At last, she reached the clearing. But then she stopped cold. Without trees, the ground was completely covered with white. How was she to find her bead path?

  Looking across the clearing, she tried to determine from whence they’d emerged. It was impossible to tell. She could pick her way across the snow, which would thoroughly dampen her boots, and try to find the path, or she could go back to find the Menace and hope he recalled the way.

  She didn’t like either of those choices. Blast!

  Setting her anger aside, she counseled herself to do what made the most sense, not what her pride demanded. That meant going to look for the Menace. And what if she couldn’t find him? Her bead path would take her only so far. Presumably, he’d kept going. Had he even realized she was gone?

  She’d soon find out. Hopefully. Because if she didn’t find him and it kept snowing like this, she was going to be in trouble.

  Chapter 4

  The falling snow grew heavier. John tipped his head back and got a snowflake in his eye for his trouble. Wiping at his eyelid, he wondered if they ought to turn back.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” John stopped and turned to look for the Shrew. Was he back to calling her that? Apparently. Why she agitated him was a mystery. He was typically amiable and even charming. But for some reason, she provoked him.

  She was no longer behind him. Had she taken a rest? He could see her refusing to tell him that she needed to stop.

  Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, he retraced his steps and looked for her red skirts that were visible beneath her dark blue cloak when she walked. The ground was speckled with white as some snow found its way through the trees.

  After a while, he stopped and frowned. He set the basket down and looked back from whence he’d come, then turned in a circle. He’d been about to yell, “Shrew.” Rolling his eyes at himself he called, “Miss Bromwell? Miss Bromwell?”

  Where had she gone? How had she managed to lose herself when she’d been behind him?

  Picking up the basket, he continued back the way they’d come. At least he thought it was the way they’d come. He was rather hopeless with direction, not that he would ever admit it.

  “Miss Bromwell?” He heard rustling. Then what sounded like muttering. Rather than call her name again, he kept moving—stealthily—in the direction of the noise.

  When he caught sight of her, he stopped and listened intently. She was swearing. Rather colorfully. He couldn’t stop the grin that rose to his lips.

  She turned toward him, but he hadn’t made a sound. “What are you smiling at?”

  He stepped toward her, swinging the basket. “Are you lost?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Are you?”

  “I was looking for you. You were supposed to be right behind me.” He paused and tilted his head, contemplating her. “How does one get lost following another person?”

  She scowled at him, her brow as dark as the sky was becoming. “I am not lost. I am looking for you. You are lost.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t going to tell her so. “How is it that you had to look for me when I was right in front of you?”

  A low growl rent the air, and for a moment he worried there was a wolf nearby. Then he realized the sound came from her. She put her other hand on her other hip and faced him, her eyes narrowing angrily. “I tried to lose you. I had a magnificent plan to abandon you in the forest, but this snow has ruined—”

  “Stop.” He stared at her. “Explain your idiotic plan.”

  She sniffed. “It was actually quite brilliant. I left a trail of beads that would lead me back to the coaches. After I led you far enough away from them and everyone else, I would make my way back alone.”

  He continued to glower at her in silence. When she twitched her shoulders and began to look mildly uncomfortable, he relaxed slightly.

  “You would have found your way back,” she murmured.

  He didn’t share her confidence since he was generally rubbish with direction. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that. “I’m not sure how, since you thought we’d be deep enough into the forest that you would need beads to find your way.” He had to admit it was rather clever of her. “While this scheme is more sophisticated than jam in my boots, I daresay the results are less favorable, since you will suffer the consequences along with me.”

  She grimaced. “Perhaps the plan wasn’t quite as brilliant as I thought. I did not count on it snowing.”

  He set a hand on his hip and looked around. “So, you’ve no idea how to find the coaches?” He sure as hell didn’t.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  He noted that parts of her cloak were turning white with snow. She’d soon be quite wet. As would he. “We’d best try to find our way back.” Turning, he started to walk.

  “Not that way,” she said. “You came from that direction.”

  Dammit, she was right. He gestured with his hand. “Then you lead the way.”

  “I can take you back to the clearing. Perhaps you can determine where we crossed it.”

  He wouldn’t bet on it. But what choice did they have?

  She stalked past him, keeping her gaze trained straight ahead. After several minutes, she stopped short and spun to face him. “This doesn’t look familiar. You’ve made me disoriented.”

  “This is my fault? I’m not the one who planned to abandon the other person in the forest in December.”

  She stared at him. Coldly. “How did you plan to find your way back once we found the log?”

  “Er… I thought we’d be with Spetch. And that the others would be within earshot.” That had been John’s plan anyway, since he was easily turned around.

  “You have no idea where to go?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He looked around and had no inkling. “No more than you, apparently.”

  “We are truly lost, then.”

  “And wet.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “We’re going to freeze to death.”

  For the first time since their acquaintance, she looked vulnerable. He stepped toward her. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll find our way back. Or we’ll find shelter. Perhaps there’s a woodcutter’s cottage or some other shelter nearby.” He would cling to that hope.

