She kept her horse to a steady trot, thinking that if she just got out of the other rider's way, he'd pass her by. But whichever way she went, he seemed to follow.
She picked up speed, more speed than she should have in this lightly wooded area. There were too many low branches and protruding tree roots. But now Daphne was starting to get scared. Her pulse pounded in her ears as a thousand horrifying questions rocked through her head.
What if this rider wasn't, as she'd originally supposed, a member of the ton? What if he was a criminal? Or a drunk? It was early; there was no one about. If Daphne screamed, who would hear her? Was she close enough to her groom? Had he stayed put where she'd left him or had he tried to follow? And if he had, had he even gone in the right direction?
Her groom! She nearly cried out in relief. It had to be her groom. She swung her mare around to see if she could catch a glimpse of the rider. The Hastings livery was quite distinctly red; surely she'd be able to see if—
Smack!
Every bit of air was violently forced from her body as a branch caught her squarely in the chest. A strangled grunt escaped her lips, and she felt her mare moving forward without her. And then she was falling…falling…
She landed with a bone-jarring thud, the autumn brown leaves on the ground providing scant cushioning. Her body immediately curled into a fetal position, as if by making herself as small as possible, she could make the hurt as small as possible.
And, oh God, she hurt. Damn it, she hurt everywhere. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. Her mind flooded with curses she'd never dared speak aloud. But it hurt. Bloody hell, it hurt to breathe.
But she had to. Breathe. Breathe, Daphne, she ordered. Breathe, Breathe. You can do it.
“Daphne!”
Daphne made no response. The only sounds she seemed able to make were whimpers. Even groans were beyond her capability.
“Daphne! Christ above, Daphne!”
She heard someone jump off a horse, then felt movement in the leaves around her.
“Daphne?”
“Simon?” she whispered in disbelief. It made no sense that he was here, but it was his voice. And even though she still hadn't pried her eyes open, it felt like him. The air changed when he was near.
His hands touched her lightly, checking for broken bones. “Tell me where it hurts,” he said.
“Everywhere,” she gasped.
He swore under his breath, but his touch remained achingly gentle and soothing. “Open your eyes,” he ordered softly. “Look at me. Focus on my face.”
She shook her head. “I can't.”
“You can.”
She heard him strip off his gloves, and then his warm fingers were on her temples, smoothing away the tension. He moved to her eyebrows, then the bridge of her nose. “Shhhh,” he crooned. “Let it go. Just let the pain go. Open your eyes, Daphne.”
Slowly, and with great difficulty, she did so. Simon's face filled her vision, and for the moment she forgot everything that had happened between them, everything but the fact that she loved him, and he was here, and he was making the hurt go away.
“Look at me,” he said again, his voice low and insistent. “Look at me and don't take your eyes off of mine.”
She managed the tiniest of nods. She focused her eyes on his, letting the intensity of his gaze hold her still.
“Now, I want you to relax,” he said. His voice was soft but commanding, and it was exactly what she needed. As he spoke, his hands moved across her body, checking for breaks or sprains.
His eyes never once left hers.
Simon kept speaking to her in low, soothing tones as he examined her body for injuries. She didn't appear to have suffered anything worse than a few bad bruises and having the wind knocked out of her, but one could never be too careful, and with the baby…
The blood drained from his face. In his panic for Daphne, he'd forgotten all about the child she was carrying. His child.
Their child.
“Daphne,” he said slowly. Carefully. “Do you think you're all right?”
She nodded.
“Are you still in pain?”
“Some,” she admitted, swallowing awkwardly as she blinked. “But it's getting better.”
“Are you certain?”
She nodded again.
“Good,” he said calmly. He was silent for several seconds and then he fairly yelled, “What in God's name did you think you were doing?”
Daphne's jaw dropped, and her eyelids started opening and closing with great rapidity. She made a strangled sort of sound that might have metamorphosed into an actual word, but Simon cut her off with more bellows.
“What the hell were you doing out here with no groom? And why were you galloping here, where the terrain clearly does not allow it?” His eyebrows slammed together. “And for the love of God, woman, what were you doing on a horse?”
“Riding?” Daphne answered weakly.
“Don't you even care about our child? Didn't you give even a moment's thought to its safety?”
“Simon,” Daphne said, her voice very small.
“A pregnant woman shouldn't even get within ten feet of a horse! You should know better.”
When she looked at him her eyes looked old. “Why do you care?” she asked flatly. “You didn't want this baby.”
“No, I didn't, but now that it's here I don't want you to kill it.”
“Well, don't worry.” She bit her lip. “It's not here.”
Simon's breath caught. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes flitted to the side of his face. “I'm not pregnant.”
“You're—” He couldn't finish the sentence. The strangest feeling sank into his body. He didn't think it was disappointment, but he wasn't quite sure. “You lied to me?” he whispered.