But never—not under any circumstances—would he harm a helpless woman. Not even an unhelpless woman. Oh, blast it all. There went his vocabulary again. There was no such word as unhelpless, was there?
The approach of a farm cart from the opposite direction caused him to abandon his vain attempt to find a suitable word to describe the girl sitting next to him. He needed all his concentration to get his vehicle past the cart in the narrow confines of the lane. Particularly since the farmer’s horse appeared to annoy the one harnessed to his own gig. What with preventing his bad-tempered nag from biting the gentle, rather stupid mare belonging to the farmer, and convincing it that it really did need to progress further down the lane, even though it looked as if it would be better sport to make the farmer’s horse back his cart into the wall, he had his hands—and his mind—completely full.
They were right out in the countryside, with the little town of Much Wapping far behind them, before he decided to speak to the girl again.
He found he was looking forward to coaxing her into speaking. The only word that had so far passed her lips had been huskily spoken. Like a velvet caress.
Velvet caress? Good grief, what was the matter with him that he was coming up with such bizarre ideas?
Anyway, he shouldn’t have to coax her into speaking again. Females, in his experience, were never silent. Not for as long as this anyway. Not unless they were planning something. He gave her a sharp look. She still had her arms wrapped around her middle. Her fingers tucked under her armpits. It struck him that she didn’t look merely defensive any longer. She looked cold.
Cold. Of course she was cold. She wasn’t wearing a coat. Or a bonnet. Her rust-coloured gown was made of good quality kerseymere, but a brief glance at her feet revealed an expanse of bare skin between the tops of her sturdy shoes and the hem of that gown. And it might be sunny, but this early in the year it wouldn’t be really warm until perhaps the middle of the afternoon. If then. She needed to put something else on. But she hadn’t any luggage, had she?
Frowning, he cast his mind over what to do for her. It would be pointless to offer her the one stocking he had in his jacket pocket. She needed more than one stocking. She needed a coat.
He could lend her his own coat... But, no. It would swamp her. Even his jacket would probably come down to her knees. Though that, actually, might not be such a bad thing. She could tuck her hands inside the sleeves.
He couldn’t just stop where they were and offer her his jacket, though. The lane was so narrow that if any other vehicle came from either direction they wouldn’t be able to pass. But from now on he’d look for a place where he could safely pull over.
Before very much longer he spied a gate leading into a field, which gave him the chance to pull the gig off the road a little. He put on the brake, removed his gloves and swiftly unbuttoned his coat.
Just as he was leaning forward, with his left arm out of one sleeve, about to remove his right arm from the other, the girl gave him a hefty shove in the side. She caught him so off balance that he tumbled right out of the seat, landing between the gig’s nearside wheel and the gatepost.
Dammit, why hadn’t he seen that coming? Women were never as defenceless as they looked. Obviously she was going to try and steal his horse and gig the moment he let down his guard.
And why had he let down his guard? All she’d had to do was shiver and look a bit pathetic and he’d promptly forgotten the way they’d met. All he’d been able to think of was shielding her. Just the way he’d wanted to shield her from that repulsive ostler.
Well, no longer. He surged to his feet on a wave of absolute fury. He might despise the bad-tempered nag harnessed to the ramshackle gig he normally wouldn’t have permitted in any of his stables, let alone take out onto a public road, but it was currently his only means of transport. And he was not going to relinquish it to a slip of a girl! He’d climb back into the driver’s seat and wrest the reins from her hands. And then—
And then nothing. Because she wasn’t in the driver’s seat, whipping the horse into a gallop and leaving him standing in the lane. On the contrary—she’d scrambled out of the gig while he’d been picking himself up and was currently running away as fast as she could.
Back towards Much Wapping.
Her accomplices must still be there. Hang it all, why hadn’t he thought of that? She must have been loitering in the stable yard awaiting them.
Well, he wasn’t going to let her get back to them and...and do whatever it was she was planning to do. He’d had enough of stumbling about in ignorance. Of being chivalrous, and merciful, and all the rest of it. He was going to drag her back and shake the truth out of her, if that was what it took. For only by discovering the truth would he stand any chance of regaining the upper hand.
* * *
Prudence ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Though her shoes chafed against her bare feet and her legs still didn’t feel as though they quite belonged to her.
But she wasn’t going to be fast enough. She could hear the man’s feet pounding down the road behind her. Getting closer and closer.
She wasn’t going to be able to outrun him. She had to find another way to stop him. But what?
Just then she stumbled and half fell to the ground, which was littered with large chunks of jagged rock. Chunks of rock which looked as though they had come away from the dry stone wall that flanked this side of the lane.
She grabbed one. Turned. Faced the big, angry man who was planning to... Well, she didn’t know what he planned to do with her once he caught her, but from the look on his face it wasn’t anything she’d like.
In a sort of wild desperation she flung the rock at him as hard as she could.
To her surprise—and his—it caught him on the forehead.
He went down like a... Well, like a stone. Prudence stood rooted to the spot. Stared in horror at the blood which was trickling down his face.
The ungainly sprawl of his limbs.
His total stillness.
What had she done? She’d only meant to show him she meant business. To stop him pursuing her.
Instead she’d...she’d killed him!
She ran to where he lay, sprawled on his back in the dirt, blood streaming across his forehead and into his hair. She dropped to her knees beside him. She couldn’t believe she’d felled him like that. With one little stone. Oh, very well then, with a large chunk of rock. She pressed her hands to her mouth. He was such a big man. So full of life and strength. It was unnatural to see him lying so still.
And then he groaned. She’d never heard such a welcome sound in her life.
‘Oh, thank God! You aren’t dead.’ She was almost sobbing.
He opened his eyes and shot her a cold, disbelieving look.
‘No thanks to you,’ he growled, then raised one hand to the cut and winced. He drew
