A crack of thunder made her jump.
“We must get there before the deluge returns,” he said, looking up at the black clouds.
He leaped into the saddle and held out his hand to her. She did not hesitate to grip it, and was swung up behind him. They raced into the night as the sky opened a little more. She wrapped her arms tight around his waist and pressed her face into the hard muscle of his back. She couldn’t stop her tears from falling, mixing with the drops of rain that splattered so insistently.
She had almost been raped.
She wanted to curl into Anthony, to feel his arms around her, to banish the horror and the edge of fear that still lingered. The profundity of her gratitude staggered her. Her mouth whispered words of thanks, even though he could not hear them.
The night was icy cold as they rode, stealing her breath and chattering her teeth. The sky darkened, eclipsing the stars. A premonition of her future?
The sky opened as they raced by houses they could have sought shelter from, but she understood why he did not stop. A harsh sob ripped from her. Even now he had thoughts to protect her reputation. She did not know if it could be salvaged, but she hoped so. If not for her own sake, for Payton’s. She prayed Orwell would not trumpet the fact he had tried to kidnap and rape her. Instinctively, she knew Anthony would protect her.
A manor house loomed in the distant with a light flickering high from a lone window. Relief surged when Anthony turned the stallion toward it. Within minutes, they rode into the yard and he swept off the horse, pulling her with him. He handed the reins to a stable boy who ran out to meet them, and stalked toward the entry. The front door was flung open, and he marched in, issuing commands. Servants scurried to obey, and a matronly woman bustled toward them clucking her lips.
“Ach, to be out in this weather, milord.”
“Prepare warm milk and food. Send it up to my room. A decanter of brandy, as well.”
The housekeeper did not falter at his growled command as she handed him a towel and threw a blanket over Phillipa’s trembling body.
“Thank you,” she said, though it did not ward off the chill.
Anthony strode through the foyer, and she hurried after him. He made a sharp right into an open doorway. A gas lamp glowed in the room, illuminating a sizeable library. She felt numb as he sat behind a desk and scrawled a note with furious haste, then stamped his seal.
“See that this is delivered to Lady Radcliffe tonight,” he ordered, and she spun to see a butler she had not realized followed them in.
“Very good, milord.” The man cleared his throat. “My lord, about that other letter you bid me deliver…”
Anthony looked blank for a moment, then frowned. “Yes? What about it?”
“You asked me to give it to”—he glanced at Phillipa then back to Anthony—“the person in question myself.”
“Yes, yes, and did you?”
“No, my lord. The…family has been away visiting relatives, and I—”
Anthony slashed a hand in the air dismissively. “Just see it’s done. Meanwhile, get moving with the note to Lady Radcliffe. That is far more urgent.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler’s gaze scanned over Phillipa with curiosity before he took the missive, bowed, and exited the library.
Phillipa knew the Viscountess Lady Radcliffe was Anthony’s mother, but why had he sent a note to her? He was in such a temper she didn’t dare ask. Nor about the other mysterious letter—though it hadn’t seemed overly important to him.
“Come with me,” he said, and Phillipa’s heart beat faster as her trepidation returned and her situation closed in on her. She should not stay overnight at his house. The consequences would be untenable.
Questions and dread swirled in her mind as she followed him down the hallway. Thunder rumbled, and lightning speared through the rooms they walked, mocking her. She struggled to keep up with his rapid strides up the elegant staircase. He led her down a long hall, finally stopping in front of a large oak panel door. He wrenched it open, making it crash against the wall.
“Why are you so angry?” she asked.
He darted a disbelieving look at her, tugged off his dripping jacket, and snapped, “Undress.”
She stepped back warily.
His jaw clenched. “You are wet and shaking. You need to get warm and dry. I do not want you catching influenza.”
Lightning lit up the room again, and the thunder rattled the windowpane. She looked to where he pointed, and saw it was a bath chamber. It did look awfully inviting. And she was, in truth, shivering with cold.
A maid bustled in and lit a gas flame under a copper water tank. The chamber held a large tub with two spigots pouring into it, one with heated water from the tank and the other for cold. In the tub, she sprinkled salts with the most delicious scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and soon hot water was filling it.