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“You haven’t done anything to offend me.” He offered her a reassuring smile before reaching for his boots. He shoved his feet into them, his toes squelching in his wet stockings. He tried to squash his desire to flee quickly. She was the one who came upon him, interrupting his post-labor dip in the pond. If anyone should feel the need to beat a hasty retreat, it should be her.
“I am glad to hear that.” She played with her horse’s reins in her gloved fingers but made no move to leave. The horse was smaller than the one Amelia usually rode—the dark one that had been stolen from her.
Charles looked at her sharply. This was the grove where the gypsies had made their camp, and an inkling of why she might be in these woods nipped at him. “You’re here looking for your horse, aren’t you?”
Amelia scoffed. “The gypsies are gone. Why would I be looking for my horse here?”
Ah, she was holding something back. He could tell by her plain attempt to appear off hand. He held her determined gaze. “That is a very valid question, Mrs. Fawn. Why, indeed?”
She lifted her chin. “Well, I am not saying that I am looking for Howard, but if anyone had a right to search for clues as to his location, it would be me. Howard is my horse.”
For such a smart woman, she could be awfully stubborn. “And you agreed to give me a week to search first. That was only two days ago.”
“I gave you a week before I would engage another man to help. I agreed to nothing else.”
Charles gaped at her. So she was here in search of her horse, which was a foolish, reckless thing to do alone. Charles was a man with the ability to defend himself to a degree and even he did not venture to find the gypsies alone.
He crossed the stream in three large steps, water splashing up his boots as he went, his wet shirt clinging to his chest. What did that matter, though? He was already soaked. “Does your brother know what you are up to?”
“He doesn’t need to.”
Her delusion knew no bounds. “Say you are successful and locate the men who stole your horse, but you are alone. What then?”
“Then I fetch Sir Percival and Andrew and—”
“Say the men find you first. You come upon their camp with every intention to fetch help, but—oh, no! They’ve spotted you.” He lowered his voice, stepping closer. His clothes dripped with pond water that pooled around the leaf-strewn dirt at his feet. “You don’t have time to run for Andrew, because the brutes have grabbed your horse’s reins much like they did when they stole Howard. What now?”
Amelia’s eyes burned, her cheeks and the tip of her nose turning red and matching her hair. She was usually so calm, collected, and elegant that watching her lose her temper was certain to be inordinately satisfying. Charles was tempted to do just that, to push her until she could no longer control her anger, but Nick’s advice ran through his mind, stalling him.
Love her from a distance.
With hardly a hand’s width between them, he wasn’t doing a very good job of that now, was he? Stepping back, Charles put some distance between himself and Amelia and released a breath, his chest heaving. Her lips were pinched, her eyes wild. She appeared to be refraining from speaking her mind, and he wished desperately to know what she was thinking.
Regardless, he needed to backtrack. He had no right to assert any authority over her, even if his only goal was to protect her. He had no right to do even that.
“If you insist on searching the grove, at least permit me to escort you. Please?” he asked. He knew it would be fruitless—he’d searched these woods himself thrice over—but he could not part ways now without at least trying to help.
“You are sopping wet, Charles. Hardly fit for riding.”
“Yes,” he said, a hint of amusement seeping into his tone. He could now see the sweat glistening on her brow and noticed that she’d removed her bonnet. Not that he blamed her. He was overheated in shirtsleeves and trousers. Amelia must be stifling in her unforgiving black gown. Oh, how he longed to see her in pale colors again. In white, in green—in anything but black. “I had the desire to cool off on this hot day. Perhaps you understand.”
Her lips twitched as if she fought a smile, and she wiped at her temple with the back of her wrist. “Perhaps I do. But I never would stoop to something so low as splashing about in a secluded woodland pond.” She indicated the water with a wave of her hand.
“You might change your tune if you gave it a try.” Why could he not stop himself?
She laughed, shaking her head.
He was being ludicrous and needed to change the subject.
“My offer stands,” he said. “I can ride.”
“No, I thank you. I looked around the area I believe they were camping in but found nothing.”
“You could not take your brother’s word for it? Or mine?”
“I wanted to be certain.” She paused, lines forming between her eyebrows. “I need to get my horse back. I cannot let anything bad happen to him.”
Ah, that was right. Andrew had mentioned something that day in the drawing room at Falbrooke about the importance of this horse, but Charles had no inkling of what he’d meant by it. He understood caring about an animal, for he missed his Maximus immensely, but this felt different. He wanted to know more, to question her, but he bit his tongue.
“I plan to go to Melbury tomorrow and ask around,” he said. “Nick thinks it a good idea to question Jolly again, too.”
“Will you be sure to tell me anything you learn?”
“Happily,” Charles said. He looked down at her and caught her gaze, her eyes so full of light they matched the clear, blue sky peeking through the branches above them. Was it any wonder he was in love with this woman? She cared about things so deeply, remained so loyal—he could just imagine how thoroughly wonderful it would feel to be loved by her.
And now he needed to give her space.
“Until tomorrow, then.” Charles turned, crossing back over the stream, and pulled his horse free of the branches. He dipped a bow to Amelia before turning down the path toward his home, his heart beating wildly. He could have stayed there all day and spoken to her, but she was not his. For his own sake, and out of respect to her, he would do better to keep his distance.
