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Brock had ridden hard and fast, at a loss for where to go or what he was even expecting to find. The directions on the back of the business card had been a bust. The caretaker had said Mr. Cale had departed earlier the same day for whereabouts unknown.
Brock had been reeling ever since. The thought of ignoring the cad’s deception, acting as if he didn’t know, had appealed to him at first. It was none of his affair, anyways. But as a man, Brock could not stand back and let another person lie, manipulate, and crush the future of another—especially a woman.
Every lead he’d followed, thus far, had been a dead end. Earlier in the evening, he’d heard talk of a new foal ranch somewhere in the vicinity of Winchester. Again, he’d departed London without a word, no exact destination, but hoping to find something, anything to put his conscience at rest.
He pushed Sage mercifully through the early night rains, both soaked to the skin and the fear of sickness a great concern. He’d stopped at several taverns and inns along the way, hoping against hope that the proprietor within could help him.
Alas, there had been no information to be had.
Brock didn’t know how long he could continue or if Sage would make it to the next inn.
He squinted through the downpour, forcing his sleep-heavy eyes to focus on the rutted path ahead.
Above the sound of the wind Brock heard the neighing of an animal in distress. He pulled up on Sage’s reins, slowing his horse as the sound of hooves rent the night air.
A violent cry echoed across the vast fields, ever closer to him, sending a chill down his spine. Sage stiffened beneath him, as though the cold continued to pass through the animal to seek purchase in the solid earth below.
Brock searched the pitch-dark night for the cause of the disturbing sounds, fatigue falling away as his adrenaline increased.
With mud flying, a mare appeared. As fast as it came into focus it continued past him and into the darkness, its ride holding strong to the reins.
From the length of the hooded riding cloak, Brock suspected the rider female.
What was the woman, let along anyone, doing riding in this storm?
Without another thought, he pushed Sage into action, swinging around in the direction of the fleeing horse and rider. He may not be able to help Lady Viola this night, but another damsel was in distress—and likely more fitting of his assistance.
The rain hit him squarely in the face as he chased the pair. He longed to clear the water from his eyes but feared releasing his grasp on the reins.
Brock spurned Sage faster as he gained on the runaway horse.
The woman, hood still covering her head, held her face close to her horse’s neck, her feet still secure in her stirrups.
Sage finally came abreast of the other horse and Brock reached for the reins to slow the animal. “Grab the saddle,” he called to the rider.
For a split second he panicked, as the rider did not release her ironclad hold and her horse turned, teeth showing in a snarl, bit at his outstretched hand. His fear subsided quickly as she released the reins and Brock pulled both horses to a skidding halt.
He vaulted from Sage to calm the still-terrified mare before turning his attention to her rider.
“Can I help you down?” Brock asked, continuing to stroke the animal’s neck.
The woman lifted her head, her drenched cloak hood hiding her face.
“Come.” He moved to her side and grasped the woman around the waist, lifting her from the saddle and setting her on the wet, muddy ground. “Are you hurt?”
“Thank you.” Her shaking hands reached up and pushed her hood back. “No, my horse became startled is all.”
And Brock stared into the crystal-blue eyes of the very women who had him gallivanting about the countryside.
“Lord Haversham—” she stuttered.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” he said at the same moment.
“I was returning to my home when the storm hit.” She stepped back and his hands fell from her narrow waist to rest at his sides.
“Your home?” The rain continued to pound the earth as Brock looked around, taking in his surroundings. They stood not far from the lane that led to Foldger’s Foals. How he’d ended up here, he hadn’t a clue. He’d ridden for hours, stopping at more inns and taverns then he could remember, but he hadn’t expected his search for information to lead him here…with her.
The panic in her eyes matched that of her mare, and for a brief moment Brock wondered if she knew he’d figured out her deception. If the time had come for them to face their past.
The dark and dankness, with the rain’s relentless beating, was the perfect backdrop for the ending of their sordid, painful relationship. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. They shared no relationship, he and this temptress. No, she’d forced herself into his life. Placed herself conveniently in his path.
“I really must be returning.” Lady Viola grabbed the reins from his hand and made to re-mount her horse. “My father will be worried.”
Brock couldn’t be sure but her voice faltered. He looked closer.
Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose ran, and her hair hung haphazardly about her shoulders. Never had he seen her anything but completely together and in control of her person. Even during their brief kiss in the pasture, she’d kept herself at a distance, never fully leaning against him.
“Whatever is the matter?” he heard himself ask, almost against his will.
Her shoulders seemed weighed down under her cloak. She smoothed her hair with her free hand. “Truly, I must return before they send someone to look for me.” Her eyes pleaded with him to let her go, not to ask any further questions, and possibly forget their meeting entirely.
In that moment, he forgot who he was…and the terrible things she’d done. Before him stood a woman in all her honesty and raw self. She wore a cloak but was not hidden from his eye.
She was broken.
She was hurt.
She was forsaken.
A shell of the girl she must have been when she’d been in London all those years ago.
And Brock wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make everything right for her—for them. To wash away the sins of her past as the rain washed away the dirt that clung to them both. To distance her from her sorrows and burdens. To bring the winds of change to both their lives.
“Please…” She pulled away and turned to her horse.
Brock let her go.
He watched her only long enough to see that she made her way down the lane safely before reclaiming his seat atop Sage.
And with that, the ocean between them returned.
She was not Lady Posey Hale, he reminded himself. She was no victim. She was Lady Viola Oberbrook—the girl who had caused his life to crumble around him. The girl who had taken everything.
And he was the man destined to make her pay for her sins.