“Miss Thorncroft,” said Hannah, hesitantly raising her arm in the air as Weston and Evie gazed into each other’s eyes. “If I may…I have something to tell you…that is, I fear there may have been a misunderstanding…”
Evie stifled her irritation.
Couldn’t the maid see that she was trying to have a moment here?
“What?” she and Weston exclaimed in unison.
Hannah flushed. “Posy…Posy isn’t dead.”
Stunned, Evie whirled out of Weston’s arms. “She isn’t?”
“That is what I’ve been trying to tell you s-since Lord Hawkridge came in.” As the maid darted a quick peek at the earl, her cheeks turned even redder. “Drufus started to chase Posy but, thankfully, a footman managed to grab hold of him before he got to her.”
“Then where is she?” asked Weston, splaying his hand across the small of Evie’s back.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said helplessly. “That’s why I came to Miss Thorncroft right away. I chased Posy to the stables, but then lost sight of her in the bushes.”
The stables.
That was all Evie needed to hear.
She bolted out of the bedchamber, with Weston right behind her.
“But what about the breakfast?” When she nearly fell over her own skirts, Evie yanked them up past her knees. For once, she did not care what she looked like or what others might think of her. Her only concern was getting Posy back safe and sound. Drufus may have been apprehended, but there were any manner of other dangers that awaited a lamb wandering lost around the estate. She might be attacked by a hungry fox, or trampled by a horse, or drowned in the pond.
Evie couldn’t allow that to happen.
Theycouldn’t allow that to happen.
Because for once, she and Weston were in complete lock step.
“Hang the bloody breakfast,” he said grimly. “This is more important. And this way is faster.” Linking his fingers with hers in an ironclad grip, he pulled her to the left and they ran down a narrow servants’ corridor that led to a staircase, and the staircase to a door.
Squinting when she stumbled out into the bright morning sunlight, Evie clung to Weston’s hand as they raced across a lawn slick with silvery dew. She slipped, her flat slippers affording her no purchase on the wet grass, and she would have fallen had the earl not been there to catch her.
Sliding his arm around her waist, he hooked his fingertips into the curve of her hipbone and tucked her against his body.
“Easy,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Her head turned and, for a split second, she found herself completely and utterly entranced by the stormy depths of his gaze. Beneath the bodice of her dress, her heart slammed violently against her ribcage.
Boomboom. Boomboom.
Her lips parted.
His eyes darkened.
They leaned in close.
Closer…
“Baaaaaa.”
From somewhere up ahead came the unmistakable bleat of a lamb, and the spell broke.
Weston cleared his throat. “We should, ah…”
“Yes,” she nodded. “We should.”
