Fear and anxiety, like tenacious hounds on the tail of a wounded stag, dogged Hugh as he flew along the woody lane. His head kept telling him that Grace could not be in grave danger. She’d left Baronsford not so long ago. It was likely that she was still on the road to the village. Workers and visitors traveled this road all the time. But his heart and his instincts were telling him something quite different. The baying hounds of his past were closing on him, forcing him to push the steed harder.

He had to get to her for fear of being too late.

At a full gallop, Hugh spurred his mount down into a misty glen. He rounded the bend by an old woodcutter’s cottage, deserted for years, and then he saw them.

His years in the cavalry clicked into place like the cocked trigger of a musket, and he saw at a glance what was before him. Grace was under attack.

Two men were fighting against someone who was falling to the ground. One was brandishing a knife. The man on the ground was Darby.

Beyond, a third was struggling to get hold of Grace, but she was swinging a stout branch to keep him away.

Hugh was upon them almost before they had a chance to react.

Riding straight at the two men over Darby, Hugh drove his steed through, sending them sprawling. He never slowed as he turned toward Grace’s attacker, but the man was already diving into a thicket of pines. As Hugh wheeled his mount, the other two had scattered, as well, disappearing into the woods on either side of the lane.

He vaulted to the ground and rushed to Grace’s side. Worry for her and for Darby fused with rage over the escape of the attackers. The sounds of the bodies crashing through the underbrush in every direction grew fainter as they ran away. Before Grace could say a word, he pulled her tightly into his arms. For a panicked moment, he needed to hold her, inhaling the scent of her wet hair, touching her arms, her back, making certain she wasn’t injured.

He pulled back, running his thumb across her mud-streaked face. Her eyes still showed the fire of battle in their blue depths. He simply gazed at her as relief flooded through him.

She took his hand and pressed her lips to his palm.

“Darby,” she whispered against his touch.

He left her and moved quickly to his man, who was trying to raise himself on one elbow. Blood was soaking the shirt beneath his open coat. He’d taken the knife in the side.

“The bloody cowards . . . don’t let them get away.”

“We’ll find them. Let me see.” Hugh encouraged him to lie back again and lifted the shirt. The wound was bleeding profusely, and he couldn’t see how bad it was.

“It’s nothing, m’lord. A scratch, is all.” The man tried to raise himself again.

“Did he stab you anywhere else?”

“Nay, m’lord.”

Hugh heard a sound of ripping cloth behind him, and Grace crouched down on the other side of the blacksmith. She gently pushed Darby back down.

“I’m fine, mistress.”

Wiping and prodding around the bloody stab wound, she pressed a clean strip of her petticoat against it.

“Stop trying to be so brave, Mr. Darby. Your wound is no scratch. The blackguard only got flesh when he stabbed, but it needs to be stitched. What about your head? I saw him kick at you.”

Darby touched the side of his head. “I must be fine. I see only one of you, mistress.”

Grace’s eyes met Hugh’s over the wounded man. Wariness and questions lurked in her blue gaze. He had so much that he wanted to tell her to put her mind at ease about what she’d said back at Baronsford, but this wasn’t the time. He reached across and wiped away a teardrop that sprang onto her cheek. He turned his attention to Darby.

“From here it will be fastest to get you to Dr. Namby in Melrose Village. Mr. Truscott should be coming along behind me with a carriage.”

“You saved my life, Mr. Darby.” Grace adjusted her position and applied more pressure to the wound. “Thank you.”

“I did nothing, mistress. Only happened to arrive at the right time. And you’re a tough fighter, if you’ll excuse me saying. The way you were swinging that wood, you would’ve cracked a skull or two if they tried getting any nearer.”

Pride filled Hugh’s heart. He thought of what he now knew of Grace. A cavalryman’s daughter. Daniel Ware. They’d never met except on the battlefield, but he knew him. Ware was an able cavalry commander. The words she’d spoken came back to him about being on battlefields. He looked down at her capable hands, at her unwavering attention to the wounded man, at her calm demeanor. Grace was a woman of action, accustomed to saving others . . . not being saved herself.

“I’m glad you came along,” Hugh said.

“They told me at the stables folk walk this road alone all the time, men or women, and there’s never any trouble.”

That was true about all the lanes around here unless, Hugh thought, you weren’t of Scottish descent and happened to cross onto Nithsdale land. Hugh felt a surge of anger. And he wasn’t done with the earl . . . or with his wife’s guest if she was the one who sent that letter to Grace.

“You’re new around here,” he said to Darby. “But had you seen these men before? In the village perhaps?”

“I’d remember those scoundrels, m’lord.” The blacksmith shook his head. “At first, I thought they were just thieving rogues passing through, but I think they were trying to snatch you, mistress.”

“Those men weren’t thieves,” Grace agreed. “They weren’t after coins or jewels. Not once did they demand a purse from me.”

She was trying to keep up a brave front by focusing only on Darby’s wound, but Hugh saw her shiver. The letdown that came after battle.

