villainy consisted of sneaking home from a tryst.
She patted his cheek. “Wake up, sir!”
All at once he lunged, caught her about the hips and dragged her down.
She beat on his forearms. “Why! You great lurching oaf! Let me go before I scream!” Which she could not do without everyone knowing she had come outside in the dark. It would not be well received to be found in the fountain in the slippery embrace of a man.
The most amazing eyes she had ever seen focused on her face. Slowly, as if shuffling through dense fog, the fellow came back from wherever the blow had taken him.
“Wh-what?” he stuttered, wiping his face and then reaching for his hat, which bobbed about on the surface of the water.
“As best I can tell, you were startled by a cat.” She snagged the soggy headwear and handed it to him. “You hit your head after you fell through the bush and into the pond. There is a bit of swelling above your right eye, but so far it doesn’t appear too horrid.”
What was horrid, and funny at the same time, was that she was sitting side by side with a stranger in a fountain, the pair of them blinking away water dripping down their foreheads.
“And who do I have to thank for my rescue?” he asked, swiping the hair back from his face.
Certainly not Clementine Jane Macooish! The scandal would be enormous were anyone to find out about this.
“Jane—Fitz.”
* * *
“Thank you, Lady Fitz.” Heath did not recall anyone by the last name of Fitz among the titled but he had no wish to offend his beautiful rescuer by assuming she was not. Clearly she was an American but she might still be titled if she was married to a peer.
It was difficult to determine the color of her eyes in the darkness. The shade of her curly, tumbled hair was disguised as well, given that it was dripping wet and dappled with moonlight. Fortunately the midnight dousing appeared not to have dampened the lively spirit shining from the lady’s eyes—no, not that so much as lively and serious all in one suspicious glance while she studied him.
“Miss Fitz will do nicely, I think.”
The right thing to do would be to rise from the water and offer her a hand up, but she was gazing at him with her head tipped ever so slightly to one side. He found her fascinating, so all he wanted was to sit here and look at her.
“I believe—” her brows lifted in a slender, delicate arch “—it would be polite to introduce yourself so that I do not decide you are a criminal bent on mayhem.”
“I assure you that I am not.”
That admission did not mean he would reveal himself as Fencroft. How would he explain his reason for dashing through the garden at this hour like a fleeing criminal? Better she thought he was bent on mayhem.
If his business of the evening came to light, lives would be threatened, the Fencroft estate ruined.
“My name is Heath Ramsfield.” The first surname to pop into his mind was his butler’s, so he used it. “You are shivering, Miss Fitz. We should get out of the water.”
He stood, reached for her hand and saw that it was bare, but he clamped his fingers around it anyway. The last thing he wanted was for her to slip and be injured, which would force him to seek help. Anyone he called upon would recognize him.
“I can only wonder, Mr. Ramsfield, are you always so skittish of cats?”
“It did appear rather suddenly.”
He stood a respectable distance from her, although barely, being captivated as he was by moonlight reflecting in the beads of water dotting her face. She had a beautiful nose, not pert as so many desired, but straight and elegant. It might have given her a stern demeanor were it not for the good humor warming her eyes.
“Oh, yes.” She squeezed her fingers around the hank of hair dripping over her shoulder and wrung out the water. “They do tend to do that.”
Water dribbling from their clothing onto the stones chimed with the droplets sprinkling in the fountain. A breeze scuttled through the shrubbery, making him shiver. It would be wise and proper to part company now, but he found he did not want to.
Who was this woman and why was she here in his garden? It was not as though he could come right out and ask, not without admitting he had a right to know.
“I suppose I have ruined your evening, and your gown.”
“Oh, I think not. I’ve never rescued anyone from a fountain in the middle of the night before. It was a riveting distraction.”
He laughed quietly. When was the last time he had done that? “And I thank you. But what did you need distracting from? Perhaps I can help?”
She was silent for a moment, holding him with her gaze, judging to determine if he was worthy of her confidence, he imagined.
The woman seemed as wise as she was attractive. Probably as different from the one he was contracted to marry in every way there could be. It was harsh of him to judge his future bride before he ever met her, but if she appealed to Oliver, he doubted Madeline Macooish would suit him.
“That is unlikely unless you know how a common-born woman would address, well, let’s say an earl or a viscount, in case she passes him in a hallway or on the street.”
Or in a water fountain with the night so close and intimate about them.
“I suspect he might just appreciate ‘Good day.’”
If only he were free to pursue a woman of his choosing! It couldn’t be this woman, a commoner and a poor American—society would never recover from it—but one like her. If there was one like her to be had.
“That sounds delightfully simple. But now that you know why I was in the garden, I’d like to know what you are doing here.”
She spoke to him with boldness and he found it quite appealing. Would she do so if she knew him to be the lordly master of the house next door? He was glad she didn’t know it, since the very thought was as pompous as a strutting rooster.
“There are some things a gentleman cannot reveal. Let’s just say I thought it an inviting path to take on my way home.”
“Yes, until you encountered a cat. I can’t be sure but it appeared to have been a black cat. I hope you do not also encounter a string of bad luck.”
“To tell you the truth, Miss Fitz, tripping over the cat and coming awake in the pond with you was the nicest thing to happen to me all evening.”
The nicest thing to happen to him in a very long time, in fact.
“Being plucked from certain death is nice of an evening.”
“Quite,” he murmured. Then, since he could hardly keep her here shivering all night, he said, “Please, let me pay for your ruined gown.”
“It’s far from ruined, only wet. It will dry out right
