Page 102 of Rogue of My Heart

“Thank God I wound the clocks when I stopped by yesterday,” Marie said, leaping out of bed and going to check the clock on her mantel to confirm the time. “We’re going to be so, so late for our own party.”

“If the party happens at all,” Christian laughed, climbing out of bed behind her. Marie took a moment to drink in the sight of him. She could appreciate his naked form even more now, knowing what he was capable of. “Hopefully my little sabotage worked.”

“Hopefully,” Marie repeated.

Half an hour later, they discovered that Christian’s prank had worked, but not as he’d intended. They’d washed and dressed in a hurry, fetched Marie’s bicycle, and sped back along the road to Dunegard Castle. The ride was even more uncomfortable for Marie on the way back than it had been before, but just as she was close to complaining about it, she spotted something in the distance that stopped her words and her breath in her throat.

“Oh, no!” She gestured for Christian to stop the bicycle, and they both dismounted. “No!”

Ahead of them on the road and scattered for several yards to either side were broken and twisted pieces of black-lacquered, splintered wood and twisted metal. Two horses writhed and screamed in the grass as the inhabitants of a second carriage got out to check the wreckage of the first. Along with the carnage of the wrecked carriage, Marie spotted four broken and splayed bodies.

Six

The edges of Christian’s vision blurred and his stomach lurched as his mind attempted to adjust to what he was seeing spread out across the road in front of him and Marie. He hardly felt Marie’s hand grip his arm or the bicycle beneath him as he stared at the wreck of his father’s carriage. For a moment, he was frozen, unable to hear Marie’s cry of alarm or the shouts from the people from the second carriage that had stopped behind the wreck. A farmer’s wagon was also speeding toward the scene, and the driver of the second carriage ran to meet it. But all Christian could see were the bodies spread through the wreckage.

They were completely still.

He knew in an instant what had happened, knew it and felt he might be crushed by it. An odd, strangled cry sounded somewhere in the distance. Only after he felt it burn in his lungs did he realize that the sound came from him.

“Christian.” Marie’s voice cut through the thundering heaviness around him.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. Her beautiful face was pinched in horror. That was enough to snap him out of his shock.

He sucked in a breath, scrambling away from the bicycle and Marie. As fast as he could, he dashed toward the wreckage.

“Stand back,” the man who had reached the scene first warned him, holding up a hand.

Christian’s fogged brain was slow to recognize him as Lord Boleran, which was ridiculous. He’d spent the better part of the past fortnight socializing with the man. It was a bad sign that his mind was too fractured to see Boleran as an individual and not just another part of the nightmare unfolding in front of him.

“I mean it, my lord, stand back,” Boleran repeated.

“No.” Christian stumbled forward in spite of Boleran’s efforts to keep him away from what he knew he’d see.

The carriage was utterly destroyed, as though someone had fired a cannon shot into it. Even the metal of the axle had twisted and snapped in places. But that wasn’t what snagged his attention and wouldn’t let him look away. His father’s body lay curled sickly around a spoke from one of the wheels. His eyes were frozen open in shock, and already his skin was pale. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Several yards to the side, his brother lay on his back, his neck bent at an impossible angle. There was no blood around Miles, but it was glaringly obvious that he was as dead as their father. The driver’s body was splayed far enough from the wreckage to suggest he’d been thrown with some force.

Dead. All three of them dead. Because of a carriage wreck. A wreck Christian had caused.

“My lord, come away.” Boleran was behind him an instant later, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“My mother,” Christian said, the words coming out in a croak.

“My lord, she’s?—”

Christian shrugged Boleran off, dashing to the patch of grass several yards away where his mother lay in a crumpled heap, her formal gown like a pillow around her. “Mother,” he shouted, falling to his knees and reaching for her.

His efforts were met by the faintest of groans and a subtle shift from his mother. It was enough for Christian to cry out hysterically, “She’s alive! Somebody fetch a doctor. Fetch a doctor at once!”

He tried to gather her in his arms, but Boleran was on him again, holding his arms back. “Don’t move her, my lord,” he said. “She may have internal injuries. Moving her may kill her. Wait for the doctor.”

“He’s been sent for,” someone shouted behind Christian.

“I want my mother,” Christian wailed, struggling against Boleran and scrambling for his mother’s frail and broken form. “Please, please.”

“Let him hold her,” Marie’s shaky voice said from somewhere behind him. The joy he felt at hearing her voice quickly faded to guilt and misery. He was responsible for killing his father and brother—and perhaps his mother too—and he’d done it with Marie in mind.

“My lord, you really should wait for the doctor,” Boleran went on as Christian ignored him to hunch over his mother, cradling her as best he could while touching her as little as possible.

Something connected in Christian’s mind, and he glanced angrily up at Boleran, dread filling him. “I’m not a lord,” he said. “I’m just Mr. Darrow.”