‘Thank you, sir. But you know...’ The other man’s voice lowered menacingly; the hairs on the back of Selina’s neck stirred in response. ‘If we ever come across her again, or find where those gypsies’ grubby little nest is, well...’
‘We wouldn’t hesitate to teach them a lesson, sir. Be happy to do it.’
‘Yes, Milton. I think I quite catch your drift.’ The educated voice was cool—bordering on cold. ‘Let’s hope for everybody’s sake that the woman in question is far away by now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I think we should all be on our way. Bid you good day, gents.’
‘Good day, sir.’
The men moved off. Selina listened to them go: footsteps on damp earth, then the telltale jingle of their horses’ tack as they rode away, growing fainter and fainter until only the swaying creak of the forest remained.
She exhaled, long and loud. She was safe. She’d ventured into the lion’s den and escaped by the skin of her teeth.
‘You can come down now, miss. It’s quite safe.’
Selina froze. There was still someone down there!
Her heart checked for the briefest of painful moments before slamming back into a pounding rhythm so hard she was sure the man standing below her must be able to hear it.
She drew herself sharply against the oak’s knotted trunk, pressing herself closely to the bark. A quick look down through the leaves allowed her nothing more than a view of the back of the uncannily familiar fair-haired head, its owner resolutely positioned at the base of her tree.
‘I know you’re up there. Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you.’
Selina swallowed—a quick convulsion of her dry throat. Celebrating too soon. She was trapped. There was only one way down and he was guarding it; there was no way she could pass without being seen.
‘Please, miss. You have nothing to fear from me.’
Selina’s pulse was racing as she registered his words. What kind of simpleton did he think she was? Surely that was exactly the sort of claim he would make.
‘Nothing to fear? You just hunted me for three miles like an animal—please excuse me if I don’t hop down at the click of your fingers.’
There was a huff of laughter from below. ‘I understand why it may have appeared that way. I’d be more than happy to explain if you would just come down.’
‘I think not.’
Peering down through the leaves once more, Selina trained her eyes on her captor’s blond curls. He hadn’t moved so much as an inch, blast him. She herself was beginning to feel the sharp texture of the bark digging into her skin, forcing her to shift her position, and she could have cursed aloud when the movement sent a rotten branch crashing down through the canopy.
Hearing the sudden noise, the man whipped his head round, searching for the direction of the sound, and as his profile turned Selina saw the face of her tormentor clearly for the first time.
It was as though she had been winded all over again.
She knew him. Not by name—it hadn’t seemed the right time for formal introductions many years ago, when Selina had come across a strange boy in these very woods and held a pad of moss against his cheek to stem the flow of blood that had seeped between his fingers.
How old had he been then? Perhaps twelve to Selina’s eight? He had been the first gentry boy she’d ever seen up close, and the rare combination of his hazel eyes and golden hair, so foreign to Selina’s childish mind, had burned itself into her memory. There could be no mistaking the fact that this man was the same person, and Selina felt a thrill of some unknown feeling tingle down the length of her spine as she watched him searching upwards, confusion rushing in to replace where moments previously she had felt only fear.
He’s handsome. The thought came out of nowhere, taking her by surprise, and she shook her head slightly as if to clear it. Don’t be absurd, she admonished herself fiercely, although nothing could stop the slow creep of colour she knew was stealing over her cheeks as she took in his defined jaw, in turn well matched by a straight nose and a mouth just teetering on the brink of a smile, and she felt another dart of the same unexplained feeling lance through her.
It was uncomfortably, unacceptably similar to the admiration she had felt once or twice before when confronted with an attractive man. On those occasions, however, she hadn’t felt her heart rate pick up speed, and neither had she felt such a disturbingly instinctive appreciation for the fine colour of his eyes. How this gentleman managed to affect her in such a powerfully unexpected way she had no clue, but she knew she didn’t like it.
He was hunting through the branches in earnest now, and Selina forced herself closer against the tree’s rough trunk. She screwed her eyes closed, trying to bully her brain into ordering her whirling thoughts while her pulse skipped ever faster.
Who is he? Why is he here?
It was exactly her luck to have such an unlikely encounter, she acknowledged helplessly, even as the strange feeling crackled beneath her skin and she felt the urge to look down pull at her once again. He wouldn’t remember her, that was for certain. She had been a skinny, dirt-streaked child, and he...
He now bore a scar, exactly where she had staunched the bleeding gash on his cheek—a pale crescent that somehow only served to enhance the otherwise unblemished perfection of his features...features that looked as though they had been designed to be traced by female fingertips.
Selina’s own face felt uncomfortably warm as she sat motionless, horrified by the spontaneous reaction of her body. Each nerve tingled with the desire to take another peep at the man below, to make doubly sure her disbelieving eyes had been correct and he truly was the same person she had encountered all those years before—as well as to take another glimpse of the face that made her heart beat a frenzied tattoo against her ribs.
If it was him, could there be a slim chance her predicament might not be as dire as she had feared?
