do not aim to keep them as pets if that is what you are thinking. I aim to save a species which we are likely to drive into extinction.’
She spoke with surprising dignity for someone dripping wet from head to toe. Tendrils of dark hair had loosened from her bun, dangling about her face. He saw also that, under the folds of clinging cloth, her figure was not as nondescript as he had imagined.
‘Well, extinction is postponed for another day,’ he said curtly. ‘The hunt is likely done. Now, I will take you home or to Eavensham before you catch your death.’
‘Your further assistance is entirely unnecessary.’ She placed her hands on her hips.
‘It is entirely necessary and I have every intention of delivering you to safety.’ He whistled for Jester who immediately stepped across the stream and headed up the bank towards him.
‘And I have absolutely no intention of being delivered anywhere. I am not a—a bolt of cloth or a bag of potatoes.’
‘Then perhaps I should tell Lord Eavensham of today’s exploits?’
‘Blackmail? That’s hardly honourable.’
‘But expedient.’ If the last year had taught him anything, it was that the honourable finished last.
‘I will not give in to blackmail.’
‘I can respect that.’ He stepped forward, planning to put her on his horse by physical force, if necessary. He would waste no more time on cajoling or fancy words.
She must have read his intent because she raised two small fists, her well-marked brows drawing fiercely together. ‘Don’t even think of it. Kit taught me to box and I am not afraid to use every trick in the book.’
He stared. She sounded as though she’d swallowed the book or a bad script more suitable for the stage. And she looked such a funny, feisty scrap of thing with her wet clothes and dripping hair.
The unfamiliar urge to laugh returned. His lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. The situation was so ludicrous; this diminutive woman was ready to wrestle him to the ground, provided she had sufficient time between rescuing vermin.
The laughter wouldn’t be stopped. It burbled up, ending in a belly roar. He laughed as he hadn’t laughed for a year, as he hadn’t laughed since, well, since the beginning of this nightmare.
When he stopped, he saw that she had dropped her fists and no longer looked fierce, but stared at him as though fearful for his sanity.
‘Do you know you’ve witnessed a miracle?’ he asked, once he had regained the power of speech.
‘I know Mrs Eagan in the village would advise Epsom salts and Mrs Crawford would arrange an exorcism.’
‘Then I’ll stay well away from both ladies.’ His voice still shook with laughter. ‘Truce?’ He put out his hand.
She looked uncertain, but either good manners, good nature or a genuine fear for his sanity overcame her misgivings.
She took his hand. ‘Truce.’
She smiled, the expression transforming her face. She had removed her heavy, leather gloves and he could feel the delicacy of her fingers within his grasp. For a second, it felt right, comfortable even, to have her hand nestled in his palm. He felt a half-forgotten stir of pleasure.
He released her hand and bent, picking up Jester’s reins. ‘Your steed awaits.’
‘You’re still planning to escort me home?’
‘If I may,’ he said, with pretended humility.
‘He’s rather big.’ She looked at the animal with apprehension, surprising for a woman who forded rivers.
‘He is a horse, Miss Martin.’
‘A big horse.’
‘Is it possible, Miss Martin, that despite your ability to capture wild animals, you’re nervous of horses?’
‘Big horses. I haven’t ridden often,’ she admitted.
‘We’ll go no faster than a walk.’
‘A slow walk.’
‘A slow walk,’ he agreed and again felt that odd frisson of pleasure as she nodded, placing her hand in his own.
Sebastian positioned Miss Martin in front of him—no easy task given that she still clutched the basket. He urged Jester forward and they started down the incline, the quiet broken only by the crack of twigs under Jester’s hooves.
Thankfully, Miss Martin did not seem a female addicted to chatter.
‘Would you prefer to return to Eavensham or your own home?’ Sebastian questioned as they stepped on to the country lane at the bottom of the hill.
‘My home, if possible.’
‘Entirely. If you give me directions.’
‘I can. But—’ she shifted and he was aware of her movement and her quick, nervous inhalation ‘—will you drop me at the barn and not the main door?’
‘That would be unusual.’
She glanced back, her face again suffused with that slow, transformative smile. ‘I don’t think anything about this morning could be considered usual.’
‘Perhaps not, but I would still like to see you safe at your doorstep. I’ll not mention your sabotage of the hunt to your parent or guardian, if that is your concern.’
‘No. It’s not that.’ She paused and then continued. ‘My guardian would find your presence without a chaperon exceptional. She worries about my—um—morals, not realising that I am past the age and lack the physical attributes that make concern necessary.’
She stopped speaking and it struck him sad that a woman, still youngish, should dismiss herself so completely.
‘I quite like your attributes.’ He spoke without thought.
Her reaction was immediate. Her back jerked ramrod straight and she twisted about almost violently, despite her apparent fear of large horses and the danger of dropping the basket.
‘Lord Langford,’ she snapped. ‘You will not insult my intellect. I am no beauty, but I am not dim-witted and refuse to be treated as such. I have gumption, if nothing else.’
Good Lord, the woman sounded downright furious.
‘You definitely have gumption.’
She twisted even more precariously. ‘I hope you are not scoffing again.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was only wishing that Elizabeth might meet you.’
Again he had spoken with an uncharacteristic lack of thought.
‘Elizabeth?’
‘My daughter.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but she needs—’
Heaven only knew what Elizabeth needed.
But, he realised with a start of surprise, he would tell Elizabeth about Miss Martin when he returned.
He might mention nothing else about this country weekend, but he would tell her about the rabbit, the fox, the mud, the basket and Miss Martin’s gumption.
Elizabeth would not reply, of course, but he would tell her.
The barn was a ramshackle structure of mossy stone with an uneven slate roof patterned with yellowed grass. Sebastian dismounted. As he turned, helping Sarah from the horse, he was aware of a peculiar narrowing of focus. It seemed as though the barn, the trees