at her throat.
Her fingers fought his. “What you are doing?”
“The red draws his eye.” He yanked the garment off and wadded it, inside out, into a ball. He stuffed it under his arm and gripped her hand again. To his surprise, she curled her fingers around his, pulling him to the right.
“My home is that way.”
“Not yet.” He jogged with her in tow for a short distance. Releasing her hand, he slid into a ditch, then lifted his arms. Before he could instruct her, she leaned into him. Her breath was hot against his cheek when he lowered her beside him. “Not much farther.”
He’d spent the past few days scouting these woods, never imagining he’d be running from gunfire with Gemma. He pushed aside a clump of foliage and gestured for her to precede him through.
Smelling of decay and earth, the small clearing offered slight protection. “A moment’s rest.” He gestured to a fallen oak where she could sit while he thought.
“The Gypsy camp.” She touched her ankle and winced. “Why did we not go straight home?”
“We cannot risk being followed.” He walked the clearing’s perimeter, straining to see movement through the trees. “You don’t want them to know where you live and thereby learn your identity.”
“But I meant them no harm.”
“They may have believed that, until someone started firing a weapon.”
“That was not you?”
“Do you see a musket?” He didn’t even have a pistol.
“Then who shot at them?”
“It came from here in the trees. I’d fathom a guess I’m not the only person in Hampshire displeased with that particular group of smugglers.”
“There are more?”
It was hard not to laugh. “Many. And it’s a competitive field.”
She pushed a damp curl from her cheek. Without her bonnet or cloak, she appeared vulnerable and young, but not as young as he’d first thought. Her cheeks had lost some of the fullness of girlhood. She may be about to embark on her come-out, but she was no chit fresh from the schoolroom. “This makes no sense.”
It did to Tavin, but he’d not explain now.
A rustle. Tavin spun, his hand reaching behind his back for his knife—
Through a parting in the leaves, a dun-colored body sauntered several yards’ distant. Tavin’s shoulders relaxed.
“A pony.” He could hear the smile in her tone. “They run wild in the forest.”
“And it wants naught to do with us.” Tavin watched the creature. Its ears twitched, but it didn’t exhibit signs of alarm as it disappeared around a group of trees. That boded well for him, and Miss Lyfeld, too. He gestured for her to rise. “I’ve not heard a shot in a while. We’ll take a roundabout way and return to the house.”
“Where you will explain all of this to me?”
Her tone brooked no argument. Nor did the set of her jaw.
Better to change the subject than agree. “You said the man meant to take you with him. How did you break away?”
“I would not be a good aunt to two boys if I paid no mind to their tricks.”
Despite himself, he laughed. His smile fell when he reached the far side of the clearing. The pond he’d planned to skirt had swollen from last night’s torrent, blocking their path. “We could have walked around it yesterday.”
“You don’t mean we’re going through it.”
“I see no better option. We aren’t visible, with the trees circling us. And I’m certain the pond isn’t deep. Must I carry you?” He meant his words to be gallant, but they sounded frustrated. Of course. Everything he said came out wrong with Miss Lyfeld.
She squared her shoulders, shot him a glare and marched into the pond ahead of him.
* * *
Gemma might as well have trudged barefoot through snow. Spring-chilled water soaked her to the knees and flooded her kid boots, which found little purchase on the slimy stones underfoot. Not that she would complain. This was not the first time she’d crossed a pond.
“Take care with your steps,” he warned, “but make haste.”
“Make haste,” she mimicked, muttering under her breath, “but don’t slip—”
Faster than a blink, her twisted ankle rolled. Her foot slid out from under her.
Mr. Knox grasped her arm, pulling her upright. She expected to be chastised, but his eyes were soft and warm, like her morning chocolate.
Then he slipped, pulling her into the frigid water.
Gemma’s hands and rear smacked the stony bottom. Her backside stung, but she waved off Mr. Knox’s outstretched hand and stood on her own power. Shivering as the wind’s chill fingers stroked her soaked garments, she hastened toward the edge of the pool, thoughts of a hot cup of tea and thick blanket urging her forward. At least her front side was dry.
He extended his hand. “May I—”
“No.” She would do this.
Her wet gown tangled around her legs and she slipped again, this time landing on her elbows and belly. Frigid water drenched her bodice and lapped her chin as tendrils of slimy water plants tickled her neck.
Mr. Knox hauled her into his arms, as a lamb to its shepherd. With a sharp catch, her breath stuck in her throat, and her face warmed despite her soggy state. She’d never been this close to a gentleman before. She’d always imagined Hugh’s future embrace, slow to unfold, tentative, with a proper distance between them.
Mr. Knox’s arms felt nothing like her imaginings. He held her so close she could hear his heart thudding against her cheek, and his arms were solid and blessedly warm around her. Her insides flipped and rearranged themselves, and all she wanted was to turn her head toward his warmth and wish he could carry her all the way home—
What nonsense was this? She didn’t even like Tavin Knox. Did she?
He didn’t like her, either. But then he set her down on the bank, leaving her skin cold and her heart thumping, and his hand rose as if he’d touch her face.
“Hold still.” His fingers brushed damp tendrils of hair from her chin. More intimacies she’d never permitted a gentleman. Her pulse pattered in her ears as he leaned closer.
“You’ve a leech on your neck.”
All tender sentiment vanished. Her fingers flew to her collar. “Get it off.”
“Patience.” He glanced about, reminding Gemma of a dog sniffing the air for a fox. “Come into the trees.”
He
