Whirlwind Wedding

God. Her exhaustion instantly forgotten, she dropped to her knees beside him and smiled down at his pale, handsome face. 'I'm right here, Austin.'

He moved his head and winced. 'My head hurts.'

'I'm sure it does, but at least you're awake.'

Austin wasn't sure he was glad to be awake. White hot pain sizzled through his skull and he sucked in a sharp breath. Damn, it felt as if someone had smashed a rock over his head. In fact, he'd be hard pressed to name a body part that didn't ache in one form or another. And why the hell was he wet?

His gaze settled on Elizabeth. She appeared in a state of dishevelment, a fact that didn't surprise him.

'Where are we?' he asked his eyes slowly scanning the room.

'Some sort of ruins. On the bottom floor of a tower.'

He stared at her, his mind a blank. 'Why?'

'You don't recall what happened to you?'

He forced himself to concentrate and suddenly he did remember. A note from Kinney. Information. The ruins. But Kinney never came… no doubt because of the storm. Starting back to the house. Lightning striking close by. A crack of thunder. Myst rearing. Falling…

'Thunder and lightning spooked Myst. He reared tossing me.' He lifted his hand and winced when his fingers brushed a bandage on his forehead. 'What is this?'

'You suffered a deep cut on your forehead that I cleaned stitched and dressed. There's also a sizable lump on the back of your head.'

Bloody hell, no wonder his skull hurt so much. His head actually had collided with a rock. 'Is Myst all right?'

'Yes. He's outside. With Rosamunde. Now that you're awake, I'll check on them. I'll be back in a moment.'

She exited through the arched doorway and returned several minutes later leading both horses by their reins. She walked them to the far side of the room, then spent some time patting each animal, speaking to them in comforting tones. Austin closed his eyes, listening to her. He couldn't make out her words, but her voice sounded soft and soothing.

She returned to his side and knelt beside him. 'They're both fine. How are you feeling?'

'Sore, and my head is pounding like a legion of devils is hitting me with hammers. Other than that, I believe I'm all right.' He attempted to sit up, but nauseating dizziness washed over him.

'Don't try to move, Austin,' she said, laying a gently restraining hand on his shoulder. 'It's too soon.'

'Perhaps you're right.' Closing his eyes, he swallowed and waited hoped for his equilibrium to return. After several deep breaths, the nausea passed and he risked opening his eyes.

She knelt next to him, watching him, and his gaze searched her face in the dim light. Her hair was a wet tangle of curls surrounding her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with unmistakable concern but suspicions intruded niggling at him. How had she located him? Had she followed him? No one had known he was going to the ruins. The only person he'd seen had been Mortlin, and he'd dismissed him for the evening. Had he told her what direction he'd taken?

'How did you find me?'

She hesitated then drew a deep breath. 'I was awakened by a vision of you. I knew you were in danger. I saw you. Hurt. Bleeding. By some sort of stone tower. I dressed saddled Rosamunde, and allowed my instincts to lead me… to you.'

The bark of disbelief that would have, should have, risen to his lips, died in his throat. Honesty and concern glowed from her eyes like beacons in a storm. As mad as her words sounded he found he couldn't discount them. But surely there had to be another explanation… a logical explanation.

'Did you see Mortlin at the stables?'

'No. It was after midnight. He must have retired.'

After midnight? He'd left the house just before ten, and according to Caroline, Elizabeth had retired a half hour before that. If she'd remained in bed… how could she have known where he was? Or what had happened? If she actually had the ability to see things in her mind… but no, he simply couldn't credit such an outlandish idea. She was merely greatly intuitive, as his mother had been during his childhood always sensing when her sons had fallen into mischief. And Rosamunde was familiar with the paths leading to the ruins…

But he'd have to consider that later, when he felt more himself. When his head wasn't threatening to detach itself from his shoulders. Still, one thing was certain.

Elizabeth had undoubtedly saved his life. Who knows how long he would have lain bleeding on the ground if she hadn't happened along? She'd not only somehow found him, but had treated his injuries as well.

'I owe you a debt of gratitude and my thanks, Elizabeth.'

A frown creased her brow and what appeared to be anger sparked in her eyes. 'You're welcome. However, if you'd heeded my warning about riding at night, this would not have happened.'

He stilled. By God she had warned him… told him there was danger. Bloody hell, get hold of yourself man. 'Tis nothing more than a coincidence. There's always a risk of injury riding in the dark.

'What on earth possessed you to ride at night?' she asked.

He debated whether to tell her the truth, and decided to do so, to gauge her reaction. Watching her carefully, he said 'I hired a Bow Street Runner to find information about a Frenchman I saw with William shortly before he died. The Runner had discovered something and was supposed to meet me here at the ruins.'

'Supposed to meet you?'

'He never showed up, no doubt delayed because of the storm, but I'm certain he'll contact me as soon as possible.'

Surely if she had any knowledge of Gaspard or his connection to William, she would look anxious, guilt ridden, or in some way suspicious. Surely she wouldn't look irate.

'Heavens save us,' she fumed. 'Can you explain why it was necessary to meet this man outside! On horseback? During a storm? Have you never heard of a drawing room?' She waved her hands at him. 'Never mind. Don't even try to explain. 'Tis just fortunate that your mulish head is so hard lest you might have been killed.'

Damn it, he needed to bring this woman to task for her disrespect. He opened his mouth to do just that, but before he could utter a word she said 'At least you weren't shot.'

He stared at her. 'Shot?'

'Yes. In my vision I was certain I heard a gunshot, but I suppose it was thunder… yet I sensed death. Very strongly.' Her expression turned grave. 'Are you certain it was thunder that spooked Myst? Could it have been a gunshot?'

An immediate 'no' rose to his lips, but something in her expression made him pause and consider her question. 'It happened so quickly. I remember lightning, crashing thunder… then falling. It seems highly unlikely someone was out and about shooting during a storm.'

'Yes, I suppose so. Obviously I was mistaken.'

'Obviously.' He cleared his throat. 'And I am not mulish.'

She cocked a clearly disbelieving brow. 'I think that the fact that you are lying here, injured is proof that you are. However, if you prefer that I call you pigheaded, I'm happy to oblige.'

'I do not prefer. In fact-'

'I refuse to argue with a wounded man,' she interrupted in a brisk tone. 'Are you cold?'

'Cold?'

'Yes. It is an American word meaning 'not warm.' You're soaked to the skin, but I have nothing to cover you with.'

It took him several seconds to recall that he was indeed wet. His gaze swept over her and he realized that she, too, was wet, her plain gown molded to her lush body as if it were painted on. His attention riveted on her full breasts and her clearly visible erect nipples.

Heat streaked through him. 'No, I'm not cold.' In fact, he was growing warmer by the minute.

He watched mesmerized as her chest rose and fell with every breath she drew. Forcing his gaze upward his breathing stalled at the sight of her. The subdued glow flickering from the lantern illuminated her glorious hair. The