Snowbound With The Baronet by Deborah Hale

future.
    Now all she could do was to watch helplessly as he strode out into the storm and slammed the door behind him.
    Should he have swallowed his pride and heeded Cassandra?
    As Brandon waded through the snow straining to spot the stagecoach and maintain his bearings, he began to think it might have been the more prudent course. But he found it impossible to behave prudently where she was concerned, as he had almost from the moment they met.
    It had not been prudent for a mere baronet to aspire to the daughter of a future duke. Yet once they were introduced, he could not rest until he’d made an effort to win her. He hoped today’s rash decision would end better than that.
    Dash it all! He was doing it again—mooning over Lady Cassandra when he most needed to keep his wits about him. Even the faint sting of snowflakes the winter wind whipped against his face could not chase the lady from his thoughts for long.
    “I have never seen so much snow at one time,” his footman, shouted to be heard over the wail of the wind. “Everything is just white mounds. How will we tell the stagecoach from anything else?”
    “It will be a very tall mound, Edward!” Brandon called back, ending with a loud laugh that he hoped would ease the young man’s obvious anxiety.
    He was doing enough worrying for all three of them. Not that they would become lost, for there was still a shallow trough visible in the snow that marked the way they had come yesterday. As long as they followed that, it would lead them to the coach. Coming back, the path would be clearer still, as he had tried to reassure Cassandra.
    What he had not reckoned on was the effort it took to wallow through the snow that had drifted waist-deep in places. Though he believed himself to be in reasonable condition after all the riding and marching he had done in Spain, the exertion was beginning to take its toll on him. The muscles in his legs and torso cramped from the strain. His heart pounded hard against his ribs. When he gasped in the raw winter air, it seemed to slash through his lungs. Edward and the coach guard were in no better shape. What if there came a moment when they could not stagger another step?
    He would not let that happen! Brandon insisted, as if he were addressing Lady Cassandra rather than himself. He would do whatever he must to prevent any harm coming to the others.
    Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, he turned toward Edward and the coach guard, who was leading the largest and strongest of the horses.
    “I am certain we have walked nearly as far as we did last night.” He angled his back to take the brunt of the north wind, which roared down from the high ground. “If we do not spot the coach very soon, we must turn back.”
    He could picture the fuss his cousin would make if they returned empty-handed, not to mention Lady Cassandra gloating over being proved right. Or would she? He had accused her of only pretending to care what became of him. What if he’d been wrong and her concern was genuine?
    The other men nodded vigorously. Even the horse tossed its head as if in agreement.
    “The wind is blowing harder than ever,” the coach guard shouted. “If it drifts in our tracks, we may have a devil of a time finding our way back.”
    The man’s words chilled Brandon like a bit of melting snow trickling down his back. If the worst befell him before he’d had an opportunity to sire an heir, his mother’s betrayal would be rewarded. He could not let that happen.
    If any harm befell Brandon, part of the responsibility would be on her head.
    That thought haunted Cassandra throughout the afternoon. She threw herself into every household chore she could badger Mrs. Martin into finding for her. The time still crawled along like cold treacle.
    Seated in a chair near the parlor fire, Imogene Calvert sipped her tea and fretted. “What is taking them so long? I thought they would be back by now.”
    Cassandra fought the urge to fly across the room