“It’s not yet perfect. I’m still formulating it. I thought first to use Felix to steal the guard’s weapons. But Felix will not be controlled, and I had not yet realized there would be five guards. If I possessed a pack of highly trained foxes, perhaps it would work, but?—”
She snorted.
“I considered using Rembrandt, of course, but?—”
“The donkey?”
“You remember!”
“Do you have ideas less ridiculous, Sir Nicholas?”
“I’ll choose not to take offense at that. I won’t even tell Remmy.”
“You must see this is not productive.”
“I had also considered spreading word of free ale at a nearby pub.”
“Hmm. That might work if my brother was not paying them well. And more if they catch you.”
He whistled “Is he now. Didn’t know I was so sought after, so valuable.” Fallen leaves crunched beneath their boots as he tugged her onto a path that led to the hospital, a shortcut that was well-worn after a year’s worth of constant usage. “That does rather dim that plan.”
“Sir Nicholas?”
“Hmm?” The moon made shadows of the branches above, casting them across his face. Shadow, light, shadow, light, a man both hidden and seen. No matter he’d rejected her at least twice so far, she had to try again. Just once more with her final and perhaps most persuasive point.
“My brother is closing the hospital.”
He jerked to a stop. “He’s not.”
“He is. It is why I’ve been so desperate to find homes and positions for the remaining children. I do not know what will happen to them in the new year. I… do not know what will happen to me, either.”
A shadowed bar cast by a branch above fell across his eyes, hiding his expression. Moonlight illuminated his jaw, though, and a muscle ticked there.
“It is why I inquired about your intentions. I had hoped… But I know you are not… What happened tonight was pure lust. It was… the silver singing through you. I understand you still refuse to marry me. But… if you happen to know of another man—Lord Knightly, perhaps—who is looking for a wife, who does not mind marrying a bastard, then… perhaps…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, trailed off into silence.
His jaw ticked still, and then he moved the slightest bit, and the moon cast light on all his face, on the sparking intensity of his darkened eyes. “Your brother would abandon you?”
“It is more that he intends to marry me off. To the highest bidder.” Telling him her last chance, her final and most desperate move in this messy game of chess between them.
He shuffled in the semidarkness, shoulders hunching, head hanging. It seemed as if he’d put his hands in his pockets. His silhouette took the form of retreat. Defeat?
“Sir Nicholas?” She reached a hand toward him but did not touch.
His voice came to her softly through the night. “Call me Nico, sweetheart.” He nodded toward the hospital. “Let’s go. It’s too cold out here for you.”
At the front door of the hospital, a large man stepped out of the shadows. “Who are you?” he growled.
“Just me,” Jane said, heart slamming against her chest as she stepped in front of Sir Nicholas. Nico. “Jane Dean. And Sir Nicholas. He found me wandering in the woods and offered to escort me home.”
“It’s dangerous out.” Nico kept his voice low and steady, but it sounded more dangerous than the rifle at the guard’s side. “I was just saying goodbye.”
The soldier nodded and disappeared into the shadows.
Jane opened the door but lingered in the frame. She grasped the edges of Sir Nicholas’s coat and dragged him down to hissin his ear. “Please do not do this. Abandon your plans for Christmas Eve.” Somehow that seemed more important than marriage. The guard a very real reminder—she did not want this man to die.
His hands hovered near her waist. He did not touch her. But oh, she wished he could.
“I will not,” he said.
