At the same time, she screamed, a terrified, shrill sound, making him think they were both plunging to their deaths, until he realized they were still standing on the bank. Moreover, she was struggling against him.
“Eleanor! It is I.”
“Gray?” She relaxed instantly, and he yanked her back and into his arms. “How can you be here?” she wondered.
“I could ask the same of you.” And he would, when they were safe and dry.
“But I already know how I came to be here,” she said. “But you are in London.”
“Your teeth are chattering, and you’re babbling. Let’s get you home.”
He’d dragged her away from the water’s edge, and she hissed.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you cold?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Keep going. Bess is at the fishing shelter, probably scared.”
“Not half as scared as I was,” Gray told her, trying to keep his tone calm but wanting to rage at her for her foolishness. “My horse is over there, not far.”
She hissed again, and he slowed down. “Are you injured? Did you fall out of the tree?”
Eleanor remained silent.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“I did not fall,” she said, her tone as supercilious as it could be given her wretched situation. “I jumped.”
He swore long and loud. “Did you break something?”
“Absolutely not. A simple sprain to my ankle, I would say.”
In a quick, easy movement, he swept her off her feet, making her shriek again.
“Next time, warn me,” she said, sounding cross, but then she slipped an arm around his neck and settled against his chest.
He sighed with utter relief. If he’d lost her, two hearts would have gone into the river and perished. For as surely as he would hold onto her for the rest of their lives, she had captured his heart.
Rain dripping into his eyes, he was nearly back where he’d tethered Percy by the oak, when she asked, “How can you see where you’re going?”
“Sheer determination,” he muttered. “Actually, I’ve been out here in the dark so many times since I was a boy, I just know where I am.”
She was shivering against him, and he thought it best to keep her talking.
“So, you found the treasure?”
“Yes.” She was so quiet, it worried him. He jiggled her, to make her speak. “I’m holding the jar under my cloak,” she added.
“I’m holding the real treasure,” he told her. “Do you understand?”
He felt her nod, and nothing more. Luckily, they had found his horse. Setting Eleanor gently on her feet, he started to unbuckle his saddle.
“What are you doing?”
“We won’t both fit with the saddle, and I don’t think you’re well enough to ride alone.”
She hesitated, and then in a clear, strong voice, she said, “Nonsense. I’m perfectly able to ride a horse.”
Was she? Focusing on staying in the saddle would probably keep her from drifting off to sleep as he sensed her body and brain wanted to do.
“That’s my girl,” he said, hoping she wasn’t offended by the term.
She said nothing, merely limping closer to the horse.
“Just wait here,” he ordered. “Lean against Percy while I find my lantern. It must have tipped over.”
In a minute, he found it, and tripped. Snatching the lantern off the ground, he hoped he could relight it with the matches in his pocket, if they weren’t damp. Luckily, they weren’t.
Striking the head of the Lucifer match, he soon had the lamp emitting a cheery glow, like a giant firefly, the only light in the dark and cloudy landscape. He set it down by his horse.
Cupping his hands, he managed to get Eleanor high enough so she could toss her injured leg over the back of Percy and ride him astride, the full skirts of her habit pulled high up on her legs, with her cloak hanging down covering his horse’s rear.
“You look the very image of a Gothic romantic heroine,” he told her, grabbing the reins and the lamp before beginning the trek back to the lean-to.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, “How did you find me? And why did you come back so late from Town?”
“As soon as Cam said he’d given you that damned book, I knew what you would do.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding chagrined. “I’m sorry.”
After a long pause, she added, “When I read how Mr. Legrand and his friend found treasure, I knew you would have buried something for me to find. And it was my birthday, so I wanted to see what it was.”
“Despite the fact that it was nighttime and stormy out?”
“When I left Turvey, it was neither,” she pointed out.
“Cam is furious, and you’ve worried Margaret, which makes him more furious.”
Another long pause, and then Eleanor said, “Perhaps we needn’t say anything about the river. Bad enough I jumped out of the tree and sprained my ankle like a ninny.”
“Bad enough,” he agreed.
“You didn’t answer why you returned.”
“As you said, it’s your birthday. I didn’t intend to miss it. How could I know you would retire extraordinarily early and then go out like a madwoman into the elements?”
She said nothing.
“I’ll tell you how I should have known,” he said. “Because you are Eleanor Blackwood.”
She laughed, and when she did, he knew everything was going to be all right.
Soon, he would have Bess under him, and they would be home well before midnight.
Eleanor wished she could have simply tiptoed into Turvey House secretly the way she’d left. Yet, as soon as her brother-in-law either heard or spotted their horses, she heard his whoop of joy. Then a door slammed as he must have gone inside to tell Maggie.
Next came the mortifying, overly dramatic moment when Grayson insisted on carrying her inside after letting Jamie take the horses. The stable boy had glared at her ferociously. She had a feeling he’d gotten into trouble on her account, and she would make amends as best she could the next day.
Meanwhile, she had a fuming Earl of Cambrey to face and a pale-faced sister, who, if anything, looked even more beautiful for being worried.
