It was only when Beth came out from under the shade of the oak tree that she realised how dark it was. In the space of only a few minutes, the sky had become almost black. There was going to be a fearsome storm. And she was here, far from shelter, with no protection at all!
She started to run across the clearing, back to where she had left her basket, but she had forgotten the treacherous ground. Her ankle turned, she lost her balance and fell her length. She swallowed the urge to utter a most unladylike curse and tried to brush the grass from her pale muslin gown. She made to get up, wondering all the while whether Mrs Aubrey’s maid had a remedy for grass stains.
‘Ouch!’ The moment she put her right foot to the ground, a pain shot up her leg. She closed her eyes in frustration. Now what was she to do? She was out of sight of the village, she had sprained her ankle, and a storm was coming on. This time she did curse. Vehemently.
First and foremost, she must get away from these trees. She glanced up at the sky again. Huge black anvil clouds promised thunder and lightning, as well as rain. She
She hobbled slowly back to the fence and leant on it to catch her breath. Her parasol would act as a makeshift walking-stick, she decided. Her basket could remain where it was.
But not Mrs Aubrey’s ribbon! That must not be soaked by the storm. Beth tucked the little parcel safely into the bodice of her gown. Then, gritting her teeth against the pain, she ducked under the fence and started back along the lane to Fratcombe.
It had felt like no distance at all on the way here, but now the bend seemed miles away. Beyond it was Widow Jenkinson’s house, where Beth would be able to ask for shelter. She hobbled awkwardly along, leaning heavily on her parasol. It was not strong enough to bear her weight. The handle snapped after just a few yards. Fate was definitely against her.
She stood on her good leg gazing down at the pieces of broken parasol. ‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ She hurled the useless handle to the ground.
‘May I be of assistance, ma’am?’
Beth whirled round so quickly that she forgot about her injury and put her weight on her sprained ankle. She cried out in pain and almost fell.
‘Good God, ma’am! You are hurt.’
That voice had not changed. It was Jonathan.
She had been so intent on cursing the flimsy parasol that she had not heard the sound of his arrival.
‘Go to their heads.’ This time, he was not alone. A groom jumped down and ran to hold the horses. Jonathan sprang to the ground at the same moment and reached Beth just as she managed to regain her balance.
Her pain was forgotten. It was Jonathan. He had returned. He had returned to save her, all over again.
‘Let me help you into my curricle, ma’am.’ He offered his arm. ‘Lean on me. You should not put any weight on that ankle.’
She accepted gladly. Even with only one good leg, she felt as if she were floating, buoyed up by his touch, but when they reached the carriage step, reality intruded. She stopped, uncertain of whether she could mount.
‘Allow me.’ With a single, swift movement he picked her up in his arms. Her mind was instantly full of the scent of him, long familiar from her dreams, but before she could relax into his embrace, he had deposited her on the soft leather seat and stepped back. She felt bereft. ‘Shall I fetch your parasol for you?’ He pointed back to where it lay on the ground.
‘If you would be so good, sir,’ she said demurely, trying to avoid those penetrating eyes. She needed a few moments to collect her thoughts and regain control of her soaring emotions. This was no time for the stuff of dreams. He was bound to have questions. Her stomach lurched alarmingly. He would want to know what she had discovered about her past. How could she ever explain that there was nothing to tell?
He was back in a trice, offering her the broken parasol. When she shook her head, he dropped the pieces on to the floor and sprang up to take his seat beside her. ‘There is a storm coming. My horses can smell it. I need to get them under cover before it breaks.’ Without waiting for orders, the groom ran to swing himself up behind, while Jonathan started his pair into motion. He was giving them all his attention, keeping them under rigid control. There must be a danger that they would try to bolt when the lightning came. She found she was perversely glad of it. No questions yet awhile.
She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she could not stop herself from stealing greedy sideways glances at Jonathan. This time, she would fix every detail of his image in her memory. His face was extremely brown. Too dark and leathery for a gentleman’s complexion, of course, but only to be expected in a man who had served for so long under the burning sun of the Peninsula. There were flecks of grey in the dark hair around his temples and behind his ears. She could make out fine white lines at the corner of his eyes, too. Laughter lines, perhaps? Or simply the result of screwing up his eyes against the brilliant light? She was not at all sure that he had been laughing much. His expression seemed harsh, and there was a stern set to his jaw. He looked…he looked intimidating.
She guessed-no, she knew, by instinct-that her gallant rescuer had been changed by his years in the army, and that his experiences had not softened him. No doubt he had been involved in bloody battles. He must have suffered. He had probably lost comrades, and friends. Beth had read the lists of casualties in the rector’s newspaper, always with her heart in her mouth lest the Earl of Portbury be among them. She knew his regiment had taken heavy losses, particularly at the siege of Badajoz, only months before.
They had almost reached the bend that led to the village. Jonathan was slowing his horses for the turn, his gloved hands pulling back on the reins. They were lean, strong hands, but sensitive, too, as Beth knew from experience, both then and now. His hands had touched her skin and-
She forced herself to push the image aside and to smile politely. A real lady would never permit such wanton thoughts!
They had completed the turn and were speeding up once more. ‘And now, ma’am, I pray you will tell me where I may set you down.’ He glanced across at her face, his eyes widening with what might be admiration. Her heart began to race, all over again. Was it possible that he-?
He turned back to his horses. ‘You are a lady of remarkable fortitude, to smile through the pain of your injured ankle,’ he said, with studied politeness. ‘I know it is not quite the thing, but I hope you will permit me to introduce myself, for it is seldom that a man has the pleasure of meeting a lady with such courage.’
Beth’s smile faltered. Great waves of pain broke over her whole body. He had forgotten her completely.
Chapter Two
The introductions were brief and rather stilted, but Jon did not waste valuable time in enquiring what suddenly ailed his passenger. He sprang his horses along the empty village street and hauled them to a stand at the rectory gate. A quick glance up at the louring sky warned him that the storm would break at any moment. Polite niceties would have to wait.
Leaving his groom to mind the horses, Jon leapt down and hurried round to Miss Aubrey’s side. ‘There is no time to lose, ma’am. The storm is coming. Pray put your arm around my neck and I will carry you in.’ He ignored her shocked gasp and her chalk-white face. This was no time for displays of missish modesty. He slid one arm round her back and the other under her knees, hefted her into his arms and raced up the path to the rectory door.
‘Would you be so good as to ply the knocker, ma’am?’
It seemed to take her a moment or two to realise what he was asking of her. Was she slow-witted? No, surely not. He was being too hard on her. Perhaps the pain in her ankle had worsened? In addition to her strange pallor, she was also biting her lip.
The door was opened by a very small maid. ‘Oh, miss!’ she cried.
‘Open the door wide, that I may carry Miss Aubrey inside. Hurry!’ He almost pushed his way into the hall. He carried her through the first available door, into the small parlour at the front of the house. It was deserted. ‘Fetch the rector or Mrs Aubrey. Quickly now!’ The maid was still standing in the hall, open-mouthed. Jon knelt to slide Miss Aubrey on to the sofa and then rose again, frowning. He took one angry step towards the girl, who gasped in fright and took to her heels.
Jon turned back to the invalid. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but I must get my horses under cover before the storm.
