hear voices.’ His tone was the sort that she used with Nella when Nella had failed to do something for the third time—patient and exaggeratedly slow.
‘Voices? What sort of voices?’ Daisy stared at Lord Ravensworth. She had heard nothing, despite her entire being listening. Was he suffering from another delusion? She had heard nothing. No shouting, no calling of her name and promises of help, nothing. She listened again.
Silence except for the faint yap of a dog.
‘Do you often suffer from hallucinations, Lord Ravensworth?’
His tawny eyes glowered at her. ‘All my senses are working, Miss Milton. Listen, instead of filling the air with noise.’
Then, from far away, she heard the shouts. Louder, and not childlike at all and becoming more distinct by the breath. She put her hand to her throat and moved closer to his solidity. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken. Someone is out there. And they are definitely searching for something. They…they are not coming from Gilsland. They are coming from the opposite direction, from above the waterfall.’
His warm hand landed heavily on her shoulder and she gave a small squeak.
‘We must be cautious. They could be the aid you sent for, but there again, they could be my attackers. If we keep moving, we might make it to Shaw’s before we encounter them.’
Daisy swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on everything but the way his shirt gaped open, revealing a shadowy place at the base of his throat. ‘It is the most sensible suggestion I have heard.’
‘I will protect you to the best of my ability, Miss Milton.’
‘I was not worried about that. I have always been able to look after myself.’
‘Nevertheless.’
Daisy glanced over her shoulder to where the trees loomed large and shadowy. The woods had seemed so peaceful, but did they hide anything? She should have insisted on staying closer to the hotel. She had, of course, read Sir Walter Scott’s books about the area, but had dismissed his tales of robbers and such as pure fantasy. But now… A shiver went through her as she remembered how blithely she had sent Nella to get help. What if…? The world seemed to spin. ‘Who are they? Thieves? Murderers? I should never… Poor Nella!’
‘Miss Milton, giving way to panic never solves anything. Remember to breathe.’ His hands forced her to turn. She put out a hand and encountered his damp shirt front. Clung to it. ‘Deep breaths now. If you faint, we will be lost. How tightly have you done up your corset?’
‘I never faint.’ Daisy forced the air back into her lungs and ignored the image of his long fingers unlacing her corset. ‘Ever. There is little point in it for governesses. Nobody is ever there to catch you when you fall.’
‘Poor Miss Milton, not having any support,’ he murmured in her ear.
‘And corsets are not something one discusses with gentleman. They are unmentionable. But rest assured, breathing is required in my profession.’
‘Then you might be able to run or at least walk at a brisk pace.’
‘I attempt to be sensible in all things, but it is not my movement that is the problem. You are the one who nearly drowned. Can you run?’ Daisy lowered her lashes and stepped back from Lord Ravensworth. ‘What do we do next? Hide? Turn back?’
‘I want to re-acquaint myself with civilisation as quickly as possible unless you can think of a reason why I should not.’ His voice slid over her like silken velvet, but she could also hear the underlying steel. ‘You are speechless, Miss Milton. Is there hope for me yet?’
‘Do not seek to twist my words.’ Two bright spots began to burn on her cheeks. She twisted the handle of the basket. ‘I did not ask for this alliance.’
‘The state of your arm is the only thing I am concerned about.’ He raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Are you offering something else?’
‘You are impossible.’
‘Silence!’
‘I…’ A hand over her mouth prevented her from saying more as her body was hauled back the hard planes of his. Her hand went slack, sending the basket tumbling to the ground.
Moving more rapidly than she considered possible, he pulled her into a hollow beside an oak tree. He pressed her into the tree, so they were shielded. His scent enveloped her. She could see the markings of the beating clearly, and the smooth column of his throat. Stubble caressed his chin, giving him the appearance of a highway man, much like a hero from one of the Minerva Press novels that her sister Felicity loved. Her mouth went dry as her world seemed to be swallowed up in his eyes.
What would it be like to be kissed by him? To have his arms hold her close? And for her body to mould against the hard planes of his chest?
Daisy screwed up her eyes, blotting out the sight and regaining control of her thoughts. She pushed against his immovable shoulders, indicating that he should remove himself and find another place to hide.
He shook his head and pointed. Shapes moved around on the other side of the river. But then she saw it; her basket had come to rest in full view with the book of poetry half in and half out of the top, getting ruined in a mud puddle. She had purchased the book just before they had left for Gilsland, an extravagant purchase, but she had also sent little presents to Felicity and Kammie. And it was going to be ruined all because of this man’s infuriating caution.
Daisy summoned all her energy and forced him off her. He raised an eyebrow as a dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘You did not like the position. You prefer to remain in control.’
‘I have to get my basket and my volume of poetry. It’s Shelley. I happen to like the Romantic poets.’
‘Where is your blasted basket?’
Daisy pointed and her ears rang with his furious oath. ‘Those men are not searching for me, and my sister gave me the basket. If they see that basket, they will search the area for its owner. Do think ahead, Lord Ravensworth.’
Without waiting for an answer, Daisy marched over to the basket. Her hand curled around its familiar handle as three flat-capped men crashed through the undergrowth on the opposite of the river. An overly thin dog ran alongside, sniffing, and occasionally barking. One of the men lifted his cudgel, swore at the dog and then hit it.
Daisy swallowed hard and kept her head up, fighting the temptation to sink low. She gazed up at the branches and not back at where Adam crouched.
‘Hello, over there,’ the thickset one called and signalled to her.
Daisy inclined her head. She forced her movements to be unconcerned. She put her hand to her head and discovered her bonnet had come off and her hair tumbled about her shoulders. Bits of oak leaves stuck to it. She must look like a wild thing. Or worse. Desperately her hands searched for a pin.
A soft crunch behind her caused her to turn.
A thin man with deep-set eyes dressed all in funereal black stalked into the glade. His bony fingers were clasped around a large stick. Every few steps he hit the bushes with it, poking them. Each time he lifted the stick, a tattoo of a blackbird on his hand moved. He paused, several bushes from Lord
