The stallion was not the only one impatient to reach the folly.
Tuesday dawned sunny and clear,a day filled with promise to Helena’s view. She would go to the folly, as planned, and meet her champion—the viscount. Her ankle was sufficiently recovered, but she wore her sturdy boots, just to be sure. She would besensible. She took Mischief with her, thinking the run would be good for the pup.
Mischief raced ahead of her across the meadow. Once on the path through the forest, Helena called the dog closer, not wanting to lose her. The pavilion’s roof gleamed in the sunlight and, even better, a man leaned against it, arms folded across his chest.
Waiting.
Helena stopped on the path, fighting her sense that something was amiss. The man wore the familiar cloak and his hood was raised. She did not like that she could not see his face. Where was his horse? Why did she feel imperiled?
“Good morning,” she said, as if naught was amiss between them. She did not move forward, though.
He inclined his head but did not speak, moving away from the wall with a fluid grace that seemed almost predatory. “Have you come to surrender to me?” he asked gruffly and Helena was astonished that he should be so forthright.
“I hoped to speak with you, to be sure,” she said, her wariness growing.
He laughed and it was a harsh sound. “We can talk later.” He stepped toward her quickly. “I would ask for a kiss first.” He reached for her arm in a sudden gesture. Helena retreated a step, and Mischief growled.
The dog placed herself between them. Her ears were back and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She bristled as she growled at the man.
But Mischief liked Lord Addersley.
Who stood before Helena? She thought of the men at the ruins, and her own suspicion that Lord Addersley’s brother might yet be alive.
“I will share no kiss with a man who hides his face,” she said, speaking as if she were more confident than she was.
“You will share with me what you have offered freely to others,” he snarled and lunged toward her. Mischief jumped and snapped at him, prompting him to swear and recoil. He kicked at the dog and Helena cried out, but Mischief evaded his boot. The dog leapt after him, snarling and he retreated so quickly that his hood fell back.
He was not Lord Addersley, though there was a strong resemblance between them. He had a cleft in his chin and the same coloring. He was of a height and breadth with the viscount, but seemed much rougher and less fastidiously groomed. More, he seemed to be worn or even ravaged by some ordeal. He was lean, if not gaunt, and the wild fury in his eyes made Helena shiver. She knew instinctively that he was unpredictable and untrustworthy.
And she was alone, save for Mischief.
“Call off your dog!” he shouted and pulled a knife from his belt. “Or I will kill it!” He might have been a madman, given the wildness in his eyes, and she did not doubt he would fulfill his threat.
“Come, Mischief, come!” she cried and the dog came to her, still growling. Helena did not delay but pivoted to run from the pavilion and the glade, calling the dog. Mischief raced beside her, needing little encouragement to leave the man behind.
There were no pursuing footsteps. Relief flooded through Helena and she looked back from the shelter of the forest. She could not see the man at all. The pavilion appeared to be abandoned, the glade as peaceful as before, but still, she did not trust him. Her heart was racing and Mischief was fast by her side. The dog’s ears were up and her posture alert.
They hastened together along the path.
How could he have known that she had offered kisses to Lord Addersley? He must have been watching them, on one night or the other. Helena shivered.
But how had he obtained Lord Addersley’s cloak?
At the edge of the forest, Helena turned toward Addersley Manor instead of Bramble Cottage, determined to share what she had learned with the viscount.
To her relief, a large horse was galloping toward her, the viscount himself in the saddle.
Her champion arrived!
To Joshua’s surprise,Miss Emerson was running down the road toward him, Mischief at her heels. Her bonnet had slipped askew and she ran with complete disregard for her skirts. It wasclear she was in some distress, though he could not imagine the cause. He reined in the horse and swung from the saddle in time to catch her in his embrace.
“He was there!” she said against his chest, but Joshua could make no sense of her claim.
“Who? I expected you to be at the folly.”
“I was, but he was there before me.” She spoke in spurts, panting as she caught her breath. “Waiting, with his hood drawn up. But something was wrong, I knew it immediately.” She lifted her face, her gaze burning. “He vowed he would hurt Mischief when she growled at him. He had a knife!”
Joshua took her shoulders in his hands and held her gaze. “Who?”
