“He knows I am onto him, and I warned him off. Hopefully that is enough to stop him from continuing his devilish deeds.” And if it wasn’t, next time he’d make sure to meet the villain armed as well.
“I suppose time will tell if that is so.”
A breeze rattled the line of trees behind them like bones clacking in the wind. A visible tremor rippled across Juliet’s shoulders, though he doubted very much it was from fear.
In a trice, he loosened the buttons that remained and swung his coat around her shoulders. “You are cold.”
“And now you are as well. There is no sense in both of us shivering. I shall be fine once we return to the festival, especially after a stop by the bonfire.” She fingered the lapels.
But before she could pull it off, he stayed her hands with a gentle—yet firm—touch. “Until then, I insist. I will not have you taking ill.”
A slow smile curved her lips. “I suppose I cannot refuse my employer. Though if you have intimidated this Mr. Parker well enough, you may not need to keep me on any longer.”
The thought was a punch in the gut. Oh, he’d be glad enough to be rid of his sister’s tormentor, that was for certain, but that very same blessing would mean a goodbye to Juliet. Bedford Manor would not be the same without this little bird flitting about the passageways, riding out in the dark next to him to scout for threat, gracing the breakfast room each morn. And more than that—he’d seen her with Charity. Heard their laughter dancing through the halls, glimpsed them bent together over a game of draughts or sharing quiet duets at the pianoforte. Those moments spoke of genuine care. Not obligation. Notpretense. But a tenderness for his sister that touched him deeper than words could say.
And he wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.
So he grinned to mask his foolish feelings. “When I release you from our bargain, how am I to be certain you will not return to your former habit of relieving me of my game? For a lady of your talents will not be satisfied to sit in front of a fire with a lapful of needlepoint.”
“Ahh, but you underestimate me, sir. Given the right company, I could be convinced to stay indoors—though I prefer a bit more excitement than needlework.” An impish twinkle sparked in her eyes.
Which delighted him most absurdly. “The poacher knows how to flirt, does she?”
She gathered his coat tighter at her throat, a rakish tilt to her head. “I have more skills than bagging quail.”
“Yes, I believe you do.” Unbidden, his gaze fixed on her lips. A mistake, that, for his heart took off at full gallop. One step—just one—and he could pull her into his arms. Feel her softness. Taste her—
Great heavens! What was he thinking?
He pivoted, offering his arm without making eye contact. “As you suggested, we ought to return to the festival.”
He guided her across the field, her fingers barely a whisper on his sleeve, and yet that touch became his sole focus. Which was a danger. His sister’s welfare had to be first and foremost in his mind, not how the nearness of Juliet Finch made him feel.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pulled away the moment they spanned the last hump of grass and pointed to where Charity conversed with Clara Whitmore near a booth of ribbons and lace. “Over there.”
Scanning the nearby crowd for any sign of Parker, he stopped at Charity’s side. “Where are the rest of your friends? You told me you would stay with them.”
Clara arched a brow, dipping a graceful curtsey. “Good evening to you too, Henry. And to you, Juliet.” Her glance skimmed the coat draped over Juliet’s shoulders. “I must say, that is quite the look. If you’re not careful, Juliet, you’ll start a trend.”
Juliet’s cheeks flushed. “I doubt I’ll cause such a stir.”
Henry took the opportunity to retrieve his coat, shrugging it on and breathing in the faintest trace of her wild scent—rosemary and crushed leaves.
Charity leaned in. “Did you find him?”
“I did,” he murmured.
Clara glanced between them, brows furrowing. “Find who?”
Henry hesitated, but Clara’s question was earnest, her blue eyes filled only with curiosity. “Nothing to bother yourself about. It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“Ah, you do like your little adventures, don’t you?” Clara teased. “I hope it’s nothing that will end up in the gossip pages.”
“Nothing worth a whisper, I promise.”
“Good.” Clara’s eyes twinkled. “Because I came tonight for merriment, not scandal.”
“Then merriment it is,” he said. “Shall we?”
