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George did not wait for another word. The mere thought of Helena exposed to whatever dangers the roads would bring to bear upon an unguarded lady and child was more than he could bear.

"Gibbs! Send word to the stables this instant!" George roared, tearing off his outer coat. "I require my fastest mount brought to the front portico immediately! Have them saddle Ajax without a second's delay!"

"At once, Your Grace," Mr. Gibbs replied. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the weather has turned foul, and the northern tracks are washed out in several places. Would it not be wiser to send out a mounted party of grooms to escort Her Grace's coach back?"

"No!" George thundered, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he strode toward his private dressing room to change into his heavy leather riding boots. "I shall go myself! Every moment we waste standing here chatting is a moment she remains in peril on that cursed road! Do as I command, Gibbs, and have Ajax ready before I step back into this hall!"

"Very well, Your Grace," the butler conceded, bowing swiftly before hurrying to dispatch the footmen to the stable.

Inside his dressing room, George kicked off his shoes, forcing his feet into his iron-spurred riding boots. Three hours ahead of me. If Jarvis maintained a steady trot, they will be approaching the dense woods by now. God above, protect them.

He grabbed his riding cloak from the brass peg, pulled it over his broad shoulders, and snatched his riding gloves from the table. He cared nothing for the cold or the rising storm; all that mattered was closing the distance between them before it was too late.

He burst out through the entrance, stepping onto the rain-slicked stones as two frightened stableboys dragged Ajax, the massive coal-black Thoroughbred stallion, up the gravel drive. The beast snorted loudly, tossing his dark head against the bit, his iron shoes striking sparks against the cobblestones.

"Hold him steady!" George shouted, brushing past the stableboys and seizing the leather reins. Without the mounting block, he swung his leg over the saddle, settling his weight firmly into the leather seat.

"Your Grace, take a lantern at least!" the head groom called out desperately, holding up a brass oil lamp as the rain lashed down against his apron. "The road through the thicket is pitch dark, and the ruts are treacherous!"

"I need no lantern!" George barked back over the rushing wind.

He dug his spurs sharply into Ajax's flanks. The great black stallion snorted and reared up slightly before surging forward with explosive force. They tore through the gates like a bolt of thunder. The icy rain that hid the sun lashed against George's face, stinging his skin and soaking through his collar, while the mud from the flooded track splattered his boots and breeches. He paid the bitter weather no mind, leaning further into the gale, his heels pressing relentlessly against the stallion's ribs to demand every ounce of speed the beast possessed.

Hold on, Helena. Please, God, hold on until I reach you.

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Help us! Is there no one upon this road to hear us? Help!" Helena screamed into the howling dark, her voice straining against the relentless roar.

The bandit yanked her toward the door, tearing the delicate sleeve off at the shoulder. Helena clawed at him, staggering as the sudden movement jostled her off her feet.

"Hand over whatever purse ye're concealing under them petticoats, lady, or it will be the worse for ye!" the lead robber snarled, his ale-sodden breath billowing as he lunged halfway through the doorway. Helena twisted away, kicking at him with one slippered foot.

Enraged by her defiance, the bandit growled and brandished his knife, the cold steel gleaming wickedly. "Ye'll yield what we ask or ye'll bleed in the mud like a slaughtered sow!"

He drove the blade downward in a vicious thrust aimed directly at her ribs. Helena gasped, twisting her torso into the cramped corner and hunching into her cloak to protect herself. The hunting blade sliced cleanly through her wool mantle, digging into her left shoulder.

Outside, above the howling gale and the coarse laughter of the robbers, the muffled thud of hooves echoed through the flooded timberland.

Who could possibly be riding at such a reckless speed through this tempest? Helena thought. Is it another robber coming to join in this villainy, or has some merciful soul heard my pleas for aid?

The knife-wielding robber paused, turning toward the road as a great stallion slid to a halt in the deep clay beside the coach. Before the robber could shout a warning, a thunderous voice shattered the storm.

"Helena! Where are you, Helena?"

Helena froze, eyes widening in shock. George? It cannot be... I must be losing my wits to the fright of this night. He is miles ahead... why would he be coming from behind me?

Through the curtain of rain, Helena caught sight of George advancing through the thick mud. He wore no hat, dark hair plastered against his forehead, and his wool cloak flew behind him like dark wings.

His icy-blue eyes burned with a fury that caused even the hardened thieves to take a hesitant step backward. Helena stared at him, her lips parted in wonder as she watched him move toward the men.

"What's this, then?" the lead robber spat, trying to bolster his courage as he held his bloody hunting knife aloft. "A fine lord come to play the hero? Stay where ye are, sir, or we'll spill yer blood upon this track along with the lady's!"

George did not slow his stride, his deep voice carrying a silent threat. "Step away from my wife."

The bandits exchanged a glance before bursting into scoffing laughter, though their voices sounded thin and uncertain against the roar of the wind. "Yer wife, is she?" the second robber sneered, raising his heavy oak cudgel. "Then ye've brought her to a bad end! We'll take yer horse, yer purse, and yer life before this storm is done!"

The man with the cudgel lunged forward, swinging the weighted club in a wild arc aimed directly at George's head. Helena gasped, her heart leaping into her mouth. Dear God, protect him!