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“No.” He shoveled fingers through his hair. “Fuck, Dani, I’m—”
She held up a hand to forestall his apology. “My grandmother did the best she could, but there were times when her best wasn’t enough. We got by but I told myself I’d never be in that position again.”
A drop fell on her cheek. She brushed it away.
“And you won’t be,” he said.
“You’re right. But not because of you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why does any mention of my wanting to take care of you have to turn combative?”
Tension flattened her lips. Combative? Like aggressive? Or angry?
Several more drops fell on her head, and she flicked a look skyward, noticing what little sun there’d been was now gone.
Probably irritated by this conversation, too.
“Because you say it as if you can do it better than me, when I’ve been doing it on my own for a long time. And very well, I might add!”
He frowned. “Dani—”
The heavens opened and sheets of rain cascaded down, penetrating the thick foliage shielding them.
Dani yelped and hopped up, instinctively raising her arms and using her spread fingers as ineffectual umbrellas. They’d been walking for at least half an hour; they were in the middle of nowhere!
“Come on!” Jameson grabbed her hand and took off running.
Damn, he was fast.
She did her best, grateful she’d decided on sneakers and hadn’t tried to be cute with sandals, but she felt as if he were dragging her along. She was drenched and about to give up when she saw the clearing up ahead. It housed a small stone structure that looked remarkably like one of the single-story circular wings that flanked the main part of Primrose Park.
They scurried up the stone steps and Jameson tried the thick wooden door. Initially, it didn’t open, but on his third attempt, aided by a little brute force, it yielded. They hurried inside, shutting it behind them.
Jameson shook his head, then pushed his wet strands back. “Welcome to the beauty of an English summer rain shower.”
“Reason eighty-two of why I don’t do walks,” Dani said, wringing out the hem of her silk cashmere blend T-shirt. “At least I threw these braids in this morning. I don’t even want to think about what my hair would look like if I hadn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, looking around them. “You’d still be beautiful.”
“Oh, you sweet, delusional man.” She laughed. She shifted her focus to their literal port in a storm. “What’s this place?”
“It’s called a folly. You’ll find them on many of the great estates built in the late eighteenth century.”
“What do they do?”
“Nothing. They’re purely decorative.”
“Well, thank God for architectural extravagance.”
“I haven’t been in here since I was a boy.” Jameson crossed the space in several long strides. “Here’s a trunk that doesn’t look too old. Maybe there’s something in it we can use.”
While he rummaged through his new discovery, Dani studied their surroundings. Colorful stained-glass windows allowed a small amount of light to filter in from outside, otherwise the space was dark and damp, the stone walls and floors doing little else except keeping the rain out.
She crossed her arms over her chest and ran her hands up and down them to combat her sudden bout of shivering. The temperature had already been on the chilly side; it must’ve dropped several degrees with the showers.
“I believe it’s some sort of rain survival kit. It’s stocked with towels, blankets, a battery-powered torch, as well as a couple of macs, wellies, and brollies.” At her silence he added, “Raincoats, boots, and umbrellas.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” she said, through chattering teeth.
