She shook her head, wanting to cry, but she had no tears left.
"It's the only way I can save you," she whispered.
"No." His voice was louder this time, sharpened with steel.
One of Richard's men paused, tilting his head as if he heard something. Elena's heart clenched. Damian wouldn't let her surrender—but what did he expect her to do? Stand still and watch them shoot him dead in front of her?
Then she heard it—a low engine growling in the distance. Probably nothing, she told herself. A plane. A truck. A ghost of hope.
But the sound grew louder.
One of Richard's men shouted a warning. Richard cursed viciously in French, spinning in a swirl of dark robes. At his command, the hunters scattered—just as a chaotic burst of gunfire ripped through the grove, sending birds shrieking into the sky.
Then—silence.
Three black sedans tore down the road like avenging beasts. One peeled off after the fleeing van while the other two screeched to a stop at the forest's edge.
"Sir!" Reyes shouted.
Damian answered, his voice strong. Elena sagged with overwhelming relief.
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want you hurt. I didn't want to leave you in the night. But my sister—"
"It's all right," he murmured. "It's over now."
Her entire body suddenly throbbed with pain, and the cut on her foot burned like fire. She stumbled. Without a word, Damian scooped her into his arms, holding her against his chest as he carried her out of the forest.
She was too exhausted to protest. Too relieved. All that mattered was that they were alive—and that he had risked death for her.
His beloved red Ferrari lay shredded on the road, riddled with bullets. Richard, unable to take Elena or kill Damian, had destroyed the car instead. Smoke rose from the crushed hood like a pale ghost.
Damian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
For Elena, it was the final blow.
Richard was a monstrous, cruel man. Damian had been right—Richard would never have let her escape. But if she didn't marry him… how could she save her sister? What choice did she have?
She buried her face in Damian's chest as sobs tore loose from deep inside her.
As Elena cried, she felt Damian's whole body go rigid beneath her cheek. In an instant he snapped into action, shouting orders with sharp, clipped precision. Moments later she found herself in the back seat of a black sedan, still held tightly in his arms as if he refused to let anyone else touch her.
Within minutes he had whisked her through the castle gates.
Without a word, he carried her straight to her guest room, set her gently on the bed, and walked out. A maid entered almost immediately with hot tea and buttered toast, then tucked the blankets around her as if she were a child.
But no mattress, no warmth, no comfort could touch the ache inside her.
Elena's whole body yearned for Damian's bedroom—for his arms—the only place she had felt safe in months. But why would he want her there now? She had tricked him. Run from him. Nearly gotten him killed. And then she'd sobbed all over his shirt like a helpless fool. No wonder he left her.
She didn't expect to sleep after such a night—wandering lost through darkness, nearly dying—but the moment she closed her eyes, exhaustion dragged her under.
She didn't wake again until late afternoon. Slanting shadows stretched across the tile floor, and for a moment she wondered if the doctor had slipped something into her tea.
"Feeling better?"
Her heart lurched.
Damian sat in a chair by the fire, his arms folded, his gaze fixed entirely on her. She had no idea how long he'd been there.
"Yes," she whispered—surprised to realize it was true. She sat up abruptly as memory crashed back.
"My sister—she's still with my brother and his wife. I don't know what they'll do to her if I don't—"
"We will save her."
She froze. His we struck her straight through the chest.
"How?" she breathed. "My brother will never let her go. Not while he controls her trust fund."
"I won't let him hurt either of you," Damian said, voice low and edged with fury. "I focused my investigation on your brother—not the child. That was my mistake. If I'd been thorough, I would have known what he was doing." His jaw tightened. "We'll expose their neglect and theft. Then we'll petition for custody."
Elena gave a broken laugh.
"But I told you—I'll never get custody. Everyone in Britain thinks I'm some flighty, promiscuous little tart." Her smile was painful. "Just like you did."
"I don't think that of you anymore."
His eyes locked onto hers—steady, determined. A promise.
"And no one," he said quietly, "will think that of my wife."
What kind of drug had the doctor given her?
Her mouth felt dry. Her pulse thundered. She licked her lips slowly, trying to steady herself.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I think I'm hallucinating. Did you just ask me to be your wife?"
Damian stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the stone floor. A heartbeat later he sat on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His nearness made the air feel too warm, too tight.
"What if I did?" he said quietly.
His voice was calm—dangerously calm—and the closeness of him made her nerves spark. She shifted back, pulling her hand away from where his rested on the blanket.
"You don't love me," she blurted. "For one thing."
His gaze didn't waver.
"Why is that a problem?" he asked. "Do you love me?"
The question landed between them like a strike of lightning, illuminating everything she'd been trying so hard not to feel.
Her breath caught. Her heart dropped. Because the truth terrified her.