She took a steadying breath, pressing her hands together. “I keep replaying moments in my head, but it’s like looking through fogged glass.” She met his gaze. “Something about his voice… and there was a scent—something I’ve smelled before, but I can’t place it.”
All he could do at the moment was listen and be her steadfast anchor. He had sat with many soldiers, letting them talk out their fears, but this was different. This was Lora.
“There were… voices. Muffled, but some things are stuck in my head. One person had a distinctive sound.” Her eyes darted to the garden, searching for unseen answers.
His brow furrowed, but he remained quiet, letting her find her own pace.
“And there was a scent… something familiar, but I can’t place it. I’ve encountered it before, but I can’t be sure.”
He wanted her to remember, not because of the mission, but to stop her torment. His helplessness gnawed at him. He hoped his presence was enough to help her find her strength.
Lora looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together. “There were footsteps… they sounded different. Like someone had a… I don’t know. It was an odd rhythm. Now I’m not even sure if I really heard it.”
Rockford’s gaze softened with empathy. “These are valuable observations, Lora. Even if they seem fragmented now, they could be meaningful.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked up at him.
Rockford moved closer, his heart aching as he watched the tears roll down her cheek. She was a woman of immense strength and pride who rarely showed vulnerability. This rare moment tore at him more than any physical wound ever could. Gently, he placed his arm around her shoulders, hoping his warmth could offer the comfort that his words could not.
“You’ve done more than enough. We’ll piece it together, bit by bit.” He pulled her closer, his voice now a whisper. “I should never have gotten you involved in this.”
She nestled closer, her lips parted ready to speak, but the distant crunch of footsteps on gravel shattered the moment.
Gently, he released her as Harriet appeared around the bend.
“There you are!” Her stare changed into a relieved smile. “I was beginning to think you’d both gotten lost.”
“You were correct, Harriet. I needed to get out.” Lora glanced at Rockford. “We’ve been enjoying the garden.”
Harriet’s eyes flickered between them. “I see. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Rockford replied smoothly, rising from the bench. “I was just about to take my leave.”
Lora stood as well, her gaze meeting Rockford’s. “Thank you for calling.”
He nodded, his eyes holding hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a polite nod to Harriet, Rockford turned his footsteps, fading down the flagstone path as he made his way to the garden gate.
*
She watched himgo, the absence of his presence settling like a whisper of cold air against her skin. She longed for him to stay but feared it would unravel what fragile composure she had left. His visit had been a comfort, a tether to normalcy, but some battles had to be faced alone.
Harriet walked beside her, silent but present. As they reached the door, Lora hesitated, glancing back to where Rockford had stood only moments ago. His concern had been genuine, his touch reassuring, but some battles she had to face alone.
The memory of the highwayman and his threats still lingered, no longer a looming specter but a shadow at the edges of her thoughts.
Taking a steady breath, she stepped into the house with Harriet and closed the door softly behind them.
Chapter Twenty-One
14 October 1822
As Rockford approachedthe grand entrance of Fallsmith Manor, the crisp scent of autumn mingled with the delicate aroma of blooming roses, a gentle reminder of the changing seasons. Yet, despite the serene beauty surrounding him, his thoughts were consumed by the tumult of the previous day.
The urgency in Lora’s message had ignited a fire within him. He’d known that involving her in the scheme to bait Hastings held an element of risk, but he’d never anticipated she would take such bold action alone. Her fierce independence, once merely a characteristic he admired from a distance, was now a source of pride and deeper concern.
He recalled dismounting at the crossroads. His heart didn’t begin to pound until he saw the dainty footprints as he scanned the area. He knew they were Lora’s. When he found different hoofprints, he knew at once she’d been captured, and it was his fault. Guilt gnawed at him, a slow, insidious weight settling in his chest. The memory of her dainty footprints at the crossroads, the stark contrast between them and heavy boots prints beside them, proof of her capture, flashed in his mind. Proof of his failure. His hands curled into fists. If he hadn’t agreed to this charade, if he hadn’t let her become involved, she might never have been in danger.
The memory of finding her in that dimly lit room, eyes wide with fear and relief, was seared into his mind. Her whispered plea, the way she clung to him, haunted his every thought. The truth settled in his chest, cold and undeniable, his feelings for Lora were not an act. Perhaps they never had been.
