Page 45 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

Justin ventured forward, choosing his path with care. And then he heard it. A high-pitched sound. It was not quite a bark. It was more of a whine. A plaintive, distinctly canine whine.

“Jonesy?” Justin shouted as he approached the cliff’s edge. “Paul? Where the devil are you?” He extended the lantern over the side and peered down. “What in blazes…”

The dogs were there. Both of them, perched on a narrow outcropping. He could see their dark silhouettes in the rain—Jonesy sitting and Paul lying down, his muzzle resting on his paws. They didn’t acknowledge him. Their attention was fully occupied on the small white figure at the other side of the ledge.

Justin’s heart leapt into his throat. Good God, it was Helena.

She was huddled against the wall of the cliff with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her forehead was pressed to her knees, her unbound hair a wet, tangled mass all around her. She was wearing what looked to be nothing more substantial than a dressing gown. She was soaked to the skin. He could see the shivers coursing over the delicate curve of her back and shoulders.

He uttered a blistering oath. She must have fallen. There was no other explanation. He sank to his knees on the wet grass, dropping his lantern down beside him. “Helena? My God, Helena. Are you hurt?”

She didn’t respond.

“Helena? Can you hear me?”

She gave no sign that she could.

A sickening feeling of foreboding settled over him. He thought of Neville, falling from the cliff face and striking his head. The scene had replayed in his mind thousands of times over the years. Is that what had happened here? Had Helena slipped over the side and struck her head on the rocks?

He tossed aside his hat and stripped off his coat and gloves. “I’m going to climb down to you. Stay exactly where you are.”

“Don’t.”

Justin froze. “What?”

Her words were faint and slightly muffled. “Don’t come any closer.”

“I have to. If you’re injured, it’s the only way to get you off of the ledge.” Justin moved to swing a leg over the side. He heard her mutter something. He couldn’t quite make it out. “You needn’t worry about me,” he assured her. “I’ve been climbing these cliffs since I was a lad.”

She lifted her head then and looked up at him. Her beautiful face, usually so composed, so regal, was white and frightened in the light of the lamp. “If you come any closer, I’ll throw myself over the side.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of Justin’s neck. He stared down at her, fully registering the extent of her terror for the first time. He’d thought her fear had to do with her position on the ledge. He’d thought she was hurt or afraid of falling or—

“I mean it,” she said. “I won’t go with you. I’d rather die here.”

He swallowed hard. “Yes, I can see that.”

She pressed her forehead back against her knees, her arms drawn even tighter around them. He could hear her teeth chattering.

“What do you propose I do with you, then?” He was amazed at the steadiness of his voice. “Leave you here to freeze to death?”

“I don’t care. I won’t let them take me back to London.”

Them.

Justin cursed himself for an idiot. She wasn’t running from him. And she wasn’t threatening suicide if he touched her. She was afraid of them. Of her uncle and the brutish man he’d sent to retrieve her.

“My dear girl, do you think I’d let anyone lay so much as a finger on you?”

She looked at him again. The desolation in her expression tore at his heart. He knew then, with a painful certainty, that she didn’t believe he could protect her. That she’d thought he would hand her over to that man without so much as a by your leave.

“You’re my wife, Helena,” he said gruffly. “You married me to keep you safe and that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

“Mr. Glyde…I saw him…”

“He’s gone. I sent him away.”

Her breath shuddered out of her. “He’ll come back.”