“I heard one of them say to ‘grab’ you,” the blacksmith said, taking a deep breath as Grace swabbed and pressed on the wound again. “Like they were hiding out here waiting. Not a quarter mile before I came up to you, I passed one of the farm lasses from Baronsford heading toward the village. We exchanged greetings. She had no trouble passing this way.”

Questions bombarded Hugh’s mind of why anyone would want to kidnap her. Very few knew she was here. Nithsdale. Mrs. Douglas. Who else?

His clerk, normally a man of discretion, had no reason for secrecy when he asked around Antwerp about a missing American woman. He may have let slip that she’d arrived at Baronsford in a crate, but he had no name to circulate. Someone could have traveled here by now. And there was the diamond locked in his iron chest. Men were capable of despicable deeds when it came to possessing a treasure like that.

Or, all of this conjecture was meaningless. Those men could have simply happened upon Grace, seen the way she was dressed, and decided that she was a prize too tempting to pass up.

The sound of the approaching carriage pulled him out of his thoughts.

Footmen jumped down from their places, and Truscott was out of the carriage before it had even rolled to a stop.

“Good God,” he cried out, seeing the bloodied blacksmith.

“Help me get him into the carriage,” Hugh ordered. “Gently.”

“I can walk,” Darby protested. “Don’t need my blood messing up your carriage, m’lord.”

“Nonsense,” Hugh replied shortly.

“Keep pressure on the wound, Mr. Darby,” Grace said as Hugh, Truscott, and the footmen carefully lifted the man into the carriage.

“Stay with him while the doctor attends to his injuries,” Hugh told his cousin. “He’s to give Darby the same care he’d give me. And tell Namby that I want my man back at Baronsford where we can look after his recovery.”

Truscott nodded and climbed into the carriage.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride into the village with you,” Grace said to Truscott. She moved forward and put her hand on the door.

Truscott looked from Hugh’s face to hers. “I believe you’d be better off staying with him.”

Hugh’s fingers trailed down her arm and he took her hand. She looked up at him.

“You’re going back to Baronsford with me,” he said softly, waving the driver on.

* * *

Hugh’s words thrilled her and left her speechless.

Grace looked down at the powerful hand encasing her trembling fingers. She felt the warmth of his touch radiating up through her arms, touching her heart. She gazed into his eyes and saw no animosity, only tenderness. She’d seen it before, when he first thundered into the glen, holding her as she shivered after the attackers ran off.

“I want you safe at Baronsford,” he said again. “With me.”

Remembering what she said to him this morning, on top of the violence she’d just faced, her emotions flared.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she managed to say. “I never intended to hurt you or anyone. But as I’ve come to know you . . . when I walked into Amelia’s rooms . . . my heart ached . . . knowing . . . how responsible—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, turning Grace to face him.

His hands touched her arms, her shoulders, finally cradling her face.

“The responsibility for what happened to my wife and son is not yours to bear. And what you said to me in that nursery awakened me. I’ve been sleeping for a long time. I’m done blaming others—your father, the army I fought against, even Napoleon. I’m finished chasing after revenge when no one must bear the fault but I.”

His mouth was a whisper away from hers. She studied his piecing gray eyes and knew his words, ragged and rasping as they were, rose straight from his heart.

“And, if it’s possible, I’m done punishing myself. I know what I did wrong. I know the foolish young man I once was. I only pray that I can take what I’ve learned from my past and . . .”

Grace kissed him. Even as she pressed her lips to his, she told herself it was to seal the pardon that passed between the two of them. She had nothing to forgive, but he had forgiven her. She still knew sorrow lingered in his heart.

But in truth, as soon as their lips touched, she realized forgiveness had nothing to do with this. She needed to prove to herself that he was real, that this moment truly existed. She was in his arms. He cared for her. He had come after her.

If this kiss was intended to show her affection for him, it soon became something else, and the warmth of his touch became all-consuming.

Hugh’s fingers threaded into her hair, and he drew her body against him. The little restraint she had evaporated like drop of dew under a bright summer sun. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair. She couldn’t get enough of his taste. Hugh pressed his tongue past her lips, and in an instant he was devouring her. She couldn’t stop a groan of satisfaction from climbing into her throat. His mouth was warm, and Grace shook with excitement as his hand slid down her spine over her bottom bringing her even closer.

The feel of his body, hard where hers was soft, astonished her. Mind-numbing need raced through her as she tore her mouth free. Her lips moved over the roughness of his jaw, finding a spot at the base of his throat where she could taste the heat on his skin and hear the song of his heart.

He urged her lips back to his. His tongue began to explore the recesses of her mouth, thrilling her with the intimacy of the sensation, and then suddenly he pulled away.

“I’d love to take this further, but this is not the time or place.”

Grace snapped awake. For a moment nothing existed in the world except the two of them. Now, as he backed away a step, she looked around at the mist that continued to fill the glen, perhaps hiding dangers just beyond their sight. A chill breeze of reality swept through her. Those men could still be lurking in these woods. One person had already been injured trying to save her. She wanted to be far from here.

Darby was right. He believed those blackguards were waiting for her. Whatever lay behind their actions, their purpose had been to snatch her.

