now and wait until it passes through.”
“No,” she denied instantly, her eyes wide upon his. “The only place we could seek shelter this far from the main house is…”
“The folly,” he finished for her.
“Not there,” she said. “Anywhere but there.”
He knew the reason for her protest. The folly had been built in the last century by the seventh Marquess of Needham. It was meant to look like the ruins of a medieval castle, but it was far enough from the main house that it also possessed a small stable. It was a place they had gone often when they were in residence. They would ride and slip into the charmed little world of the folly to make love.
Thunder boomed once more, and another bolt of lightning lit the sky. Nell’s horse moved skittishly. A warm wind whipped up, obviously the vanguard of the fury. The storm was coming. Fast.
“I am afraid we have no choice, Nellie. If we attempt to make it back to Needham Hall now, we only run the risk of putting ourselves in danger of getting struck by lightning.”
She patted her gelding’s neck, looking troubled. “Very well. If there is no other option save that, I suppose we have no choice.”
Thunder cracked again.
“Follow me,” he told her, spurring his mount in the direction of the folly. “We have not any time to waste.”
Chapter Nine
Nell’s riding habit was sodden.
They had not made it to the folly before the skies had opened, venting their fury. She paced the stone floors now, awaiting Jack’s return. By the time they had reached safety, they had both been drenched, and the lightning had seemingly been directly upon them. He had helped her to dismount and had ordered her inside the folly while he tended to their mounts, tethering them within the old stables.
The folly was dark, its few windows emitting precious little light on account of the darkened skies beyond. Rain lashed the building, and another round of thunder rolled overhead. A brilliant flash told her more lightning had followed the thunder. Jack was still out there, tending the horses.
The wind whipped up, battering the stone walls of the old folly, whistling. Trees swayed, their branches bending beneath the onslaught. What if something had happened to him?
She wrung her hands as she paced the length of the room once more. The scent was familiar—damp and earthy, with a hint of mustiness. Once, this had been one of her favorite places on the property. How many times had she and Jack made love here? Little wonder the walls were not haunted by the echoes of their old laughter, the ghosts of their former joy.
Thunder crashed.
Surely enough time had passed for him to see to the horses? Her fear rising, she moved to the door, throwing it open. A wall of water pelted her. And then there he was, running toward her through the melee of the storm.
“Jack?” she cried out.
“Stay where you are!” he called over the lashing of the wind and rain as he held his hat in place and squinted against the water assailing him.
But she did not listen. She rushed toward him, her terror that something had befallen him mingling with her relief that he was there, tangible, real, fine. She caught him in her arms, and together, they stumbled over the threshold of the folly, Jack slamming and bolting the door at their backs.
She held him to her tightly, their hearts pounding as one. “Jack.”
“I told you to stay inside where it was safe,” he said hoarsely, his hands moving up and down her back in slow, gentle caresses. “Damn it, woman.”
“I was afraid something had happened to you,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
She tilted her head back, staring through the gloom up at him.
“You would have had your wish.” His voice was grim. “You would have been rid of me forever.”
“No,” she whispered, because something about the savagery of the sudden storm had made her realize that was the last thing she wanted.
A life without Jack?
All the emotions she had done her utmost to banish and hide away forever these past three years—these past few days—descended upon her. Walloped her with the force of the storm’s raging winds. Longing coursed over her, so fierce and unexpected, she could not tamp it down.
She caught Jack’s face in her hands. His beard was wet as his skin. They were both sodden. But he was warm and familiar. She traced his cheekbones with her thumbs. They stared at each other in