Graham frowned and tilted her chin of gently, gazing into her eyes. “We must,” he said. “The storm is almost upon us.”
“No,” she said. “I shall not return to Sedgwick Manor. Not when he…”
She buried her face in his chest once more, clutching his soaked shirt. Graham wrapped his arms around her and held her, ignoring the rain in favor of the warm body pressing against his. He'd wished to hold her like that for so long, but the circumstances were far from ideal.
“You do not need to return to Sedgwick Manor,” he said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “You shall come back to Foxglove Hall with me, and there you shall stay, undermyprotection, until we get this sorted out.”
She looked up at him, sniffling as she tried to get a hold of herself. “But I betrayed your sister, my dearest friend,” she said. “I do not deserve your protection.”
“And yet you have it,” he said. “And you always will. Come with me, and you can stay with my mother while I call on the constable.”
Her eyes widened. “Tonight?”
“Tonight,” he confirmed. “This cannot wait; if you do not return, Lord Bragg will surely know something is afoot.”
“What if he hurts my mother?”
Graham frowned in horror. “In her own home?”
“I watched him kill my best friend as only a brute would,” she murmured. “I have no way of knowing what he will do next.”
“Then that means we must make haste,” he said. “Come with me.”
He grasped her hand and pulled her toward the horses—and toward the lake. Bridget followed after him, then stared at the lake, her chin trembling.
And Graham suddenly knew what she had intended to do.
Her eyes were trained on the rough surface, where strong gusts of wind were whipping the water into white-capped waves. Graham gripped her arm harder, and she whipped her head toward him.
“Bridget,” he said. “You deserve nothing but kindness. You have… you have done nothing wrong.”
“But I lied,” she protested, dragging him towards the lake.
“I gathered that. Once we are safe and dry, you shall explain everything to me,” he said. “And together, we shall make this right. Do you understand?”
She took one last look at the lake, then closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks as she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”
* * *
Once away from the lake, they rode through the rain at a swift canter, taking great care on the path while maintaining their speed. Graham knew the weather was so bad any journey would be hazardous, yet he remained committed to getting the constable from the village. But by the moment they reached the stables, the weather was severe, and he could hardly see through the rain.
None of the stable hands were about. He guessed that Warren had ordered most of the servants indoors for safety, and the man who tended the horses overnight was likely in asleep in the hayloft. Graham dismounted, then moved toward Bridget to help her from her horse, taking her in his arms.
He was shocked. He had not realized it at the lake, but she was hardly even dressed, just wearing a thin black gown under her black cloak. Bridget shivered as he wrapped her in his embrace, tucking her head under his chin.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured. “We need to get you inside by a fire.”
Bridget withdrew slightly, her hands grasping his shirt collar, her green eyes filled with tears. “Graham,” she said quietly. “Tell me I’m not dreaming. Tell me I’m not resting at the bottom of the lake right now.”
Graham took her face in his hands and smoothed his palms over her hair, meeting her gaze. “You are not dreaming, my darling,” he said, shaking his head. “We are both right here, at Foxglove Hall. This is real. And you shall never have to return to that place unless you wish to.”
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she suppressed more tears. “I feel as if I am losing my mind.”
“You have experienced an ordeal,” he said. “Let us go inside and—”
“But your mother!” she said. “Will she… will she forgive me? And the servants? I know they all think I’m a horrible person. Not only that but think of the scandal this will stir up!”