen had to stifle a laugh. For no reason that she could fathom, she felt the impulse to giggle. Outside a storm and rampaging horse had nearly claimed their lives. Inside, they’d been deserted sometime in the night. With nothing else to do and no one to see them, Gwen suddenly felt light, as though a burden had been lifted.

She pushed herself up from the floor so she could at least sit. “You are a mess, Mr. Sheraton,” she said, looking down at him and beginning to laugh.

At first he looked puzzled, but then the corner of his mouth crooked up in a half-grin. “Indeed.” He sat up next to her and eyed her dress, particularly the thick coating of mud that clung to it. “And you, Miss Archer, are making a mess of the floor with that ruined dress of yours.”

“I never liked it anyway,” she said, prompting them both to erupt with laughter, just as another peal of thunder boomed, sending them into paroxysms.

As their mirth finally subsided, he took her hand. “Well I must confess that this dress is my favorite. The blue contrasts so nicely with your green eyes.” Slowly he bent his head over her hand, and his lips lightly brushed her skin.

A flush of heat suffused her and the image from her dream flashed into her head.

“Robert,” she said softly. As he looked up into her face, she knew it must be crimson from the warmth radiating from it.

“Gwen,” he said, leaning in so close that she could smell the fresh scent of rain in his hair. Startled, she realized that his eyes were not pure black. How had she never noticed the tiny flecks of hazel in them? As his face drew slowly closer, she could feel his soft breath on her lips. If he was going to kiss her it would have to be soon—before she melted.

“Sir!” came a voice from behind them. “Miss! I thought you’d gone.”

* * *

Relief washedover Parks as he ran down the entry hall. “I thought I was alone, sir.” He bent to help up the master, who seemed to be having trouble standing. “Sir, you’re hurt and…” He dried off his hands on his coat. “…soaking wet.”

“It’s a long story, Parks,” Mr. Sheraton replied, “but I daresay we’re quite glad to see you here.” He reached toward Miss Archer. “Give me a hand.”