  He took her hand and started to walk. Only she didn’t walk with him. She stared at where he held her. “Why did you do that?”

  Letting her go, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Come on.” He led her up a slope, hoping they’d see the way back. Instead, he saw a roof in the distance. He pointed. “There, do you see it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Let’s hurry.” She started walking very quickly toward the structure.

  John had no notion if she was any good with direction, but decided she was likely better than him, so he followed her. Ten or so minutes later, they entered a small clearing. The snow came up over his boots and would surely wet the lower parts of her clothing. He considered picking her up, but if taking her hand had caused her alarm, sweeping her into his arms would almost certainly spark distress.

  He hurried to the small cottage, praying the door was unlocked and that there was wood for a fire inside. Thankfully, the door pushed open.

  “Dare I hope there is furniture?” she asked as he held the door for her.

  He’d forgotten to pray for that too. Ah well, he’d settle for a roof over their heads and a fire.

  Closing the door firmly, he saw that the cottage was a compact, single room. There was, in fact, furniture—a small table, a single chair, and a narrow bed. He set the basket on the table. “At least we have food.”

  “There’s no wood,” she said. “You’re going to have to cut down a tree. Is there an axe?”

  By the time he could fell a tree and cut it into useable wood, she might very well be freezing. “I’ll look outside for wood.”

  He ducked out and found some stacked against the side of the cottage. There wasn’t a great deal, but it would be enough, even if they ended up staying overnight. He tried not to think of that happening.

  The snow was falling quite heavily now. He hurried to carry several loads of wood inside. When he came in for the last time, he noticed she had laid the fire and was working to get it started.

  He swept off his hat, unintentionally sending droplets flying, and set it on the table. “Do you need help?”

  “I don’t think so.” She stood, and the fire flickered in the hearth. The stone fireplace took up most of one of the shorter walls of the rectangular-shaped cottage.

  Now he had to admire her fire-building skills. Miss Bromwell was a surprising woman. She was also shivering.

  “Here, you need to get out of your wet clothing. Give me your cloak.” John held out his hand.

  She pursed her lips. “Are you trying to disrobe me? I knew you were a scoundrel, but I didn’t realize you were that kind of scoundrel.”

  John nearly hurt himself to keep from rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to ensure you don’t catch cold. You need to take off your cloak at least. But I see your gown is also wet. You should remove that too. You can cover yourself with a blanket.” He glanced toward the bed.

  “There’s just one. Blanket,” she clarified. “In case you thought to do the same.”

  “I’ll be fine.” His greatcoat seemed a bit thicker than her cloak. Still, he was quite damp, particularly after fetching the wood. Shrugging out of the greatcoat, he hung it on one of the many hooks on the wall near the door. They appeared to be the only way in which whoever used the cottage could organize their clothing, for there was no dresser or armoire or even a trunk.

  He turned from hanging his garment to see that she’d removed her cloak. Instead of giving it to him, however, she moved past him and hung it on the farthest hook from his greatcoat. Then she removed her jaunty fur-trimmed hat and set it on another hook.

  “You’ll need to turn around,” she said pertly as she went to the bed.

  “Do you mind if I face the fire? I won’t stand directly in front of it.” He wouldn’t take all the heat.

  “Do what you will.” Was she going to be disagreeable the entire time they were trapped together?

  John decided to remove his coat since its shoulders were also damp. After hanging it next to his greatcoat, he went to the fire, presenting his back to Miss Bromwell.

  Several minutes went by. She muttered something, sounding frustrated.

  “Do you need help?’ John asked. He’d helped a number of ladies disrobe and knew it could be challenging for them without assistance. Miss Bromwell certainly had a maid who helped her dress and undress.

  “No,” she snapped. “Thank you,” she added in a more moderate tone.

  A few more minutes elapsed, during which she continued to mutter. They were curses, he realized.

  “Oh, fine. I need your help.” She sounded most exasperated. “You may turn around.”

  When he did so, it was to see that she had her back to him. Her dress was partially unlaced, and the laces were knotted. “I see the problem. I’ll free you in a trice.”

  John stepped behind her and began to work at the knot.

  “My hands are too cold,” she said.

  “Here, move closer to the fire.” He put a hand on her waist and nearly jumped back at the jolt of awareness that raced up his arm. Ignoring the sensation, he guided her to the hearth. “Warm your hands.”

  She faced the fire while he went back to work on her gown. “Thank you. This is very awkward.”

  “Yes.” Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop thinking of the way his body had reacted to touching her—as if they were magnetized. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, and yet it was absolutely necessary he do so.

  He was thankfully able to get the laces unknotted. “There. I’ll go back to the fire.” He turned, stepping around her, and faced the hearth.

  She was still there, and her gaze met his—with surprising gratitude. “I appreciate your help.”

  “I hope you’ll let me know if I can provide further assistance.”

