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Life may change, but it may fly not;

Hope may vanish, but can die not;

Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;

Love repulsed—but it returneth!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Mr. Whittle apologized, mopping his brow with a worn handkerchief. “My lord, if I might have a word privately with you. Please. It cannot wait.”

Dread filled me at the muttered request. Dread and irritation and, blast it, that kiss with Bridget’s soft lips beneath mine would not let me go, nor would the feel of her pressed against me.

I felt like I had been given a treasure, only to have it ripped away.

I wanted to tell Mr. Whittle to go away so I could take her back into my arms.

But no matter what I tried to say, I only made it worse for her. And I was a fool, on the brink of losing my inheritance. Why would she want such a man?

“Mrs. Whittle will provide tea,” I told Bridget. I sounded gruff, even to my ears. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

I hated to leave her with unfinished business between us.

She halted, then changed her mind and marched toward the abbey’s entrance while I followed Mr. Whittle to the stable.

He pointed to Annabelle, now secure in a stall and calmly munching hay.

“I have never had her bolt,” Mr. Whittle said. “I couldn’t believe it when she galloped into the courtyard with the saddle hanging sideways. I swear I secured it, but there were thorns beneath it.”

“Thorns?”

“Aye. Forgive me, my lord, I would never see harm come to your guests. I can’t imagine how they got there.”

“Nor the straps loosened,” I said. Was the shot meant to frighten the horses? Foreboding filled me, especially after Bridget’s confession about the gold signet ring that would draw the greed of weak men.

You’ve done quite enough rescuing, she had told me in no uncertain terms.

A sick feeling pooled in my stomach. I couldn’t even protect my estate or my tenants. Nor her. If only I could forget her demand that I forget the kiss and all that it entailed. Why would she not accept my proposal for marriage? I meant it.

I was nothing like my father. I would never use a woman for my own pleasure.

Truthfully, she had bewitched me. I wanted no one else.

She had stood on her own two feet for so long that she assumed she didn’t need anyone. I had lived my life similarly, but it was a dangerous path to tread, relying only on oneself. I no longer wanted to stay on such a lonely road, focused on my own interests.

As I rushed up the steps to the abbey, a verse from Ecclesiastes came to mind.

And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

Inside the abbey, I found Bridget with her father and Mr. Harrington. Bridget folded her arms, her gaze faltering. Had the kiss affected her as much as it had me?

Both men were shocked to hear she had nearly been thrown off her horse.

“I don’t think it was an accident,” I told them. “Someone placed thorns under Miss Littleton’s saddle girth. The horse naturally bolted with the gunfire.”

Mr. Harrington gaped like a codfish when I shoved my hand into my pocket to pull out the sharp thorn to show them.

“Wretched business. That can’t be an accident.”

I shook my head. But why Bridget? How did they know we would ride today? The idea of betrayal was staggering.

“I can’t help but think we must double the guard around Mr. Perry’s field,” I noted as I slipped the thorn back into my coat pocket.

Mr. Harrington narrowed his gaze as he studied me. “Are you aware we found a gold ring with a ruby?”

I hesitated to reveal Bridget’s secrets, shared in confidence.

“I told Lord Hawthorn this morning.” She sounded strained and averted her gaze.

“I have a safe,” I offered. “You are welcome to put any valuable items inside it until matters are calm. Only I have the combination.”

Bridget didn’t answer, but the vicar stared at me. “We’ll take you up on the offer, Lord Hawthorn.”