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“You’ll be safe with me, I swear it,” he said, handing her the reins. Their fingers brushed, and again her whole body lit up like a struck match. For the first time since she’d convinced him to take her along, she began to doubt that she’d be able to travel with him.

“All I want is to find my charge,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Once we do that, I’ll be on my way and you’ll be on yours.”

Lord Hollings dropped her reins and took a step back. Their connection snapped like a twig underfoot. “Then we’d better get started.”

He executed a curt bow and strode over to his horse.

Any decent woman would’ve averted her eyes, but Jane couldn’t help but watch the bunch and pull of his powerful legs as he stepped confidently into a stirrup and swung his leg over the back of his mount. He looked up, catching her watching, and shot her another one of those easy half grins he seemed to favor.

Jane closed her eyes and tried to pull her frayed nerves together. All she needed to do was get through this journey with her sense intact. For now, it seemed as though that would be a great struggle indeed.

Chapter Three

Nicholas usually loved to ride. He’d been on horseback since he was old enough to cling to a pommel without sliding off. There was nothing that compared to the rush of a steeplechase, and he loved the danger of breaking in a new stallion, wild and untested. He was meant to ride, but as the day stretched from morning to late afternoon, he was beginning to question his passion for the sport.

He and Miss Ephram were no more than two miles out from the inn when the day took a decided turn for the worse, with dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

“If you want to turn back, now would be as good a time as any,” he called out to Miss Ephram, motioning to the clouds when she sent him a confused look.

Her deep blue eyes followed his gesture and she shrugged. “If it rains, it rains. I doubt it’ll slow Lady Margaret down.”

And so they rode on, straight into the brewing storm, with Nicholas wondering just how long the governess—who was clearly less than comfortable on horseback—would last.

Five hours later, he was forced to revise his thoughts on governesses—particularly the fact that he’d once believed them to be retiring types who did better in the quiet of a schoolroom than outside facing the elements. It’d been raining off and on for miles, but never once did Miss Ephram complain. If anything, her nervousness seemed to fall away as her back grew straighter and the set of her chin even more resolved. Even when they’d stopped to water the horses and she’d winced as he helped her down from the saddle, she didn’t say anything except to ask a maid for directions to the facilities.

“Are you well, Miss Ephram?” he called out when they were a mile from a village called Ullesthorpe.

“Never better,” she said, the patter of rain nearly drowning out her words.

The road was a churn of mud, and their progress had slowed to a mere crawl. He pulled out his watch and flipped open the case, doing his best to shield it from the rain. It was just about six o’clock. At this rate, they’d do better to find shelter than press on, never mind that he himself was chilled through and in desperate need of a pint or, even better, a tumbler of whiskey.

“We should be at the next village shortly,” he said. “We can find an inn there and hopefully dry out.”

At the mention of dry clothes, the clouds burst open and the steady but manageable shower became a torrential downpour.

If he’d expected Miss Ephram to shrink from the biblical rains, he was wrong. Instead, she tilted her head back in the most unladylike manner and laughed into the storm.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel dry again in my life,” she shouted.

She was captivating. The sight of her neck stretched long with droplets sliding down it and under her coat collar was utterly intoxicating, and Nicholas had to grip the pommel of his saddle to keep from falling off the damn thing.

He’d always prided himself on being a man of honor, but he had no doubt that this woman would be able to undo all of his good intentions with one little come-hither crook of her finger. There was something about the way she could be serene and then suddenly bursting with vibrancy that honed his attention until all he could think about was her. His awareness of her. His desire for her.

He was an idiot if he thought he was going to be able to ride all the way to Gretna Green with Miss Ephram by his side.

Desiring a woman he couldn’t touch wasn’t part of his plan, he reminded himself sternly. All he should be focused on was finding Merlin and riding like hell’s dogs were at his heels to get to Lord Ashby’s estate. He needed to finish the deal he and the marquis had worked out so that he could set his grand scheme into motion. His sisters had languished for too long at home. They needed husbands who could provide for them the way he couldn’t. And for that they each needed a proper season with a wardrobe to match—a proposition that would cost more than even Merlin could bring in, but it’d be a start.

He must fix his mind on his plan and not the way Miss Ephram’s eyes shone with glee when something took her fancy. If he could do that, he might stand a chance at beginning to correct his father’s mistakes.

“Come on,” he said, his voice a little gruff as he tried to hold back his warring thoughts. “The sooner we get out of the wet, the better.”

She sighed, the joy evaporating from her face. “You’re right.”

“But?” He couldn’t resist the temptation of knowing.

Her shoulders slumped just a little under her wet coat. “It’s nothing.”

He’d lived with sisters his entire life and knew that it was never nothing, but he pressed his lips into a determined line nonetheless. He couldn’t get involved with this woman’s thoughts and troubles no matter how much he wanted to reach out to grab her hand and peel her sleeve down her arm to expose what he could only imagine was a slope of creamy skin.