She waited, her pulse throbbing mercilessly while he stood so close to her. She wanted to touch his cheek, pull his mouth to hers, soothe away his anger. But that would be unwise. Ladies must not be forward. They must not lose their heads. Her mind flapped around like a trapped wild bird, squawking inanities, or else you will end up like Marie Antoinette, brokenhearted and headless. Too late. Elizabeth might as well let them lop hers off right now. She was done for. In an instant and a half, if he didn’t move away, she would throw her arms around his neck, the consequences be damned.
He studied her. “I’m not like you.”
She swallowed. No, thank the good Lord. He was exceedingly different, gloriously male. And she adored every speck of that difference. The square hard lines of his face, the low rumble of his voice, the muscles of his shoulders—
“Shall I show you?”
She swallowed hard and nodded, uncertain as to what she was agreeing upon, but just now, he might ask her anything and she would give consent. Where was her father with his birch rod? Years of tutors and governesses, countless whippings and scoldings, and still she hadn’t learned a thing. She was still quite willing to take a flying leap off the roof—yet again.
“Then come.” He lifted her up and set her on his horse.
This wasn’t exactly what she expected.
He climbed up behind her, holding her as he urged his stallion forward.
“Where are we going?” Her question sounded ridiculously high and squeaky.
“To my real home.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“But my shoes.”
He wheeled the horse and they crossed the creek to collect her stockings and shoes. He handed them up to her, and as they rode off across the pasture, the only thing Elizabeth could think about was the feel of his arm pressing her against his chest and the comforting reverberations of his voice as he introduced her to Hercules, his horse, and remarked on each of the fields, their use, and his plans for idle sections.
Less than half an hour later, they splashed across another stream and headed around a hill into a small vale. A rambling rose hedge served as a fence for an ancient wattle and daub cottage. Their presence caused a stir.
“Papa! Papa!” A young boy dashed across the yard toward the open front door causing a congregation of hens to cackle and flutter their wings. “Valen’s come home! He’s here! An’ he brought a lady with him.”
Elizabeth reached up to tuck back her hair. She probably didn’t look like much of a lady with a mud splattered walking dress and no shoes or stockings.
A big man with hair the same fiery gold as Valen’s burst out of the door. “So it is. Meagan! Pater! It’s Valen come back to us,” he shouted back through the door before approaching them with a hearty smile.
Before dismounting, Valen whispered beside her ear. “This is my true home.”
“How are you, my boy?” The big man strode down the path.
Valen lifted Elizabeth to the ground and turned to greet the farmer. They clapped hands and slapped each other on the shoulder, staring with undisguised joy at one another. “Thomas.” Valen nodded. “You look well.”
Elizabeth suppressed a twinge of envy. What must I do to have him look upon me that way?
Their reunion was interrupted by a scream from the door and a woman rushing toward them with a spoon in one hand and a kitchen rag in the other. “Valentine!”
“Aunt Meg!” Valen greeted her with an embrace, and the woman pelted his cheek with kisses. “Ach! But where are my manners? You’ve brought a young lady with you.”
He presented her to his aunt and uncle, who bowed and curtseyed as if she were the mistress come to look over the servants. Elizabeth felt horribly awkward and couldn’t think of what she might say to put them at ease.
Valen frowned.
“I’ll see to your horse, shall I?” Farmer Thomas escaped the awkward moment by taking Hercules by the halter and pulling him toward a barn.
Meagan adjusted her apron and nudged Valen. “Bless me, but it is good to see you again. Have you had your breakfast? Why, of course you haven’t. Come in. Come in. It’s just porridge and eggs, but it fills the empty places. Why, look at that—” She pointed her spoon at Elizabeth’s naked feet. “Valen, you’ll have to carry her across the yard.”
She waved the towel at the red-and-white feathered troop gathering behind her. “These chickens have been running loose all spring. Wouldn’t want smush ending up between her toes, now, would we? Come along. Pater has just sat down to bless the food.”
Meagan shook her magic spoon toward the hedge. “Davy, my boy, that means you too. We won’t be waiting on you any longer. That cat can fend for itself.”
“Yes, mum.” The brown-haired lad who had first alerted everyone to their presence ducked his head from behind the rose bushes. Meagan prodded him toward the door with the spoon.
Valen turned to Elizabeth. “Well, Miss Shoeless, I have been ordered to carry you past the chickens.”
“I should think you would be heartily sick of lugging me around like a sack of potatoes.”
“Always willing to be of service, my lady.” He bowed, making a flourish of it, giving her an overdone show of obsequiousness.
She frowned at him. “Stop.”
“I thought you enjoyed that sort of thing.” He reached for her as if he intended to do precisely as she had said and sling her over his shoulder like a bag of vegetables.
Elizabeth held up her hand and backed up, checking where she stepped. “If you will
