“That was more than I bargained for,” she murmured by his ear.
“But you did it.” Hunt marched along.
Touching her, carrying her. Making love to her. All things he looked forward to doing for the rest of their lives together.
Hunt turned the corner, bringing Cliffhouse into view, and paused. A familiar gentleman had just climbed out of a modern carriage while a handful of his mother’s guests, sharing umbrellas, waited on the steps.
Being caught together like this, having obviously been alone for most of the afternoon, would seal their fate.
But no, he and Allison had already sealed their fate in the cave.
Hunt glanced down to see Allison resting against him, eyes closed and utterly exhausted.
Rather than rouse her, he marched forward.
Catching sight of the two of them, his mother gestured and a few others turned to watch their approach.
No turning back now.
When the new arrival, Mr. Meadowbrook, turned to dismiss his driver, he flicked his gaze from his daughter to Hunt.
Hunt had expected a token outrage—he had just compromised the wealthy industrialist’s daughter, after all—but he was somewhat taken aback by the venom in the man’s eyes.
And before he could begin making his explanation, the older man erupted.
“What the hell’s going on here, Hardwood?” The man’s hand fisted white around the handle of the umbrella as he bore down on Hunt.
Allison, very much awake now, squirmed in Hunt’s arms.
“I’m afraid your daughter and I got caught down in the cove. My apologies.” Hunt leveled his words even as the man’s rage burned hotter.
“That’s not my daughter, you bastard. Where the hell is Allison, and what the devil are you doing carrying her teacher?”
Caught
Priscilla wiggled to escape, but Emerson’s arms only tightened around her. Lightning flashed, and a second after, thunder roared.
She stopped struggling even as her heart plunged back to earth. It was over.
Allison’s teacher.
“What are you talking about?” Emerson asked.
“Where is Allison? I was told she was here.” Mr. Meadowbrook was addressing Priscilla now. “What game are you playing, Miss Fellowes? Out to steal my daughter’s betrothed now?”
Emerson’s gaze fell on her, twin lines of confusion between his eyes. “Who is he talking about, Allison?”
“That’s not Allison, you blasted nob. That’s one of her teachers.”
Priscilla knew the instant Mr. Meadowbrook’s words penetrated Emerson’s awareness. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and then he blinked. He wasn’t angry right away or sad.
He looked as though he still believed she could provide an acceptable explanation for what he was hearing.
“Allison?”
No explanation could fix this. Priscilla shook her head.
“Damn it, Hardwood, that’s not my daughter. She’s one of those spinsters who teaches at Miss Primm’s. Miss Fellowes, you will explain yourself at once.”
