The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,103

to him on a startle, and seemed to recognize where she was for the first time. “Oh, ah, no, thank you. I appreciate it, though. My condolences.”

Her chauffeur jumped out from behind the wheel of the C63 she’d come in. Then doubled back and fumbled for an umbrella. “Miss Smythe!”

“I’m fine,” she said as he ran over to her. “Don, I’m fine.”

As the man got her into the backseat of the car and then the Mercedes took off down Easterly’s hill, Lane stayed in the mansion’s entrance, the breath of the storm hitting him with a wet kiss. When he finally eased back around, Max was gone and so was the duffel he’d brought with him.

No doubt he’d proceeded down to the kitchen.

Putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks, Lane looked around at the empty rooms. The waitstaff had removed the bars and returned the furniture to its proper place. His mother had retired upstairs once again, and he had to wonder when, if ever, she would come down once more. Lizzie was off somewhere, likely organizing the rented tablecloths, napkins, and glasses for pick-up to keep herself from jumping out of her skin.

And Edward? He must have left.

All around him, the mansion was quiet as the wind battered the highest point in Charlemont, as the streaks of deadly lightning lashed out, as the thunder cursed and swore.

Taking his cue from Sutton, he walked out of the door and lifted his face to all the fury. The rain was cold against his skin and spiked with hail. The gusts battered his body. The threat of a strike increased as the core of the storm rolled ever closer.

His clothes slapped and flapped against him, reminding him of the fall from the bridge. The sting in his eyes made him blink, and a sense that he was plummeting made the drop down to the river below seem as close as his own hand.

But there was a truism that kept him upright, a strength that he tapped into, a power that came from within.

As Easterly withstood the onslaught … so would he.

THIRTY-FOUR

When Edward returned to the Red & Black, he parked Shelby’s truck in front of the caretaker’s cottage, killed the engine and shucked the key from the ignition. But he didn’t immediately get out. Not because of the storm, though.

As raindrops pelted the windshield like God was angry at him but couldn’t get His hands on anything better to throw, images of Sutton lying back on that conference table, her body so gloriously naked as she gasped and moaned, replaced even the overwhelming storm that was rushing over the land.

Looking through the deluge to the cottage, he knew Shelby was waiting for him there. With dinner. And a bottle of alcohol. And after he finished eating and drinking, they would go back to that bedroom and lie together side by side in the darkness, him sleeping and her … well, he didn’t know if she slept or not.

He had never asked.

Tucking the key into the visor, he disembarked and was pushed against the wet flank of the truck bed by the wind. Throwing wide a steadying arm, he didn’t want to go inside. But staying out here—

Promptly, all was forgotten.

There was some kind of chaos going on at Barn B. All the lights in the place were on, for one thing, which was rare. But even more alarming, there were a dozen people swarming around the open doors at the rear.

Pushing himself off the truck, Edward limped across the grass toward the drama, and soon enough, even over the wind, he heard the shrieks from the horses.

Or, rather, one particular stallion.

When he got to the nearest door, he hobbled inside as fast as he could, passing through the tack and supply room, pushing out into the stalls area and going down the aisle—

“What the hell are you doing?” he hollered over the screaming and the yelling.

Nebekanzer was spooked wild in his berth, the stallion bucking and thrashing, his back hooves having splintered the bottom door to the stall. And Shelby—like a complete raving lunatic—had climbed over the top of the bars that were still in place and was trying to catch his bridle.

Stable hands and also Moe and Joey, were right there with her, but the bars were separating them, and oh, God, she was right in range of the stallion’s gnashing teeth and thrashing head, the one who was most likely to get thrown to the ground and have