Page 21 of Dare it all for Love

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he retorted.

She sent him a volcanic glare.

“Then send Ash and Viv back with my horse,” she said through her teeth.

“No. Not until I understand what you mean that you did it for me.”

She rolled her eyes as though she were all out of patience with him which, given the circumstances, was rather rich. “Oh, to get you alone, of course. How dim-witted are you? It was a dare.”

Henry blinked at her, thoroughly lost, though the mention of a dare stirred an uneasy memory. “A dare?”

Florence nodded. “Like our mothers did. We’ve been taking turns to draw a dare from the hat.”

“The hat?” he asked in astonishment. “The actual hat? You mean that still exists?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “And all the original dares. Our parents all met and married happily because of those dares, and it worked for Eliza and Elspeth, and Arabella. I thought it might work for me too but… but then I realised it was a rotten trick to play on you, especially as you don’t even want to like me, or anyone come to that. You’re too angry with the world, or at least with the female portion of it, to fall in love. And I knew you’d just be cross, so… it seemed best to tell you the truth at once. I’m sorry if I worried you,” she added, though with an unmistakeable note of defiance as her chin went up.

Henry did not know whether to laugh or put her over his knee, too stunned by her precise summation of his state of mind to think clearly. In lieu of a response, he asked, “What was it?”

“What was what?” she asked, her voice dull.

“Your dare.”

“Oh,” she sighed, staring out over the acres of meadowland around them. “To tell a lie to someone I loved. I suppose I failed the dare too,” she added with a huff of unhappy laughter.

Henry felt his heart squeezed in his chest. The foolish child believed she was in love with him, and, God help him, she looked so forlorn. “Well, you can’t stay out here by yourself, and that storm will be upon us at any moment.”

He dismounted and walked his horse over to her. She gave him a frowning glance, which for some reason made Henry desperate to kiss her, to chase away the woebegone expression that dulled the brightness of her eyes.

“Come on, up you get.”

“But you’ve not got a side-saddle,” she objected.

“No, so you’ll have to make do.”

Before she could object, he picked her up, throwing her up onto the saddle as he’d done this morning.

“Oh!” she said, scrambling into place before she slipped off and glowering down at him. “I do wish you would stop manhandling me.”

“But I thought that was what you wanted,” he returned before he could think better of it.

She blushed again, brighter this time, and he found he could not regret his words. The pink of her cheeks was perfectly charming. He climbed back into the saddle, and she gasped as he tucked her in front of him. Though Henry suspected it was not terribly comfortable, she did not complain, though he regretted the position at once, for he was obliged to put his arm around her to hold her steady, pulling her against his chest. She was too close. Her softness pressed against him, the scent of her teasing his nostrils. He was uncertain whether she wore perfume or if it was simply the soap she used, but the faint scent of roses enveloped him. It beckoned him, tempting him to press his nose to her hair, the tender skin behind her ear, or the curve of her neck and inhale, to see if he could find the source of the delicious aroma. He wanted to search everywhere until he was certain. Instead, he reminded himself severely of what he wanted from his future, and tried to get a grip on his sanity before it unravelled.

“You don’t love me.”

She turned her head, the ridiculous feather on her hat tickling his chin as she did so. “How can you be so sure?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been home more days than weeks; we’ve had a handful of conversations. You don’t know me.”

“Perhaps not,” she admitted, and he could feel the weight of her green gaze upon his face, avoided it for fear of what he might see there. “But I know you are kind and loyal and I admire your opinions, and I know how you make me feel.”

He frowned at that, his eyes finding hers despite his reluctance.

“How?” he asked, even knowing he ought not, that he did not want to know the answer.

You damned liar, Henry.

“Safe,” she said softly. “You make me feel safe.”