As a boy he had accepted her help and seemed grateful for it, she was forced to recall. There had been no sign of any upper-class prejudice then, only two children, both too young to fully grasp the social gulf that would divide them so completely as adults. Perhaps he might be as gracious now he was fully grown, and allow her to leave without too much trouble?
It was the most Selina could hope for, and she clung to that hope as she prayed for his disconcerting effect on her to wane.
* * *
Edward Fulbrooke frowned lightly as he craned his neck upwards. Where exactly was she? He’d known she was there the whole time. Poor Harris and Milton...it was the most obvious hiding place imaginable.
He’d arrived on the scene just after the two gamekeepers had thundered off, his own horse blowing powerfully from their afternoon ride. Milton’s wife, Ada, had been attempting to drag a wailing Ophelia towards the Hall, and Edward had dismounted swiftly to aid her.
‘Oh, Mr Fulbrooke. I’m that glad you’re here!’ Ada’s voice had been barely audible above Ophelia’s sobs, and Edward scooped the child up immediately in one strong arm.
‘Ophie. That’s enough. What’s the matter?’
The little girl quieted at once, though her eyes—the same hazel as Edward’s own—had glittered with unshed tears. ‘Ned, the lady was only trying to help, and now they’re going to hurt her!’
Ophelia had told him the full story. She’d been ‘exploring’ again, having escaped from the watchful gaze of her governess, and had walked so far she’d been unable to find her way back home. She had been about to give up all hope of ever seeing her mama again when a lady had appeared through the trees, dressed in strange clothes and singing a song Ophelia hadn’t understood.
When she had seen the child she’d stopped and looked almost frightened, but after Ophelia burst into tears and explained that she was lost and alone the lady had wrapped her up snug in a shawl and taken her towards a waiting horse�
��a huge grey stallion, with great scars marring his flanks—and said she would take Ophelia safely home.
‘But then Harris and Milton came, and they were so angry. Harris pulled me away and Milton tried to take hold of the lady. But she ran—and nobody would listen to me!’
Edward had set Ophelia back on her feet and leapt back into the saddle without a word. He hadn’t doubted for a moment that the child was telling the truth; there wasn’t a moment to lose.
He peered upwards yet again. Was that a scrap of fabric? It was hard to tell against the leafy backdrop.
‘What is it that concerns you? Are you afraid I’ll come chasing after you again?’
There was only silence from above, and Edward forced back a grin.
The pert creature. Sitting pretty as a picture up her tree, deciding whether the Squire’s own son is worth coming down for.
The smile faded and a small crease formed between his eyebrows. The late Squire’s son, now. He was still getting used to that, having returned from London only two days prior to find the Hall quieter than he had ever known it before.
‘I can’t deny I have some slight misgivings.’
The smoky voice was edged with an undercurrent of something Edward could not identify, and his frown deepened.
‘Well, what if I gave you my word as a gentleman that I won’t? Would you allow me the honour of an introduction then?’
Another silence stretched out, this time less amusing, and Edward raised an eyebrow. This was getting a little out of hand. He was well within his rights to order her down, trespassing as she was on his own land—or what would be his land once he took formal possession of his inheritance.
‘Miss, I would have you know my word is my law. I would think myself beyond contempt if, once given, I were to break it.’
There was a moment’s quiet. Then, ‘I suppose there’s no chance you’d leave and let me go about my business without an audience?’
‘None whatsoever, I’m afraid.’
‘Not very gentlemanly of you.’
‘Alas, I remain unmoved.’
There was another pause. Edward was certain he could hear the grinding of teeth and allowed himself a small smile at her reluctance. She really was an unusual woman.
The branches above his head swayed suddenly, and then with a shower of falling leaves the woman dropped to the ground in front of him.
Edward felt his eyes widen in surprise. She was younger than he had expected: her tawny face, flecked with mud and with a long scratch across one cheek, belonged to a woman no older than twenty. Perhaps it had been the modest clothing that had confused him—she was certainly dressed like no fashionable young lady he had ever met. Her bright skirt was paired with a loose-fitting blouse, half hidden beneath a number of colourful tasselled shawls, and raven hair hung in thick waves about her shoulders.
Her effect on him was both immediate and startling. A distant part of his mind knew it was rude to stare, but for some reason he didn’t seem able to tear his gaze away as he took in the vibrancy of the scarlet wool against the deep black of her curls, the delicacy of the bone structure beneath the dirt on her face and even the oddly intriguing lack of a wedding ring on the hand that clutched her shawls to her chest.
There was something about her that seemed to call to him, to make him want to drink her in, and he felt a sharp pang of surprise at the very thought. There she stood, a complete stranger and an intruder on his land. He ought to be unmoved by their chance encounter and yet there he stood, a full-grown man, apparently struck dumb by the power of a lovely countenance. For lovely it most certainly was.
Where had he ever seen its equal?
It was the strangest sensation—almost as though he had surrendered control of his senses for the briefest of moments before coming back down to earth with a bump. So she was handsome—what was that to him? He was only human, and now his rational mind must take charge again. Her beauty counted for nothing—just the same as any other woman’s. He would not be making that mistake again.
