She had taken a step away from him and was clutching the dog in front of her.
She was petite with a hint of curves—a girl on the brink of womanhood. But then he studied her eyes—the darkest of blues. They lacked the exuberant innocence typically found in young women such as her. Her hat only allowed him a glimpse of her hair, which wasn’t quite as dark as his.
She was a lady, he had no doubt. A privileged upbringing was evident in her mannerisms—the set of her chin, her posture. Gentility had even managed to show in her panic.
But she was watching him, waiting for his answer.
“Just visiting. I’ve business to conduct in the area. I’m staying at the Gray Swan.” Despite feeling the chill of his damp clothes, he was reluctant to take his leave of her.
She dropped her gaze and then looked up again, a shy smile stretching her mouth—an exceedingly kissable mouth.
“I didn’t think you looked familiar. It’s a small village.” With a slow blink, she drew his attention back to her eyes. They were the color of the ocean at night, or a black sapphire, and the thick lashes that framed them matched her arched brows.
She’d paused and watched him expectantly.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“I said, you mustn’t remain in the cold. Mrs. Pratt—the innkeeper’s wife—will heat a bath for you. I must have just missed seeing you there when we collected Fiddlesticks.”
No, she had not just missed him. He’d left the inn at daybreak and spent his last hours as owner roaming the crumbling halls of Longbow Castle. It had been necessary; he had needed assurance that he was doing the right thing in selling.
The reminder of his circumstances brought him up short. Even if he’d not been soaking wet, it would have been unwise for him to remain in the park flirting with her.
He grimaced. “You best get him somewhere warm.” Emerson hardened his voice as he flicked his gaze toward the dog.
“Of course.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”
Before he could do something stupid, like ask her name, her favorite color, or even who her family was, he bowed. “Good day.”
“Likewise.” She still hadn’t moved.
He pivoted and, his boots squishing with each step, marched in the direction of the park entrance. He needed to dry off and change quickly if he was going to be on time for his appointment.
Miss Primm had indicated Miss Meadowbrook would meet with him for tea today.
Without consciously doing so, he glanced over his shoulder.
His damsel remained in the same place he’d left her. She waved, nuzzling her chin on the dog’s head.
Hunt lifted one arm in return and then turned his back on her again.
He’d have Miss Meadowbrook’s consent and then get her signature on a marriage certificate without delay.
Only then would he be able to breathe again.
The Scheme
“Where on earth did you go off to? Miss Fortune and Miss Meadowbrook returned from the village ten minutes ago.” Miss Primm, the owner and namesake of Miss Primm’s Private Seminary for the Education of Ladies, held the door wide for Priscilla to enter her private chambers. The residence had been built onto the school, and Miss Primm had shared it with her assistant director, Miss Victoria Shipley, now Lady Rosewood, until recently.
Not allowing Priscilla time to answer, Primm flicked her stare to the bundle in Priscilla’s arms. “What did he do now?”
“He fell into the lake.” Priscilla wouldn’t go into the details of her encounter with the gentleman who’d saved him. She had thought he was flirting with her. She’d found herself flirting back. But she must have been wrong. Because in the end, her heroic gentleman had seemed anxious to get away from her.
Although, to be fair, he had been soaking wet.
As astute as ever from behind her spectacles, Miss Primm frowned as she stared down at Fiddlesticks. “And how, pray tell, did you come to be in possession of a gentleman’s jacket?”
Oh! “It belongs to the kind stranger who fished Fiddlesticks out of the water. I’ll have to return it to him. He’s staying at the Gray Swan.”
