The hour grew late and Bramble Cottage fell quiet. Helena must have dozed for she was suddenly awakened by the sound of hoofbeats. She straightened in curiosity with predictable speed, lighting the lantern and opening the window wide. She could not see the road from her window, nor even the forest where the folly was located.
The hoofbeats grew louder. She fully expected the horse and rider to pass on by, continuing toward Southpoint, but the sound of the horse faded from earshot too soon. Had the rider left the road? Helena scarce dared to hope. Her lips parted in surprise when she saw the silhouette of a large horse walking across the fields behind Bramble Cottage. A man strode before the horse, leading it with confidence away from the road.
Horse and rider were no more than a shadow against the darkness, but Helena’s heart rose to her throat in recognition of the rider’s long cloak.
He came to her again!
Any doubt was banished when he halted and glanced. He seemed to look directly at her window and even as her heart stopped, he raised a hand.
He beckoned.
Helena realized that she must be silhouetted in the window against the light of the lamp.
Her champion had come for her!
She spun from the window seat and seized an old pair of slippers. Her boots would not go over the wrapping on her ankle, she was certain. She had not yet undressed for the night, so seized her spencer and looked out the window again. He was moving closer, leading the horse toward the hedge that surrounded the cottage.
There was no time to find her bonnet or rebraid her hair. She had no notion how long he would linger—or what he would do if Nixon raised a hue and cry.
But Helena could not miss the opportunity to see him again.
She crept down the stairs, her heart in her throat. Her ankle had recovered enough that she could hobble along, though not with any speed. She already knew which stairs were inclined to creak and managed to either avoid them or tread on the other end.
Nixon was holding forth in the kitchens, telling her husband about the benefits and flaws of the household and comparing Aunt to former employers. Her spouse was whistling to himself somewhere in the kitchen, clearly disinterested in his wife’s diatribe. Helena paused at the bottom of the stairs and dared to peek around the corner. She was certain the pounding of her pulse would be overheard.
Mr. Nixon was sitting by the fire, and looked to be whittling something. His concentration appeared to be complete. His wife was out of view, though she could clearly be heard.
Helena took a breath and slipped across the small gap between the base of the stairs, certain she would be caught.
When she was not, she opened the door the barest increment and slipped into the night. Only when the door was secured behind her did she dare to breathe.
Then she smiled.
There was only the silhouette of her champion and the nicker of his horse at the opening of the hedge.
“You came!” she whispered and flung herself toward him. His hood was drawn up again, but he stepped forward to meet her before she had taken two steps. He caught her close and lifted her from the ground. He moved his head so that he had to be looking at her injured ankle.
In the darkness.
Helena smiled up at him, loving the firm grip of his hands upon her waist. She followed his gaze downward and sought to reassure him. “It improves steadily, but I am impatient with my progress all the same. I was certain I could not endure the wait until we meet again in the forest.”
He seemed to glare sternly down at her.
“Oh, I will do as I am bidden,” she assured him.
He chuckled then, a dark and seductive sound, and shook his head as if doubtful.
“You are right. I am not inclined to be sensible, but I strive to make a change.”
His attention seemed to sharpen.
She sighed. “I mean to be more cautious in future, lest I lead others astray with my recklessness. I could not bear to cause injury to another in my quest to savor all.”
He lifted her closer and kissed her then, an approval of her words that did not last nearly long enough to satisfy. It did, however leave Helena breathless—and striving to see his features in the shadows of his hood. “I am so glad you came,” she confessed in a whisper. “I feared I would not see you again soon.”
He lifted her toward the saddle with purpose.
“A ride?” she asked and he nodded. “I should love a ride in the moonlight more than anything else,” she confessed, not hiding her enthusiasm. “But I should be prudent and decline your invitation, I know I should. I am sorry.”