“Eleanor!” Maggie cried as Grayson carried her, dripping wet and filthy, into the elegant drawing room. “What did you do? Just look at the state you’re in. John, please ask Tilda for brandy for my sister. For all of us, actually. And warm milk. I don’t know why, but I’m sure Eleanor needs warm milk.”
“Yes, my sweet,” he said, and disappeared from the drawing room momentarily.
Eleanor was glad, for his expression had been what she would describe as “provoked,” and she was certain she was in for a tongue-lashing at his earliest convenience.
As soon as he came back, apparently, it was convenient, for he started in on her.
“I should never have given you a saddle,” John said, standing over where she lay stretched out on the sofa.
“That wouldn’t have stopped me,” she confessed. “I would have taken one from the stables.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Have you no remorse for nearly killing us with worry? Imagine how we felt when Gray came home and sent Maggie up to fetch you, only to find you had disappeared.”
“Why did you send Maggie for me?” Eleanor asked Grayson, who stood at one end of the sofa, saying nothing.
“I was surprised you’d gone to your room so early, and I wanted to see you.”
“Did you?” she repeated, feeling comforted all over, even before a glass of brandy was pressed into her hand by her brother-in-law, and her sister drew her sodden cloak out from behind her.
“Stop all this calm chit-chat,” John ordered. “You are to be punished and confined to your room, and you should be tarred and feathered.”
Eleanor couldn’t help laughing, even as Maggie rolled her eyes.
“Why are you laughing?” the earl asked, though Eleanor could hear the softening in hi
s voice.
“Because I am not a child. I can go where I wish, when I wish, especially on my birthday.”
His mouth gaped open. “Do you hear this?” John asked the room in general, his gaze swiveling from Grayson to Maggie.
Then Maggie laughed, too, stopping only when her husband frowned at her.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “This is serious.”
Turning to Eleanor, she added, “And you should be sorry. Yes, you are an adult, but you didn’t behave like one. You are dear to all of us, and that was extremely wrong of you to go out into the night alone.”
Chastened by her sister’s words, Eleanor was more than a little ashamed. She didn’t like the annoyed expression the earl was still wearing, nor the disappointed look upon Grayson’s face.
“I did behave like a child,” she admitted. “And I am sorry for the worry I caused. I knew what I was doing was wrong, or I wouldn’t have snuck out as I did.”
“Scaring us all,” John muttered, “especially poor Gray.”
Eleanor glanced at him, and he nodded, looking quite somber.
“And I did get hurt,” Eleanor said quietly, only because the throbbing in her ankle was becoming more painful, and she desperately wanted her boot off.
“Oh no!” Maggie exclaimed. “I thought Gray was only carrying you as a romantic gesture.”
Eleanor shook her head and pointed. “My ankle, I twisted it.”
Grayson crouched down at her feet and gave her riding boot a gentle tug.
“Ow!” she exclaimed. This was not going to be pleasant. “I fear my ankle is swollen.”
“We should cut the boot off,” Grayson said, looking to John, who muttered something about not being a butler as he left the room to get the necessary implement.
Eleanor sighed, relieved it was only her riding boots. “Fine. As long as they’re not my Wellies.”
Grayson smiled at her words, then he gave her a wink while they waited for Cam to find some shears.
“I’m sorry about your sofa,” she told Maggie. “In my sodden state, I should have been put on the floor.”
“Don’t be silly. We were due to redecorate anyway. I was thinking peach and green colors.”
“What!” John exclaimed, reentering the drawing room and looking even more distraught, probably fearing the expense once his wife started thinking of the latest styles for home decorating. He handed Grayson a pair of scissors from the cook.
“I’ll have this off in a jiffy,” he promised her. “Let me know if anything hurts while I cut.”
In a couple minutes, with her boot in two pieces, her stockinged ankle was exposed to everyone’s view.
“Not too bad,” she said, feeling guilty for worrying everyone.
“The boot might have been stopping it from swelling any further,” Grayson pointed out, “so don’t be surprised if it gets bigger, but Cook should have some arnica, which will help.” He looked pointedly at John again.
“I’m not a bloody errand boy,” the earl said. “Where on earth is Cyril?” But he went out in search of arnica balm, nonetheless.
“Take her other boot off, too,” Maggie instructed, “and we’ll put her feet up high on a cushion. I know that helps with swelling.”
“Let’s stop fussing,” Eleanor said, even as Grayson lifted her calf and then set it down upon a pillow. His touch on her leg caused shivers to course through her, and she took another sip of brandy.
When John returned, Maggie said, “Why don’t you two gentlemen leave the room, and I’ll spread some balm on my sister’s ankle.”
“Maybe a cigar would be in order,” the earl suggested, “to celebrate your brave heroics.” His tone held a note of mockery, even as he clapped Grayson on the back.
With her gaze fixed on the handsome man who had indeed been her hero that night, Eleanor caught the warm glance Grayson sent over his shoulder before he left.
When the door closed, Maggie raised Eleanor’s hem and drew down her cream-colored stocking. “Do you love him?” she asked without preamble.
Eleanor blinked at Maggie. Then she recalled her sister’s honesty years back when she had disclosed her love for John Angsley.
