breeches, though dusty, were of good quality, and his accent was that of a gentleman. ‘No,’ said poor Emily, conscious in spite of her distress that her hair was tangled, her dress was torn and that she was exposing a shocking length of bare leg. ‘I… I’m afraid…’
‘Then how did you know my name?’
‘I… I th-thought you someone else,’ she said.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘What the devil are you doing up there?’
Emily was tired and sore and she had no time for stupid questions. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ she said with something like a snap. ‘I’m stuck. I can’t get down!’
He took his coat off, then jumped up to take a quick look over the hedge. ‘Why can’t you get down the other side? It looks as if that would be much easier.’
‘Because there’s half a ton of bull waiting for me behind the tree. His name is Black Samson and he’s famous for his wicked temper. I have no desire to be gored to death.’ Her voice rose as she went on, ‘And, whatever your name is, unless you or someone else don’t stop asking useless questions and help me down from this tree, really quite soon, I shall fall down all by myself.’ Her voice quavered on these last words—she was perilously close to tears.
‘That would never do. We’ll have to see how we can manage it. I’ve rescued many a cat from a tree in my time, but a grown woman is an altogether different matter.’ He examined the hedge, which was full of brambles and thorn bushes, looked down the slope and eyed her perch. ‘I can’t lift you down,’ he said doubtfully. ‘You’re too far out of my reach. I really ought to fetch more help.’
‘No!’ Emily was near the end of her tether. ‘I couldn’t possibly wait that long. The nearest place is much too far away! You must help me now!’
‘I see. Well, in that case, we’ll just have to do our best. Can you edge a little further till you’re clear of that thorn hedge? I think we can do it if you lower yourself down very carefully and trust me to catch you for the last few feet. I’d say the ground here was level enough for me to manage it. Just about. You’ll have to go carefully, mind. Gently’s the word. Otherwise we could both end up rolling down the slope. Gently…that’s right. That’s the way! Gently now, gent—’
There was a crack, a scream and a shout of dismay as Emily’s branch snapped and she fell precipitately into her rescuer’s arms. He struggled to keep his balance, but the angle of the slope was too much for them. Together they rolled down, jolting over the rough ground and slithering where it was smooth. But he held her firmly throughout, shielding her from the worst of the bumps. They finally ended up in a grassy hollow, where they came to a stop. They lay there in silence for a moment or two. Then he said, ‘That was exciting. Are you hurt?’
Dazed and winded Emily lay, still wrapped in his arms, not sure whether she was or she wasn’t. After the buffeting and bumping of the previous minute, the hollow was strangely quiet. The world seemed to have retreated, leaving them alone in a haven of peace. She lay there almost dreamily, surprised and pleased that her various aches and pains appeared to have vanished. After a moment she shook her head.
‘Are you sure?’ He was leaning over her, his face close to hers. It was a nice face, she thought hazily. A kind face. A face full of humour. A tiny fan of wrinkles at each corner of his dark blue eyes gave her the impression that he laughed quite often. Or was it because he spent a good deal of his time out of doors? He was quite tanned. His nose was slightly crooked, and he had a firm chin, though it looked at the moment as if it needed a shave. He wasn’t laughing at present—his expression was serious, a small frown between his brows. How pleasant, she thought. He’s really concerned about me.
She was surprised at how comforting this was. She regarded herself as an independent creature, but recently she had begun to feel lonely, even amongst the people she loved best in the world. And Mrs Gosworth had stirred up doubts about her future, which she would rather have forgotten. She was in need of comfort. It was very agreeable to be regarded with such concern and, though the sensation was new, it was very pleasant to have someone’s arms holding her so…so protectively.
‘Would you like me to help you to get up?’
She considered the question. This feeling of intimacy, this new awareness of a man’s body close to hers, was strange, but definitely attractive. ‘I’m really quite happy where I am, thank you,’ said Emily, giving him a sweet smile. ‘I don’t think I want to move.’
Afterwards, when she thought over what followed, she told herself she must have hit her head as she fell. It was the only explanation. Or perhaps she had been so shaken by her fright with the bull that she had been temporarily out of her mind. Whatever the cause, she had certainly not been herself.
Emily Winbolt had a warm heart and a lively sense of humour, but outsiders were seldom aware of either. Her manner to them was usually cool, even distant—that of a perfectly well-behaved, perfectly brought up, perfectly well-bred young lady. She was a devoted granddaughter, an openly loving sister to her brother Philip, and when he married had given her new sister-in-law the same affection. But several unfortunate experiences had made her cynical about most members of the opposite sex, and only her strong sense of humour had saved her from lasting bitterness.
Her behaviour in the hollow, for whatever reason, was so shocking, so completely out of character, that those who knew her would never have believed it. She later concluded it must have been caused by a fit of madness following her fall.
But while she was with this stranger it seemed altogether natural.
He frowned slightly. ‘All the same, I think we should at least check whether you’re damaged at all. Can you move your arms and legs?’
Still in the grip of this strange emotion, she stretched luxuriously like a cat then smiled again and wrinkled her nose at him. ‘You see? Apart from a few scratches I’m perfectly sound.’ The movement brought her into closer contact with the body next to hers. Her cheek was resting on his chest, and she could feel the warmth of his body, a slight roughness of hair, through the thin lawn of his shirt. His heartbeat was strong and it was growing faster…
He smiled back and it was just as she had suspected—his eyes wrinkled at the corners, laughter lurking in them.
‘You’ve collected half the hedge in your fall,’ he said, carefully picking leaves and twigs out of her hair and smoothing it back from her forehead. Emily gazed at him in delight, filled with a sense of well-being, her loneliness and other anxieties quite forgotten. This man might be a stranger, she might never see him again after this meeting, but she had not felt as close as this to anyone else for a long, long time. His eyes met hers again and she knew he was going to kiss her. Far from being shocked, she was warmed by the thought. He put his finger gently under her chin and tilted her face to meet his…
At first the kiss was tentative, as if he was not sure what her reaction would be, but as he felt her response it deepened and grew more intense, though still gentle. It seemed to go on for a long time. Emily was lost in its sweetness. When he would have lifted his head, she put her arms round his neck and pulled his mouth to hers again.
‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘I little thought when I lost my way this morning that I would end up with an enchantress in my arms. What is your name, lovely one?’
Even in her present dazed state Emily had no wish to tell him who she was. This was a magic hour, a time out of reality. Emily Winbolt, spinster, had no place in this enchantment. He saw her hesitation and laughed.