Hugh fetched his horse, and Grace tried to hide the pain when she put weight on her ankle.

“What did they do? You’re injured. Why didn’t you say something?”

Foolish of her to think he’d miss anything. Hugh started to crouch down to check her ankle, but she stopped him. “Not now. Please. It’s only a sprain. I’m fine.”

Hugh gazed at her with renewed concern, but then lifted her up into the saddle and swung up behind her. She nestled against the warmth of his chest, her eyes sweeping their surroundings for any sign of the three men.

“You’re shivering,” he murmured against her ear, gathering Grace more tightly against him as he nudged his horse up the lane toward Baronsford. “No one is going to hurt you.”

A few short hours ago, Grace had been drowning in a roiling sea of despair. Now she felt herself riding the crest of a wave, safe in Hugh’s arms.

“Does Jo know I left Baronsford?”

“Everyone does. They all went looking for you, searching everywhere we could think of.” His lips brushed against her ear. “We were all worried about you.”

“It was thoughtless of me. I—”

“No more apologizing,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair. He was silent for a moment. “I want you to tell me about the note you received from Nithsdale Hall.”

Grace was not surprised that he knew about it.

“Mrs. Douglas sent me the letter. She recognized me from a reception in Paris six years ago. It was part of the celebration of the baptism of the emperor’s son. From the tone of the letter, I gathered that she was not entirely sure about my loss of memory. At least, not certain enough to make a direct statement; her words were ambiguous. But the letter contained no threat. She even seemed to offer assistance.”

“Did she ask to meet with you in the village?”

She followed the direction of his thoughts. After the attack, those thoughts were not so far from her own. “You’re thinking she somehow knew about the diamond. You suspect she may have known that I had it with me when I arrived at Baronsford.”

“Suspicion is a hazard of my profession.” His arm tightened around her. “She appears to be the only person in the Borders who knows your identity. Those men tried to kidnap you. I have to assume that they were after Grace Ware, and that they knew you’d be traveling that road to Melrose Village.”

“She told me in her letter that she walked each morning in the village, and she’d enjoy my company if I cared to join her. But I didn’t send an answer. She had no way of knowing if I’d be walking to the village today, tomorrow, or ever. Or if I’d be coming in a carriage and bringing your sister with me.”

“But if you were hiding your identity and wanted help from her, she could have assumed you’d come alone.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But the only valuable thing I have is the diamond. I think my father was killed for it in Antwerp.”

Grace decided to tell him everything. Beginning with their time in America with Joseph Bonaparte, she told him what she knew about their destination in Brussels. Fighting back her emotions, she detailed the brutal murder of her father and the servants traveling with them. She ended by telling him about her escape through the alleys and ditches of Antwerp’s waterfront and about how she ended up in the sealed crate bound for Baronsford.

“Although I can only assume the diamond is part of the Bonaparte treasure. I never saw it before the day Jo showed it to me. I had no idea it was hidden in my dress,” she said. “I can’t forgive myself for what happened to Mr. Darby. The violence has followed me.”

“I know he would face those men again,” he said gently. “He’s in good hands. We’ll make sure he gets the care he deserves.”

They continued to ride along at the slow pace he’d set.

“About the diamond,” he said. “It’s no secret that many have been trying to lay their hands on the wealth amassed by the Bonapartes. Some of those men are staunch loyalists of Napoleon who want to use that treasure to raise an army and restore their emperor. Others are surely after it simply to line their own pockets.”

Grace didn’t like the idea of Daniel Ware fitting into one group or the other. She wanted to believe he was carrying the diamond from Joseph to his wife, Julie, in Brussels. Her father, in spite of his flaws, was a man of honor.

In the distance Baronsford reared up imposingly through the fog and mist. Hugh’s arms tightened around her. She was thankful to be back here.

“I don’t understand why my father didn’t tell me anything about the diamond. I was his confidante. I was the one who made the arrangements for our crossing. He trusted me. I can’t imagine why he would hold back such information. If I’d known, I could have made sure it was better protected. That we would have been better protected.”

Her father was a cautious man when it came to Grace’s safety. At no time during their crossing did she think he was worried for her. The bloody rooms at the inn in Antwerp flashed back into her mind’s eye. Those men, dead at the hands of murderers. Grief tried to force its way back in her mind and she shivered.

“Maybe your father didn’t know about the diamond, either,” he suggested. “Or if he did, perhaps he misjudged the danger in carrying it.”

Grab the chit. The harsh words came back to her.

“If the two attacks are related, and if the jewel was what they were after,” she replied, “why take me? Who would carry a diamond like that with them? None of this makes any sense. I don’t know what good I would have been to them.”

Grace’s words halted as Jo rushed out into the courtyard ahead of the housekeeper, the butler, and a band of servants.

“Why is everyone coming out?”

“To greet you. To welcome you back.”

As emotions surged within her, Grace tried to cover her reddening face with her hand, but there was nowhere to hide.

Hugh whispered in her ear as the household ran to them, “Regardless of your past, regardless of what brought you here, my sister and all these people—and I, most of all—have come to care for you, Grace. Pray, don’t run away from us again.”