When he lifted the lantern, he saw no sign of her. The gardens were large and overgrown. She could be anywhere. He shouted her name again. Nothing. The storm made such an almighty noise, perhaps she didn’t hear him. Or perhaps she was too frightened to answer.
Christ Jesus, this was such a bloody mess.
Should he fetch the Bevans? But if she’d run ahead, any delay could mean she stumbled over the cliffs. He tasted sour bile. Surely any fall would be accidental. Surely he hadn’t driven her to preferring a watery grave over facing him.
Sidonie was strong. She wouldn’t be at Castle Craven if she wasn’t. She wasn’t the type to sacrifice life before virtue.
Was she?
Oh, dear God, what had he done?
Panic was a foreign emotion, at least in adulthood. But the idea of Sidonie harming herself made him crazy with dread, flooded his mouth with acrid fear.
“Sidonie!” he called again, but she wasn’t here. He’d know if she was near.
Lightning transformed the landscape into a nightmare of silver and black. Staggering, calling, he battled through overgrown shrubbery toward the sea. Its roar rose over rain and wind.
Surely Sidonie would hear it too and stop.
Branches whipped and scratched him. He hardly noticed the stings. The greatcoat offered scant protection but he didn’t care. He was big and strong. Sidonie was terrifyingly fragile against this weather.
Panting, Jonas broke onto the grassy area above the thrashing waves. He raised the lantern but the light penetrated only a few feet.
Jagged lightning split the sky again before he saw Sidonie standing a few yards away. In the white flash, he read the tension in her body. Thank God and all his angels, she wasn’t near the edge, although she stared over the stormy sea as if awaiting a lover’s return.
He sucked in his first full breath since she’d disappeared into the night. Relief made him lightheaded. She was alive.
She was alive.
Only now did he acknowledge how the idea of losing her to the rocks below had gashed his heart with grief. He’d sacrifice everything, even the hope of touching her again—and touching her was as close to heaven as he’d get—to keep her in this world. She didn’t even need to be in his world.
He didn’t bother calling again. If she’d heard him before—even over the storm, she must have—she hadn’t answered.
Slowly, partly because of the gale blasting off the ocean and partly because he didn’t want to scare her, he approached. The last time he’d scared her, he’d sent her careering into danger. He’d cut his throat before he did that again. “Sidonie?” he asked when close enough for her to hear.
She turned, her dark eyes glittering with what looked like hatred. She was pale and her hair clung like wet black satin. “Leave me alone,” she said in a voice that cut through the lashing wind.
His belly clenched as she backed toward the cliff. Now that he’d found her, his fears about her flinging herself into the sea seemed ludicrous. But the cliffs were treacherous and if she lost her footing, she could still come to disaster.
He started to reach for her before remembering the last thing she’d want was his touch. His hand fell to his side and he spoke with what calm authority he could muster in the middle of a thunderstorm. “Sidonie, come inside. It’s not safe here.”
At least she stopped edging away. The wind tore at her ragged clothing and she twined her arms around her chest. In a less watery setting, the glance she shot him would have incinerated him. “It’s not safe inside.”
He didn’t contradict her. She wished him to perdition, but he couldn’t leave her out in this tempest. He set down the lantern and tugged the greatcoat from his shoulders, swearing when the wet wool stuck to his arms. The wind caught the heavy garment and threatened to rip it from his grasp.
“Here.” He struggled close enough to drop the coat over her quaking shoulders. It provided precious little protection against the howling gale, but it was something. She wore only her ruined gown. Torn to shreds, thanks to his vile impatience.
“You’ll get cold,” she said in that emotionless voice.
He managed a smile, although he didn’t feel like smiling. He felt like shooting himself for a lumbering dunderhead. “I’ll survive.” Taking a risk, he extended his hand. “Come inside. Please.”
She stared at his hand as if it offered hemlock. “I don’t trust you.”
Icy rain slammed into his body like bullets. “At least hate me inside where it’s warm.”
She straightened with difficulty against the wind and wrapped his coat
more securely around herself. He expected a blistering response, but she remained silent. Then his heart cracked as she turned and picked her way over the sodden grass. She headed doggedly toward the break in the shrubbery where he’d forced his way through. He caught the pale flash of bare feet as she struggled for balance and another stab of guilt pierced him. She hadn’t asked for any of this. She wasn’t even here because of her own debt but because of her cackle-brained sister, who was probably tucked up safe and warm in bed. If not gambling with money she didn’t have in some hell.