  Giving him a slight nod, she turned and disappeared from sight. He heard her walking across the floorboards, and a moment later, she was next to him once more, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, covering her undergarments. Mostly. He could see the front of her waist where the blanket didn’t meet because she was holding it together higher up over her bosom. He could also glimpse her neck, which had been mostly covered by her gown. The garment had buttoned nearly to her chin.

  They stood in silence for several minutes as warmth seeped into them. At length, she said, “I should take off my boots. They are rather wet.”

  He didn’t want her to move away from the fire. Glancing around the cottage, he thought about moving the chair to the hearth, but then only one of them would be able to sit. However, if he moved the bed in front of the fireplace, they could both sit upon it and be close to the heat.

  “Just a moment.” He went to where the bed stood against the wall and scooted it parallel to the hearth.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving us both a place to sit in front of the fire.”

  “Well, that’s clever.”

  John froze. “Hold. Is that…approval I hear?”

  “It is an observation, nothing more.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to pluck the laces of her boots. When she was finished, she removed them both and set them to the side of the fireplace so they would dry.

  Picking up the food basket from the table, John brought it to the bed and set it between them as he sat down. It would provide a nice barrier, which he thought was necessary. Not just because he was feeling a pull toward her, but because he would wager that she wanted something to separate them.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” she asked.

  He looked toward the small, single window situated over the table on the same wall as the door. It was snowing so heavily that he couldn’t see outside. “There’s no telling. It looks quite bad, however. I wonder what happened with everyone else.”

  She turned her head toward him, her eyes wide. “Do you think they’ll find us? If we’re found together like this…” She pressed her lips together in a grim line.

  He finished her sentence in his mind: We’ll be forced to wed.

  “I have to think we are, unfortunately, rather far removed from everyone else. But then my sense of direction is somewhat worthless.”

  “I gathered that,” she said wryly, seeming to be amused with him rather than at him. Was this progress? Was there a chance they might emerge from this no longer loathing one another?

  “I will hope they all made it back to the coaches and are on their way to Broadheath.”

  “Without us?” she asked, sounding surprised. “I would think they would look for us at least.”

  “It would be extremely difficult to do so in this storm.”

  “My mother is going to have a fit,” she murmured, letting go of the blanket to hold her hands to the fire.

  Without her hands to hold the blanket together, the wool gaped and revealed her corset. The garment was very pretty, with embroidered flowers that seemed pointless on an undergarment. He tried not to look at the swell of her breasts pushing over the top of the corset and failed miserably. He jerked his head toward the fire.

  “I hope we aren’t here overnight. That really will be a death knell.” She added, “As far as compromise, I mean.”

  If he had to spend the night here with her, they were most definitely doomed. They would have to keep warm, and there was just one bed and one blanket. Even if nothing happened between them—and nothing would—the assumption would be that it had.

  John fervently hoped the storm would end soon.

  Chapter 5

  Cecilia tried not to think of the fact that she was sitting on a bed with a gentleman she was supposed to wed but did not want to.

  Alone in a cottage.

  In the middle of a snowstorm.

  Partially undressed.

  This was a disaster. And it was all her fault.

  Was it? It seemed they’d always been in danger of getting lost on their hunt since the Menace was apparently terrible at finding his way.

  “I’m sorry my beads weren’t able to lead us back,” she said softly.

  “I am too. You were smart to use them, even if it was for nefarious purposes.”

  Cecilia laughed. “Aren’t you angry?”

  “My survival instinct outweighs my outrage. Now, as I’m sitting here with you trapped in this tiny cottage, I think it’s perhaps best if we try to get along instead of glare at each other in stony silence.”

  She couldn’t find fault with that, as much as she might want to. “I hope you’re not asking me to forget the past. I’m willing to set it aside for now, but we aren’t ever going to be friends.”

  “No, I shouldn’t think so, especially after last night.”

  Angling herself toward him, she clutched the blanket in front of her chest once more. “You admit you did that on purpose, then?”

  “Absolutely not. I just don’t expect you to ever believe me. I truly was trying to knock a spider away.” He held up his finger to punctuate his point. “Which I did, I might add.”

  “I should consider you my gallant rescuer? I am no more afraid of spiders than I am snakes.”

  “I don’t suppose you are,” he said sardonically. “Should we eat?”

  “We may as well.” The contents were wrapped in a cloth, which she opened. Too bad it wasn’t larger so it could be used as a second blanket. “There’s bread, cheese, ham, and some dried fruit. And ale.” Cecilia broke off some cheese and took a slice of bread from the basket. “Help yourself.”

  He reached in and withdrew some fruit. They ate in silence for a moment. When he’d finished what he’d taken, he looked back into the basket. “No jam?”

  Cecilia had just taken a bite of bread and cheese and nearly choked. She didn’t want to find him amusing, but he was surprising her.

  “What made you decide on jam in my boots?” he asked pleasantly, as if this were an ordinary conversation two people might have at any social gathering.

 

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