that you do.” She hopped from one rock to the next. “But that does not account for your insistence that I do whatever it took to bring additional help.”
“Perhaps I can empathize with the McCarthys on some level.”
She halted. “Did you lose someone, my lord?”
He set his hands on his hips, staring out over the area below. He nodded to someone, and Catherine saw the vicar and Mr. McCarthy meandering their way toward their location.
“Lord Somerton?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ashcroft,” he said through tight lips. “I lost someone quite dear to me. It is not a feeling I would wish on anyone else.”
She stepped closer. “Did you find him or her?”
“Her.” He swallowed hard. “Yes, I found her. She will never fully recover from the trials of her ordeal.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“As am I, madam. Come.” He grasped her hand again. “Let us join the others. I fear the weather has taken a turn.”
It was then Catherine noticed the two men below were cast in deep shadows. She chanced a glance to the west, above the treetops, and found a line of dark clouds rolling their way. The sight was so ominous that Catherine could not stop the thought that Mother Nature was sending them a sign.
Once they reached the other men, Declan McCarthy asked, “Any sign of my Meghan?”
“No,” Lord Somerton said. “Not even a set of tracks. Let us do a thorough search of this area before the storm hits.”
The temperature dropped and the air grew thick with moisture. Catherine shivered, wishing she had worn her warm wool cape, rather than her nankeen pelisse.
A man’s coat enfolded her in blessed warmth. She opened her mouth to thank the earl, but found the vicar’s smiling face. “You looked chilled.”
“Thank you, Mr. Foster,” she said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for such a drastic shift in the weather.”
“Nor could you have been,” he assured her. “None of us expected all of this.”
“Vicar,” the earl said. “Perhaps you should take Mrs. Ashcroft back to the gig and see her home. McCarthy and I will finish up here. Once the storm passes, we can resume our efforts.”
Catherine wanted to argue, but she knew the men would be concentrating on her comfort, rather than on looking for signs of Meghan. “Thank you. I will check on things at Winter’s Hollow and then return to sit with Mrs. McCarthy.”
“And I will see how the other search progresses,” the vicar said.
The wind picked up, freeing locks of her hair and whipping them into her eyes. She trapped her escaped tresses with one hand at her temple, gazing back at the earl. A sudden reluctance to leave him behind kept her rooted in place.
Standing in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, he resembled a gentleman pirate with the wind molding fabric over his muscles, outlining the hidden strength beneath.
He nodded toward the woodland behind her. “Go.”
His soft command carried a note of tenderness that tangled with Catherine’s heart. What would she do if she found out this man was responsible for Jeffrey’s murder? She feared the answer became more complicated with every minute she spent in his presence.
She turned and followed the vicar from the clearing. Within seconds, the rain fell. Sharp, driving nails of water stabbed her face. She tucked in her chin and squinted her eyes. As she stepped under the canopy of trees, the rain eased but the wind kept up its relentless pace.
Unable to ignore the nagging voice in her head, she peered over her shoulder to check on the earl while keeping apace with the vicar. The earl stood alone, with his hand shielding his eyes, watching her.
She stumbled over a rut, propelling her forward. Her shin connected with something hard, and her world tilted downward. She braced herself for the impact. Rather than hitting hard soil, her hands sank into rich, pungent earth made soupy by the downpour.
Everything happened so fast, she didn’t think to call out or even shriek her alarm. She glanced up to see the vicar had veered to the left to avoid a low-hanging branch. Had she not been preoccupied with Lord Somerton, she would have followed him on the safer route.
As it was, she was literally elbow deep in mud. “Mr. Foster, I need your assistance.”
She clambered to her knees, or at least tried to. Her hands plunged deeper and deeper into the wet soil. And then her hand connected with something firm and round. A log, perhaps. When she made to push off, she realized it