Page 2 of Once Upon a Midnight Dream

A ragged groan tore from his throat as pain radiated throughout his body with the movement.

Besides more than one broken rib, fingers, knuckles, multiple lacerations, and a fractured nose, his foggy brain, blurry vision, and the crushing pain in his head suggested he had sustained a concussion too.

Not before he had given as good as he’d received, by God. If his mouth was not so bloody and battered, his lips chapped and scabbed, he might have summoned a triumphant grin.

His throat dry as ash, he swallowed.

Devil it, he was deuced thirsty.

A fulminating wave of weakness and dizziness cascaded over him.

I cannot do it.

I cannot go on.

Fighting faintness, which could prove deadly should he succumb, he lowered his forehead to the highest rail and, resting his head there, sucked in shallow rasps of cool air.

You must, Layton Alexander Vale Westbrook.

Cassius’s and Beatrice’s lives might well depend on it.

Other Westbrooks’ lives too.

But the truth was, Layton had already failed Cassius.

Pain scoured him.

A dagger impaling his heart could not have hurt worse.

He had promised his youngest brother that he would return for him and Beatrice after leaving them in the forest glen to seek help at Hefferwickshire House—their familial home and the duchy’s grand country estate.

That had been two—no—three days ago.

He scrunched his forehead.

Or had it been four?

Layton honestly did not know.

Everything had become a blur.

With his mind befuddled from the beatings he had endured, as well as lack of food and water, he could not recall the passage of time with any certainty.

One thing he did know, however, beyond any doubt.

The peer responsible for his abduction had no qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way, including the Earl of Highbury’s niece, Beatrice Fairfax.

Not in the habit of praying, Layton sent up a silent plea for divine intervention, nevertheless.

God, help me.

Please let Cassius and Beatrice be safe.

Four tries and as many tumbles later, amidst a bevy of curses that would have caused a seasoned sailor to blush crimson, he finally flopped onto his back in the foggy meadow on the other side.

Staring at the twinkling stars in the jet-black sky, Layton fought to remain conscious, each breath lancing him with burning pain.

The chilly ground permeated his clothing, and a shiver shook him.