The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (2 page)
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Authors: Tracy Goodwin
Tags: #Fiction
Table of Contents
Other Titles by Tracy Goodwin:
This book would not have been possible if not for your overwhelming support of the
Scandalous Secrets
series. You have made the novels in this series international bestsellers and I am forever grateful.
Thank you, dearest readers! Each and every one of you mean the world to me.
Best wishes,
Tracy Goodwin
This novel is dedicated to three remarkable women:
To my wonderful agent, Sarah Hershman. For your belief in me, for your support, and for being instrumental in bringing this novel to life.
&
To Susan Duerden, who brought voice to the
Scandalous Secrets
series with her brilliant Audiobook narration. I am in awe of you and your breathtaking talent.
&
To Mary Metcalfe, the most wonderful Editor and friend. I adore you.
1851 Northamptonshire, England
H
er lungs burned as she raced farther into the darkness, the stench of decaying leaves and brush assailing her nostrils until she thought she might retch.
Help me …
The words wedged in her throat, which was raw from a mixture of sheer panic and dehydration.
Had she screamed?
Why couldn’t she remember?
Her mind was muddled in a murky abyss, helped none by the ominous clouds sheathing the moon, casting foreboding shadows across her path. Recollections she couldn’t decipher haunted her in the form of shapes she couldn’t comprehend and occurrences she couldn’t quite piece together.
Swallowing hard against the firm lump that had formed in her throat, she attempted to speak but, again, no words formed.
Panic rose as the ringing in her ears heightened to an earsplitting crescendo. She struggled to breathe, her corset constricting her airflow, reducing her panting to swift, shallow breaths.
Why couldn’t she breathe?
Why couldn’t she remember?
What did she remember?
Being hunted. Yes, men who wished her harm were chasing her. That was her reality. As was the fact that her predators must be close.
What if they heard her trudging through the woods? What if they, too, could hear her ragged lungs as they strained to inhale, though with little success?
The possibilities sent her senses reeling.
Clutching a low-lying branch, she wrapped her fingers around its rough, spindly bark. Leaning against it, she allowed herself one moment to gather her wits.
Swooning in the forest wouldn’t save her life.
No, it would hasten her demise.
Breathe.
She silently instructed herself.
Breathe then run.
Run for your life.
She shoved herself away from the branch and sprinted as fast as she could before stumbling on a protruding root. Pain sliced her hand as she clumsily righted herself against a large tree trunk.
The thick, rugged bark slashed her skin.
Grinding her teeth in an effort to silence her pain, she allowed herself one brief moment before gathering her skirts and propelling herself farther into obscurity.
Do not trip.
It was her silent command as she veered across the uneven terrain, hard from the early freeze. Ruts and indentations challenged her at every step as did the thick roots, sturdy and unrelenting, that stretched across the landscape.
Hunting her.
Like the men who sought to kill her.
She could not evade them. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how careful she was. The roots, like those men who chased her, continued to hound her, continued to creep towards her, surrounding her at every turn.
Again she tripped, this time landing on her knees with a loud grunt she could no longer suppress.
Dear God, it was cold.
She wore no cloak. Just a simple muslin gown and skirts. No boots, just slippers. Her toes, which once ached, were now numb.
The frigid temperature seeped into her body, into every limb and muscle. Nature appeared to want her dead as much as those in pursuit.
Choking back a sob, a puff of air swirled like vapor from her mouth into the icy air. The bitter cold and damp night enveloped her. The more she knelt on the ground, the more the frost assailed her body, causing her to sway as she tried desperately to stand.
Every joint stiffened, as if frozen in place.
Her teeth had begun to chatter as she crawled to the silhouette of what appeared to be a tree trunk. Or perchance a log? The closer she got, the smaller it appeared. White spots blurred her vision as realization set in.
She was close to losing consciousness.
God, please help me
, she prayed in silence.
Don’t let them catch me.
They will kill me.
Managing to stand on shaky legs, she staggered forward. A protruding limb clawed at her face and a wet, sticky substance began a slow decent down her cheek.
Blood.
Her blood.
It trickled into her mouth, the thick, metallic taste causing her to gag.
Another root grabbed hold of her foot, causing her ankle to give way as she collapsed against the frozen dirt, entwined branches and bark. This time, no grunt escaped her lips. Instead she lay still, mouth agape.
Help me …
In addition to a searing pain in her ribcage, her ankle now throbbed as she leaned against her arms until they gave way under her weight. She flopped on her side, the waves of pain crushing against her ribcage, her ankle, her cheek, her every limb.
The thought of lying on the frigid ground beneath her, remaining in this very spot, became overwhelmingly tempting.
Stay still and die – before they find me.
Yes, perhaps she would freeze to death. Perhaps she would simply fall asleep and the pain would cease.
But what if she was discovered before the cold spindly fingers of death clung to her? Her heart pumped faster, harder, at the thought of the pain they would inflict. Those faceless men, whose blunt, menacing voices she would recognize until the moment she inhaled her last breath.
What had they said? That they wanted her dead … that they would kill her. Yes, they sounded excited at the prospect. That she remembered, along with their many questions.
She shivered. Those men demanded answers to so many questions. About a man she did not know, whose name she could not recall. She possessed no answers and that made them more eager to kill her.
Clutching her side, she managed to rise and stumble farther into the black abyss of night. Tripping again, her feet becoming more and more entangled as she bumped into tree trunks, unable to keep her bearings.
What direction did she come from?
Where was she heading?
She squinted in an attempt to clear her vision. Her eyes darted, unable to discern her path.
A dog barked in the distance. The sound caused her to jump and head in the opposite direction. Though she was now limping, she continued to wobble forward.
Don’t look back.
Never look back.
Wiping her cheek, her blood flowed freely onto her palm. It was a welcome distraction from the pain as she found a clearing up ahead. Though cast in an intimidating gloom, it appeared to be a straight path.
Her paced quickened as she hurried forward, one step at a time. Gritting her teeth, she gained momentum by reminding herself of the imminent danger.
They are coming for me.
They will kill me.
Run!
Dashing past one tree, then weaving past another. She was almost to the clearing when she ran straight into a solid mass.
Strong, firm, he clutched her shoulders as her pulse pommeled against her temples.
They caught me!
They will kill me.
She struggled to free herself. Though the man had a firm grip, it wasn’t the least bit excruciating. Her predators would wish her pain. They would be rough, violent – they would have already blindfolded her as they did once before.
Was this man one of them?
Searching the man’s face, she noted the hard, angular jaw and cheekbones, deep-set onyx eyes and a deadened slash of skin spanning his cheekbone. Even cast in a dark silhouette, the scar was discernable.
The stranger clutched her shoulders, studying her with a mixture of concern and …
Could it be recognition?
“Bella?” he whispered.
The voice was unfamiliar – it belonged to no one she had heard tonight, but that didn’t mean that he was not one of her abductors.
Perhaps he had remained silent …
Or perhaps he was her only hope of safety. Perhaps this man was the difference between life and death.
Again, she tried to form the words. Her mouth remained dry as ash, though she refused to relent. After another failed attempt, her voice ignited at last from the cinders. Though her tone was raspy, the words were audible nonetheless.
“Help me,” she managed before her knees buckled.
Collapsing in the stranger’s arms, her eyes blurred as she heard him mutter, “Bloody hell.” His was a low baritone, smooth, even in his present predicament.
Drifting in and out of lucidity, she could feel the man lift her in one fluid motion, her head now resting against his chest. Though her eyes refused to open, no matter how hard she attempted the once simple task, she knew that he wore a greatcoat because its buttons pressed against her uninjured cheek. She was certain they left impressions in her flesh.