A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Andrew walked toward the springs, trying to unravel the knotty problem that still seemed to have no solution. What to do about Catherine?
Of course, he knew what he wanted to do, had taken steps toward that end in London, but his every instinct warned him it was too soon to profess his love and ask for her hand. For the hundredth time he cursed the fates that necessitated his leaving tomorrow. While he’d obviously made progress, he hadn’t had enough time to win her heart. To convince her to change her views on marriage. To find a way to tell her the truth about his past. Pray that that knowledge didn’t turn her against him. He needed time, which he unfortunately did not have.
He also needed patience, which was becoming more and more difficult to come by. He’d wanted this woman, had loved her for what seemed like an eternity. Everything in him rebelled against taking months and months to court her slowly. He wanted her now.
He greatly feared that any ground he’d gained would be lost once he left here. She’d only wanted a short-term liaison. He suspected that once she returned to her normal routine, she would not be eager to issue him a return invitation to Little Longstone. Indeed, such a visit might well turn into a source of gossip. It was one thing for him to remain a few days after escorting her here so she did not have to travel from London alone. It was quite another for him to make return trips simply to visit.
As he approached the last curve on the path before arriving at the springs, the sound of a twig snapping directly behind caught his attention. His first thought was that it was Catherine, but then he caught a subtle whiff of tobacco. He tensed and turned swiftly. Unfortunately he turned a second too late. Something crashed down on the back of his head, and his world faded to black.
Catherine stood at the edge of the springs and looked down at the gently bubbling warm water, waiting for Andrew to arrive. She’d wrapped her resolve around her like a suit of armor and tightly tethered her heart to prevent any risk of its escaping its confines. For years she’d been content with her solitary existence, sharing her life with Spencer, enjoying the waters and her gardens, her friendship with Genevieve. Andrew’s presence threatened to invade the safe haven she’d made here, stirring up all these confusing feelings, yearning, and desires she didn’t want. She desperately needed to regain her equilibrium. After tonight, she would. Tonight belonged to her and Andrew. Tomorrow they went their separate ways. And that’s the way she wanted it.
The muted sound of a twig snapping roused her, and her heart leapt in anticipation. Seconds later she heard what sounded like dull thud, followed by a low groan, then another thud.
“Andrew?” she called softly. Only silence met her. She stood on her toes and peeked over the stone outcropping that curved around the springs and peered down the darkened path. Seeing nothing but inky shadows, she listened for several seconds yet heard nothing save leaves rustling in the soft breeze. Had she imagined the sound? Or had Andrew perhaps tripped on a branch or tree root in the darkness?
“Andrew?” she called again, a bit louder this time. Silence. She cursed the fact that she hadn’t brought a lantern with her, but she knew the path to the springs so well she could navigate it with her eyes closed. Besides, she had not wanted to risk anyone possibly seeing the light from the house. Had Andrew also tried to avoid discovery and been injured as a result?
She stepped from behind the rocks and walked briskly along the path. The instant she rounded the curve she saw the prone form lying on the ground.
“Andrew!” Heart in her throat, she rushed forward, praying he wasn’t badly hurt. Just as she reached him, she was grabbed roughly from behind. A strong arm gripped her just below her bosom, imprisoning her arms against her side, and jerked her backward, off her feet. She managed to cry out once before the attacker clamped his other hand over her mouth.
Catherine kicked and thrashed wildly, but it was quickly obvious she was no match for this man’s superior strength. He half dragged, half carried her toward the springs. And away from Andrew.
Andrew. Dear God, he must have been a victim of this brigand. Was he still alive? She redoubled her frantic efforts, twisting, kicking, but to no avail as she was dragged ever closer to the water.
Distant sounds, rising and falling like a rapid tide, permeated the thick fog dulling Andrew’s mind. A vicious ache throbbed behind his eyes, and he dragged his heavy lids open with a Herculean effort. He blinked and looked up at… the dark sky?
It required all his strength to push himself into a sitting position, an effort that forced him to close his eyes against the nausea and sharp pains radiating from his head. He pulled in several deep breaths, trying to assimilate what had happened and why the hell his head hurt so badly. He’d been walking to the springs. To meet Catherine. A noise behind him. Then… someone attacking him from behind. His eyes sprang open. Catherine.
A scraping sound, followed by a muffled grunt, coming from the area near the springs caught his attention, and he forced himself to stand. He staggered a few steps and had to press his palm against a tree trunk for several seconds until the dizziness passed, and his equilibrium returned. After his vision cleared, he moved silently down the path. When he rounded the curve, the sight that met his gaze stilled everything inside him-breath, blood, heart.
Catherine, struggling mightily, was being dragged behind the tall rocks surrounding the springs by a dark-clad figure. They disappeared from sight and Andrew dashed forward. He’d taken less than a half a dozen steps when he heard Catherine cry out. Her wail was silenced by a loud splash.
Blood pounding in his ears, Andrew raced ahead. He rounded the rocks and instantly assessed the situation. The bastard was looking into the bubbling spring. Clearly he’d thrown Catherine into the water, as she was nowhere to be seen. And she hadn’t surfaced…
With a roar of outrage, Andrew grabbed the man by collar and lifted him off his feet. Their eyes met, and a shock of recognition radiated through Andrew. “You bastard,” he growled. His fist flashed, smashing into the man’s nose. He then heaved him backward, against the rocks. The man’s body hit with a thud. With a groan and blood running down his face, he sank.
Andrew didn’t wait to see the bastard hit the ground. He jumped into the gurgling spring. Warm water closed over his head, and he fought the panic seizing him in a vise grip. His feet hit something hard and he pushed upward. His head broke the surface, and he pulled in a gasping breath as his feet settled on the bottom and warm water swirled around his chest.
He waded farther into the pool, swishing his hands under the water, his eyes frantically scanning the surface. A few feet in front of him he caught sight of what looked like a piece of dark material. He grabbed for it and tugged.
It was Catherine. Her gown. He jerked her upward, getting her head out of the water. She lolled like a limp rag in his arms.
“Catherine.”His voice came out in a harsh rasp. Cradling her with one arm, the water swirling around them, he pushed the wet hair from her face. His fingers encountered a lump just above her ear, and his jaw clenched. She must have hit her head when that bastard threw her in.
“Catherine… please, dear God…”He lightly shook her and firmly patted her cheeks, willing her to breathe, unable to draw a breath himself as he stared down at her pale, wet, motionless face. He gathered her closer, squeezing her to him, whispering her name, begging her to breathe. To open her eyes.