She scowled and looked like she was going to argue, but then a bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the room in a burst of light. When Leo could see again, her shoulders had slumped, all the fight drained out of her.
“My butler was set against me leaving,” he said, compelled to reassure her. “They’ll have sent out a search party by now.”
“If anything happens to them, I won’t forgive you,” she said, coming close to kneel beside him. She reached out her hands toward the fire, and he glanced at her face, highlighted by the flickering light. Even drenched, she was beautiful, with long eyelashes and rosy cheeks. He could not see much of her through the cloak, and for that, he was grateful. Thinking about her wet gown plastered to her curves made his loins stir.
Then she closed her eyes and sniffed. “I feel so helpless.”
He reached for her knee and squeezed. “My staff know these woods.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She relaxed against his touch. He jerked his hand away and reached for his saddlebags, glad that Sinclair had filled it with additional supplies before he’d so recklessly taken off into the storm. He found a woolen blanket that was damp but not wet and shook it out.
“Here,” he said, draping it over Saffron’s shoulders and tucking it around her. “We’ll wait for a break in the storm, then return to the manor. It shouldn’t be long. Storms here burn themselves out quickly. We’ll be back before your family knows we were ever here.” He slammed his mouth shut before he could babble further.
“Thank you.”
The next ten minutes passed in a tense silence broken only by the crackling, popping fire and whoosh of rain coming in from the gaps in the window. A prickling numbness crept from the tips of his fingers and toes up to his elbows and knees.
That was when he realized something was wrong. There were dark bags around Saffron’s eyes. Her shoulders shook, and her fingers were tinged blue.
Fever.
The word hit him in the gut. She’d been out in the rain, but was sickness even possible so fast after exposure? He’d seen his sister come down with a chill once, after a swim on a windy day. She’d spent a full night shivering in her bed, shoving the heavy blankets away even after the doctor had insisted what she needed was warmth. Sabrina had barely survived the incident.
He wouldn’t let it happen to anyone else.
He removed his overcoat and wrapped it around Miss Summersby’s shoulders, then pulled her tightly to him.
Chapter Seven
Lord Briarwood’s breathgrazed Saffron’s cheek, smelling of brandy and cloves. The light of the crackling fire cast his slightly crooked nose and stubbled cheeks in a golden tinge. Her stomach filled with swirling butterflies, and she almost forgot her feet were soaked and her fingers numb from the cold.
When she’d walked into the cottage, she’d felt a searing rush of nerves at the sight of him, water dripping from his hair, shirt plastered to his chest. She’d dreamed of him every night since they’d met, replaying every scene, languishing in the comfort of his arms. She’d never met a man who had treated her as anything more than an annoying accessory to her sister, who didn’t make her feel like she needed to hide some part of herself away.
She realized she was staring and hurriedly turned her gaze to the fire. “What are you doing?”
He pulled her tightly against himself. “You’ve caught a chill from the rain.”
“What? No.” She tugged away and looked into his face. The worry she saw there made her eyes burn with tears.
How can he care so much when he barely knows me?
“I’m fine,” she said, enunciating the words. “I don’t have a chill. I’m sure of it.”
He moved his arms to her shoulders. “Your cheeks are flushed, and your hands shaking.”
“It’s nothing, Lord Briarwood,” she said, glad when her voice came out evenly. Being so close to him was enough to send flickering tendrils of electricity across her skin.
“If not a fever, then what?” A slow smile spread across his face.
She licked her lips, unsure of how to respond. She’d never desired a man before. Should she tell him of her fantasies? The dreams she had, replaying their moment by the fountain?
“Call me ‘Leo,’” he said.
She startled, bumping her arm against his. “What?”
He turned his head so that his nose was only inches from hers and gave a boyish smile. “I told you to call me ‘Leo.’ Not ‘Lord Briarwood.’”