“Yes.”
Maggie clapped her hands, and the gesture reminded Eleanor of herself. They smiled at each other.
“You approve, I take it,” Eleanor said.
“He’s a very fine man,” Maggie said. “With dash-fire and good looks, too, don’t you think?”
“I do, rather.”
Maggie smoothed the balm on Eleanor’s ankle. “It is rather plump along here.” She trailed her fingers where the skin obviously had fluid under it. Then she closed the earthenware pot. “And does he return your affections?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I believe he has feelings for me.”
Covering Eleanor’s legs once again with her skirts, Maggie yawned.
“You should have seen Gray earlier. He literally ran out of here upon learning of your disappearance, especially frantic when he found out Cam had given you the book. He definitely looked like a man with strong feelings, including panic, I must say.”
Then she nodded at Eleanor’s chest. “What have you been holding onto all this time?”
Eleanor had been clutching the muddy glass jar for so long, first in the storm and then on the horse, she’d forgotten it. Even with her wet, filthy gloves on, her hands were cold and her fingers a little stiff as she opened them to release the jar, which was stoppered with a cork. She let it rest on her stomach while she peeled off her gloves and placed them onto Maggie’s outstretched hand. Then she picked it up again.
“It’s the treasure,” she whispered.
Maggie frowned. “You got caught in a storm and twisted your ankle for a jar?” She leaned forward, peering closely. “With a piece of paper in it?”
“Yes, though it was dark, and the jar was covered in dirt, so I couldn’t really see what was inside.”
“Well, shall we see what it says?” Maggie’s lovely eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Eleanor had a feeling it was something special, and for her eyes alone. Before she could answer, suddenly, Grayson’s voice came from the doorway.
“If you don’t mind, Margaret, the message is for your sister only. Would you allow me a moment alone with her?”
Instead of taking offense at being asked to leave her own drawing room, Maggie looked positively elated. Beaming her signature dazzling smile, known to bring more than one suitor to his knees, she cocked her head at him.
“You must treat my sister with the care and respect she deserves, Grayson. As long as you do, you may have as many moments alone with her as you like.”
She ran a cool hand over Eleanor’s forehead and leaned in to kiss her.
“You’re smudged with grime,” Maggie whispered, “and he’s still looking at you as if you were draped in silk and jewels at a ball. Strong feelings indeed!”
Eleanor raised a hand to her cheek.
“No, don’t. You look adorable,” Maggie added, before kissing one of her grubby cheeks.
Waggling a finger at Grayson as she passed him, the Countess of Cambrey silently left the room.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“That I’m dirty.”
He laughed. “She didn’t, did she?”
“Well, am I?”
He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and sat down on the edge of the sofa and wiped her forehead and cheeks. Lastly, he drew it across her nose, and then showed it to her.
She saw traces of muck and blanched.
“See,” he said, “not too bad. I’ve already asked Tilda to draw a bath. I know how women sleep better when they’ve bathed.”
Eleanor didn’t care for what that implied, that he knew enough women at bedtime to have formed such an opinion.
“How was London?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I barely saw it. I was on a quest.”
“Really? Then you didn’t go there for enterta
inment?”
Grayson laughed, a sound she found so alluring, it sent a shiver along her spine and caused a flutter deep inside her.
“You are all the entertainment I could ever need or want,” he told her.
The heat rose in her cheeks.
“Open the jar,” he ordered.
Chapter Nineteen
Swallowing, Eleanor tried to pull the cork out of the neck of the slender jar, but it wouldn’t budge. Thinking quickly, she used her teeth, causing Grayson to laugh again, when the cork popped free.
“You are a wild miss!” he declared.
“That’s what Beryl always says.”
“She’s right.” He waited while she unrolled the piece of paper with trembling fingers.
Thankfully, she saw words. “If you’d written this in some mysterious invisible ink like the map, I might have had to do you bodily harm.”
Still, he remained silent, so she glanced down and read:
Eleanor Blackwood, you are worth more than any pirate treasure. You have captured my whole heart, and I cannot live without you by my side, sharing life’s grandest adventures together. Will you be my wife? All my love, Grayson.
It was complimentary, but not flowery. It was romantic, but to the point. It was Grayson O’Connor precisely. She could no longer see the words for the tears coursing down her cheeks.
“That’s good,” he said, wiping her face again. “The tears help remove the grime.”
And how easily he made her laugh, which she did then.
“Will you answer me, Miss Blackwood?”
She stared into his eyes, reaching up to move a lock of his black hair off his forehead where it covered his brow, when he captured her hand in his.
“I am honored,” she told him. “Yes, I will be your wife. I love you. I have loved you, and I will love you always.”
“We were supposed to be standing under the trees, in your favorite environment,” he said. “But adventures have a way of taking twists and turns. And I had the opportunity to go to London and get you this.”
Digging in his pocket, he drew out a box, and her heart, already pounding with all that was happening so quickly, sped up even more. He slid off a green silk ribbon and opened the small box for her. Nestled on black velvet was a gold ring with an oval-shaped emerald and four small diamonds around it.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 69