She was silent. It was true. Thornwick was a coward. And a bully.
George went on. “He doesn’t care for you like—”
“Shut up. Put me down.”
“No, I won’t shut up. Ever. And I won’t put you down. And I won’t stop kissing you. Ever.”
And he kissed her again. And again. And she dropped her bow and kissed him back. She couldn’t help kissing him back, grabbing at anything he was willing to give her just as she always had.
Someone coughed, and George stopped kissing her.
She looked around, and Lord Dagenham and Lord Longridge were standing ten feet away, both out of breath, both looking chagrined.
“His Grace came running out of the forest,” Lord Dagenham said and looked down at the dead pig. “He shouted about a boar and that he was going to get some guns. Edmund and I concluded something might be amiss and someone might need some help, so we came into the forest.” He looked up from the pig. “And we found Lord Danforth still standing. The wild pig dead by arrow. And Lady Phoebe?”
“Unharmed,” she answered. “Put me down, George.”
Very slowly, George put Phoebe down. She dusted herself off and straightened her skirts. She looked at George whose eyes were on the enormous pig lying on the ground. Its proximity. Its tusks. Its side punctured by an arrow with the blood coming out.
His face went white.
George didn’t like blood. He had had to sit down quickly once after she pricked her finger on his letter opener. It had been just a few drops of blood, but he hadn’t liked it.
“Lord Dagenham, Lord Longridge.” Her voice rang out. “Get Lord Danforth—” But both men were already at George’s side, catching him as he collapsed, his head lolling.
“Do you think you can carry him back to the house?”
Lord Longridge took George’s shoulders and Lord Dagenham took his feet.
“You mustn’t think he isn’t brave because he fainted. He rescued me from the pig.”
Lord Longridge nodded toward the pig. “It looks like you did some rescuing, too, Lady Phoebe.”
Phoebe walked alongside the two men carrying George as they wove their way through the trees.
“Lord Dagenham, Lord Longridge—”
“William.”
“And Edmund.”
“William, Edmund, I know His Grace is your friend, but you must realize Lord Danforth and I, we had just escaped—”
“Save your breath, Lady Phoebe,” Edmund said. “We’re George’s friends, not Thornwick’s. I understand you’re engaged to him, but I don’t have much use for a poltroon who doesn’t stay behind to protect a woman.”
“Or one who tries to rig a contest. Even if it’s in my favor and even if I owe him more than a few pounds. We will say exactly what I told you.” William grinned. “And certainly, if you prefer, we will not mention any kissing.”
“I prefer you do not.”
George must have come out of his swoon because he opened his eyes and raised his head at that point. “And I prefer you do. Lots of kissing. Tell that pusillanimous arsehole there was lots of kissing. Between me and Phee.”
Edmund growled. “If the lady does not want her reputation compromised, George, we’ll all keep our mouths shut.”
“It’s none of your business, Edmund.”
William grinned again. His face was sweating and he was panting even as the enormous Edmund showed no sign of strain from carrying the heavier half of George. “It’s a good sign he’s talking, Lady Phoebe.”
“Yes, but all the same, I wish he would shut up.”