She stood watching him with eyes as mistrustful as a feral cat’s. There was a feline grace to her posture, too, in the way she held herself, ready to run at the slightest provocation, and it highlighted the contrast between her lithe elegance and his broad stature. Although he easily topped her by a good head and a half, the tense wariness of her frame radiated an untouchability that would have stopped most men in their tracks.
Thrusting his moment of madness firmly to the back of his mind, Edward offered a short bow. ‘Thank you for indulging me.’
The woman inclined her head slightly but said nothing.
This might be a little more difficult than I thought, Edward mused. He wanted to thank her for trying to help Ophelia, but apparently conversing with her was destined to be like drawing blood from a stone.
She couldn’t know who he was, he was sure. If she did she would be far more interested in conversation. The young women of his acquaintance always seemed to open up at the first hint of his name and prospects.
Not that it was necessarily a good thing. Edward had lost count of the number of ladies who had breezed up to him at balls and revels, affecting shyness, confiding that they had a dance reserved for him in the event that he might be ‘inclined to take a turn’. Bitter experience had taught him not to be tempted.
‘My name is Edward Fulbrooke,’ Edward continued. ‘I’m the son of the late Squire of Blackwell Hall, and this is my family estate.’ He watched as something sparked in the woman’s eyes—something akin to fear. ‘Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?’
He saw her throat move as she swallowed, his gaze drawn there by some impulse he couldn’t control. The look in her eyes had been fleeting, but there had definitely been a reaction. Was it something I said? Far from impressing her, the revelation of his name had seemed to unnerve her even more. Why was that?
‘Selina. Selina Agres.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Agres.’
The woman nodded again. An odd expression flickered across her face, mingling with the ever-present wariness; it was half watchful, half curious. She seemed on the brink of saying something before evidently thinking better of it, instead folding her full lips into a tight line.
‘I’m afraid I might have frightened you earlier.’ Edward spoke quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle; the last thing he wanted was for her to bolt before he’d had a chance to explain. That was the least he could do, given the circumstances. ‘Please allow me to apologise for the misunderstanding.’
‘Misunderstanding?’ Selina’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair. ‘You and your men wanted nothing more than to hunt me down like a fox running from hounds!’
Edward frowned. ‘That’s not quite right. Ophelia told me what happened, and what your motives were. I went after Harris and Milton to—’ He broke off. To stop them from lynching you, he concluded internally. Not a fit topic of conversation for a lady, traditional or not. ‘They’re very fond of her, and I was uneasy that in their concern for her safety they might get carried away. It was my intention to defend you, if necessary.’
Edward watched a spark of surprise kindle in Selina’s eyes and felt another jolt of that unwelcome electricity as he saw how it enhanced their beguiling darkness. Their rich ebony was a colour rarely seen, and so entirely different from the china-blue set he had once thought the finest in the county.
Even if Harris and Milton hadn’t told him Edward would have known at once that she was Romani. The realisation was oddly pleasing. Surely her presence indicated an encampment nearby? A fact that flew directly in the face of his late father’s orders?
Passing groups of Roma had been a familiar sight to him on this land years ago, and Edward was momentarily lost in fond memories of brightly painted caravans pulled by gleaming horses, and the dark-haired boys his own age who had in
vited him, a shy, affection-starved child, to join their games. Although each group had rarely stayed for very long before moving on, Edward could still recall the brief happiness he had felt at their acceptance of him, all of them too young to have yet developed the prejudices of their parents.
His own father had disapproved enormously when Edward had told him of his newfound friends—but then, as usual, Ambrose’s attention had been caught by something far more interesting than his lonely young son, and it had been an older Roma boy who had taught Edward to fish, and how to play cards, and any number of other things his father should have taken the time to share with his child so desperate for some tenderness.
A vivid pang of nostalgia hit him like a sudden blow as he remembered the friend he had made the last year the Roma had crossed Fulbrooke land—a little girl, younger than himself, who had cared for him after his fight with the neighbouring family’s two sons. Edward felt a dull ache spread through his chest as he recalled how the pain of his cheek had been nothing compared to the crushing realisation that the other boys had been right: his mother was not going to return, and perhaps the unkind things they had said about her were more accurate than he’d wanted to accept.
Still, he’d given as good as he’d got. One cut cheek had been a fair price to pay for doling out a black eye and a broken tooth, and Edward almost smiled at the memory of his young nurse. She’d shown him more kindness in their short encounter than he had experienced in months, and again shown him the warmth of the Romani, almost unheard of among the upper classes.
There had been some unpleasantness soon after that incident, he recalled—some trouble with Uncle Charles and a Roma woman—and his father’s reluctant permission for the travellers to cross his land had been swiftly revoked. If they had returned it meant Ambrose’s grip on the estate was loosening, and Edward could truly step into his place.
He realised he was staring again. Selina returned his gaze uncertainly, a trace of a blush crossing her cheeks under his scrutiny, and Edward looked away swiftly, cursing his apparent lack of self-control.
The Marriage Rescue Page 2
