the devil do you think you are doing?’
The deep voice jolted through her. Her foot slipped. She was going—
Large hands caught her arms, lifted her, swung her around and set her on her feet.
Heart racing, mouth dry, she spun about, coming face to face with a broad, naked chest, the bronzed skin covered in dark crisp curls and banded by sculpted muscle.
The breath rushed from her lungs. Swallowing hard, she backed up a couple of steps and took in the dark savage gipsy of a man with hands on lean hips watching her from dark narrowed eyes. Hair the colour of burnt umber, shaded with streaks of ochre, fell to a pair of brawny shoulders. His hard slash of a mouth in his angular square-jawed face looked as if it had tasted of the world and found it bitter.
Fierce. Wild. Masculine. Intimidating. All these words shot through her mind.
And frighteningly handsome.
A tall rough-looking man, with the body of a Greek god and the face of a fallen angel.
Heat spread out from her belly. Desire.
A shiver ran down her spine. Her heart hammered. Her tongue felt huge and unwieldy. ‘Wh-who are you?’ Damn her stutter.
Arrogant, controlled and powerful, he folded strong bare forearms over his lovely wide chest. He looked her up and down, assessing, without a flicker of a muscle in his impassive face. A dark questioning eyebrow went up. ‘I might ask the same of you,’ he said, his voice a deep low growl she felt low in her stomach.
She clutched at the skirts of her old brown gown to hide the tremble in her hands and inhaled a deep breath. Every fibre of her being concentrated on speaking her next words without hesitation, without showing weakness. ‘I am Lord Wynchwood’s niece. I have every right to be here.’ Panting with effort, she released the remainder of her breath.
He took a step towards her. Instinctively, she shrank back. He halted, palms held out. ‘For God’s sake, you’ll end up in the river.’
The exasperation in his tone and expression did more to ease her fears than soft words would have done. She glared at him. ‘Of c-course I w-won’t.’
He backed up several paces. ‘Then move clear of the edge.’
Since he had ruined the solitude, shattered any hope for quiet contemplation, she might as well leave. Head high, she strode past him, carefully keeping beyond his arm’s length, and caught up Pippin’s reins. Prickles ran hot and painful down her back as if his dark gaze still grazed her skin. She couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder.
He’d remained statue-still like some ancient Celtic warrior, bold and hard and simmering like a storm about to rage. A terrifyingly handsome man and thoroughly annoyed, though what he had to be annoyed about she couldn’t think.
How would he look if he smiled?
The thought surprised her utterly. ‘Wh-who are you, s-sir? W-what are you doing in these woods?’
‘Robert Deveril, milady. Assistant gamekeeper. I live in the cottage yonder.’ He hesitated, pressed his lips together as if holding back something on the tip of his tongue. She knew the feeling only too well. Except for her, it was because it was easier to say nothing.
And yet after a moment, he continued, ‘I thought your horse had bolted the way you tore past my house, but I see I was mistaken. Forgive me, milady.’
Suntanned fingers touched his forelock in a reluctant gesture of servility. If anything, he looked more arrogant than before. He pivoted and strode towards the path with long lithe strides.
‘Y-your h-house?’ A recollection of flying dirt striking something hollow filled her mind. No wonder he’d been surprised and come to see what was happening. Heat flashed upwards from her chest to the roots of her hair. ‘P-p-p—’ Oh, tongue, don’t fail me now. She forced in a breath. ‘Mr D-Deveril,’ she called out.
He halted, then turned to face her, looking less than happy. ‘Milady?’
‘I apologise.’
He frowned.
‘It w-w-will not h-happen again.’ Mortified at her inability to express even the simplest of sentences when off-kilter, she turned to her mount. It wasn’t until the cinches on Pippin’s saddle disappeared in a blur that she realised she was close to crying and wasn’t sure why, unless it was frustration and the realisation of just how inconsiderate she’d been.
‘Let me help you, milady.’
At the sound of his deep, rich, oh-so-easy words, she almost swallowed her tongue. ‘G-g-go away,’ she managed.
Clinging to Pippin’s saddle, she turned her head. A good two feet away, he waited, calmly watching her, the anger still there, but contained, like that of the panther she’d once seen in a cage. Beautiful. And dangerous.
Yet she wasn’t afraid. She just didn’t want to look like a fool in front of this man.
‘Look,’ he said reasonably, ‘I’m sorry I scared you. I thought you were in trouble when I saw you teetering on the brink. The rains have made the bank treacherous.’
‘I’m a g-good s-s-swimmer.’ She tried a smile.
‘It’s no jesting matter. No doubt you’d expect me to pull you out.’
Simon’s face swam before her eyes like a pudgy Ban-quo’s ghost. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t bother.’
His eyes gleamed. Amusement? ‘My, you are in high ropes.’
He was laughing at her. He saw her as a joke. A wordless fool. He was so perfect and she couldn’t string two words together. A spurt of resentment shot through her veins. ‘This was m-my p-place. You have s-spoiled it.’ She gulped in a supply of air. Her stutter was out of control. At any moment she’d been speechless. A dummy. For the second time today. ‘G-good d-day, sir.’
His face blanched beneath his tan as if somehow she’d stabbed him and the blood had drained away. His hands fell to his sides, large hands that bunched into fists, knuckles gleaming white. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady.’
An apology he scorned. She could see that in his expression.
She grabbed for Pippin’s reins. Tried to pull herself up. The horse sidled. No, Pippin. Don’t do this now. ‘Shhh,’ she whispered.
A strong calloused hand grabbed the bridle beside her cheek. Her heart leapt into her throat at the size of it. Afraid her heart might jump right out of her mouth, she drew back.
‘You’ll scare him,’ she warned.
He murmured something. Pippin, the traitor, stilled. Deveril lifted the saddle flap and adjusted the cinch. He cocked a superior brow. ‘You were saying?’
There it was, the arrogance of man. She breathed in slowly. ‘F-for an assistant gamekeeper you are very haughty.’
‘Once more I find the need to apologise.’ A rueful grin curved his finely moulded lips.
Breathtaking.
