Marriage of Mercy. Carla Kelly

found, you will be shot, you wretched man, she thought, walking into the road, but not ready to pass the manor house again, not with Lord Thomson watching her. She rubbed her arms, chilled at what would happen to him if the marquis had even an inkling that the captain had left the house unaccompanied.

      ‘Where would I go, if I were you?’ she asked out loud. ‘You’ve said you like the wind on your face.’

      And then she knew and realised she had better be right. Looking about to see if Lord Thomson was in sight, Grace hiked up her skirt and ran towards the highest point of land on his property. It wasn’t much of an elevation, but just enough of one to tempt someone homesick for the sea, who might think he could see Plymouth Sound from its height. She used to walk there occasionally with old Lord Thomson, when he’d had the strength, because he or one of his ancestors had put a bench at the top.

      Sure of herself now, she hurried to the high point, rehearsing in her mind what she would say to Rob when she found him. To her amazement and growing fear, he was nowhere in sight. She even stood on top of the bench, the better to scan the countryside.

      Defeat settled on her shoulders like a blanket. He hadn’t been in her charge for much more than a day and she had already lost him.