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His horse took five more steps and he was next to her, looking down at her profile mostly obscured by the wild tendrils of her dark hair.
Her body stiffened, but her feet kept forward even as she refused to look up at him, her gaze set solidly ahead.
At least she knew enough not to make eye contact with rogue men on an empty road.
Peculiar that she hadn’t turned around and gone the opposite direction on the road to try and find her driver and footmen.
He cleared his throat. “Lady Victoria, is that you?”
Her feet stopped and she looked up at him.
He yanked his horse to a halt,instant fury surging through his veins.
They weren’t supposed to hurt her.
But Lady Victoria was definitely hurt.
Blood smeared out from the right corner of her lip onto her cheek. Dirt embedded into her forehead. Her bottom lip bruised and puffy.
Her left hand shaking as she clutched her right side. Ribs out of place. Broken. Or just bruised if she was lucky.
She blinked once, twice, her blue eyes not focusing on him directly. In the light of day, he could see her blue eyes shiftedfrom the deep blue of indigo to shocks of lighter lines that vibrated outward, silver lines, if not the lightest of blues.
Dangerously entrancing eyes.
Eyes that looked up at him in haunted shock.
“Lord…Lord Winfred?” His name drifted from her lips in the slightest, pained whisper.
He was going to kill those bastards.
“Lady Victoria, what are you doing out here? Alone? You are hurt.” He slipped down from his saddle, rounding the front of his horse. His words frantic and it wasn’t even an act.
He’d seen—caused—plenty of injury and death. But on her. On her it cut him to a place he didn’t know existed.
She wasn’t supposed to be hurt.
His hand went out to her shoulder and she jerked a step back, her head shaking, voice accusing. “You know who I am?”
“I do. I asked after our conversation.” He lifted his hand up, palm to her so she wouldn’t be frightened any more than she already was. “By God, Lady Victoria, you’re hurt. What are you doing out here? Where is your carriage?”
At the mention of the carriage, her gaze flicked off him and went far down the road.
“They…they…they just stole her. Stole her and…and…and left me.”
He shook his head. “Stole who? Stole the carriage? Who was in the carriage?”
It took a breathless second before her gaze shifted back to him, her words coming stronger. “Lady Vinehill. Eva. My aunt. They just”—her eyes crushed closed, her head violently swinging back and forth—“took her.”
“They took Lady Vinehill, but left you?”
She nodded, her eyes not opening, though her head stopped shaking. “Yes. He ripped me out of the carriage—she tried to stop him—but he just dragged me out of the carriage and tossed me to the ground. And then…then they were gone.”
Rafe inhaled a furious breath. A real one. Her body had been tossed to the ground. He could almost hear the echo in the air of her body thunking into the dirt.
He didn’t pause, didn’t ask for permission, just stepped forward, grabbing both of her shoulders.
She didn’t fight the touch this time, didn’t struggle away from him. Good.
