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Relief unwound within her. Her knees sagged, and she swayed toward him. How easy it would be for him to catch her elbows, to support her weight.

But no. With a muttered oath, he pulled back. She had to catch herself, take an awkward half step.

He wouldn’t touch her. He’d prefer to let her collapse into a heap at his feet.

He didn’t think she was all bad. He was too fair-minded for that. It didn’t mean he wanted anything to do with her.

He thrust his long, tanned fingers into his hair, twisting the locks as though he’d rip them out by the roots. When he dropped his arms, she noted his hands were still clenched into fists.

“Lavinia,” he said. “The laws that govern the physical universe will not permit you to transform into Muriel Pendrake. Nor will they permit you to vanish into thin air. That leaves you with two options.”

A premonition made her shake her head.

“Live your life. Your life,” he said. “Return to your husband . . .”

“Ha!” Rage again, jumping up into her throat. His eyes widened slightly but he continued in the same tone.

“. . . or run into the woods, as you should have done in Bodmin.” He waved at the trees. “Avail yourself of this second chance.”

She sucked in her breath. He thought to call her bluff. What would she do in the woods? Sleep in the moss like a deer? Fish for her supper?

It was none of his concern. He made that much clear.

Well, she wouldn’t collapse at his feet. She would spare both of them that final indignity. Without a word, she turned and stalked away, head held high. Her ravaged feet made stalking a torture, but she wouldn’t hobble, no, not until she reached the next bend in the river and was hidden from his sight.

She had just clambered inelegantly over a log and climbed up to level ground when he fell into step beside her. His familiar tread, so graceful, so at odds with his rawboned physique, summoned a strange feeling, half pain, half longing.

She’d wanted him to fall in love with her. She’d thought less about falling in love with him. How it might intensify her loneliness. Make it feel fatal.

That didn’t matter, though.

She hadn’t fallen in love with him.

Of course she hadn’t.

She batted at branches, not caring how they sprang back, if they lashed her arms or his.

“What did he do to you?” he asked, and she walked faster.

“What do you care?” She loaded her voice with contempt to disguise the hurt. “Anyway, it’s all over now.”

Another truth. It was all over. With George. With Cranbrook. With Neal himself.

They walked on silently, and she stole a glance at him. His hair stuck up wildly, and his face was troubled. Framed by trees, he might have been the fairy-tale huntsman, torn between duty and conscience. Should he cleave her breast in two, scoop out her heart? Or should he help her escape the evil queen?

He had never looked more handsome.

She halted abruptly. “Go.” She flung out her arm, pointing downstream. “The village is that way.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s that way, in fact. Behind that hill.” He indicated the correct direction with his finger, and she scowled at him. Damn him and his easy path through life. He was never lost.

“Fine.” She began walking again. “You know best.”

“Lavinia.” Her name on his lips made the tears rise again to her eyes. He was still walking with her. “Where are you going?”

“The woods. Which means I can’t get lost. They’re everywhere.”

This time, he made no comment on her logic. He caught her elbow and stilled her. He’d grown even more somber. His voice was low and urgent, the question emerging as a demand.