5. Nice Little Sheep

NICE LITTLE SHEEP

L eopold closed his eyes, but remained partly alert, listening for approaching vehicles through the sounds of the rain or any other sort of troubles that would disrupt his plans. Nonetheless, he'd risen very early that morning, and since his little prisoner had resorted to pouting, he wouldn't waste time trying to pull information out of her.

For now.

If this wasn't what he would consider more of a rescue than an abduction, he'd not drop his guard like this, but she was a spoiled debutante, one who, no doubt, wouldn't know how to make herself a cup of tea without the help of two or three servants.

And yet… she had surprised him.

Peering at her from hooded eyes, he couldn't help but question her resolve to maintain her elegant posture. Even snatched out of her environment, she held herself like a queen—or at least, how he imagined a queen would.

When she brushed a wayward lock of hair behind one shell-like ear, he conceded that he'd never seen a prettier complexion. Roses and cream . The words came to mind before he could stop them. The hint of her tongue swept over her lips, causing something deep in Leopold's gut to tighten.

Her beauty, he surmised, was practically a freak of nature.

He refused to allow his thoughts to return to the moment his hand had landed on her bottom or how he'd been tempted to give it a punishing squeeze.

Because he'd promised Winterhope that he'd treat her like a lady.

Essentially.

Letting his eyes fall shut again, he determined he'd find out what she knew about her father's dealings with Crossings later—once she was finished feeling sorry for herself.

Only a foolish twit refused good food like that—especially one as thin as she was. That voluminous gown provided the illusion of womanly curves, but underneath all the fabric, she'd felt delicate, almost waiflike.

It was bloody unnecessary. For the sake of fashion, she likely starved herself intentionally.

Stupid woman.

If she wanted to act like this, so be it.

Crossing his ankles, he stretched out, resting his boots on the opposite bench, not at all disturbed when the driver hit a rut or rock. He'd slept in worse conditions. Far worse.

None of which he regretted—not even a little. Quite relaxed, his thoughts automatically jumped to the next items on his agenda.

His own shipment expected to land this week, and the logistics of transporting it to London still needed to be arranged, along with all the components involved in distribution.

He had systems in place, but never complacent, he was constantly analyzing them, looking for greater efficiencies.

Each turn of the wheel brought him closer to home, to the coves, and consequently, closer to potential threats to the business he'd spent three-quarters of his life building. Threats posed by officials, but also competition. It had all become more complicated as the opium-tea trade flourished.

Which provided Leopold's primary motivation to take out the Duke of Crossings.

The coves carved into the cliffs near Smuggler's Manor had been used for centuries by both smugglers and invaders. There were three different beaches, all conveniently tucked into the rocks. Treasure Cove, the largest, was a safe and easy landing for most small vessels. An arguably greater advantage, however, was the network of secret tunnels that connected the beach to his cellar. From there, the transport of any less-than-legal goods was much simpler.

All reinforced and guarded.

He was going to have to hire more watchmen, however, if Crossings continued to elude?—

A rush of cold, wet air had Leopold shooting up. He blinked. Even staring at the open coach door and empty seat beside him, he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

Leopold pounded on the roof for his driver to stop.

What the hell was the blasted woman thinking, throwing herself out of a moving carriage like this? In the middle of a storm, no less. Was she trying to kill herself?

Without waiting for the vehicle to stop, Leopold followed her out into the rain.

Hitting the ground, he tucked and rolled before scrambling to his feet and taking chase. " Bloody idiot, " he chastised himself for dropping his guard like that.

The whole point of this job was to protect her—something he couldn't do if she went looking for trouble on her own.

"Need help, boss?" Fitz had already backtracked on his horse. But Leopold had her in his sights and, shaking his head, waved him off.

"I've got her." Hell and damnation . He blinked raindrops out of his eyes. He could have done without this little bit of exercise.

Lady Amelia must have spotted him coming after her though, because she suddenly darted to the side, over the stone wall, and vanished into the trees.

Leopold rolled his eyes. Of course, she wouldn't stay on the road.

"You really don't want to do this!" he called out, though he didn't expect her to answer.

Visibility was already abysmal because of the weather, and now she'd be able to hide within the greenery as well. Bloody Diamond of the Season.

Still, it was a simple task for him to keep up with her, pampered debutante that she was. After a brief jog through the dense woods that bordered the road, he soon laid eyes on her again as she began her laborious trek through the meadow beyond.

With her soaked gown molded to her legs and hindering her steps, she struggled to pick her way between a small herd of sheep. The animals were pretty well scattered, quietly meandering in their search for more food, and yet Lady Amelia skirted her way around them as if the slightest touch might infect her with some deadly disease.

"Nice little sheep," her wobbly voice carried over the tall grass. The reckless leap from his carriage had loosened her chignon and long, golden strands of hair streamed down her back and around her face. "There, there. Excuse me. Pardon me…"

Obviously the first time she'd been so close to a herd.

Leopold didn't even try to stifle his grin as he swung over the stacked stones.

"You're wasting my time, princess!"

Ignoring a few steaming piles of dung, he felt an odd thrill of excitement as he closed the distance between them.

She slowed enough to glance over her shoulder, and Leopold felt a shot of… not sympathy, but something else at the fear he saw in those wide blue eyes. But it only lasted a second.

Rather than concede, she lifted the hem of her skirts and, more determined than before, marched right through the small herd.

Oh, hell.

"Don't walk between the mothers and their babies," he warned as the sheep, who didn't appreciate having a human amongst them, scuttled apart while the mothers called out to their lambs.

She was lucky no rams were around.

"Just leave me!"

He dodged a few ewes, leapt over rocks, and in a matter of seconds, was right behind her… close enough that when he reached out, he caught a few wet, silky strands.

She twisted out of his grasp, but not for long, and with his second lunge, they both stumbled. And although Leopold did his best to protect her from his weight, his tackle landed them hard on the grass.

In the mud—and other odiferous slime.

Beneath him, she labored to catch her breath and Leopold loosened his hold—but only slightly. With the skies pouring down on both of them, he ought to be anxious to return to the coach. Instead, he was momentarily content.

In what he'd later consider a moment of insanity, Leopold buried his head in that damp hair. The flowery perfume erased the stench of sheep around them. It was…

Intoxicating.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was slightly muffled.

She shook her head from side to side.

A stroke of luck, indeed; she had jumped out of a moving carriage, for God's sake! Her gown could have caught in the wheels, dragging her under. She could have landed wrong, broken a bone, or gashed herself on a sharp rock.

His moment of insanity over, he jerked his head up.

"You little fool!" He skated his hands along her sides, noting the rigid garment she wore beneath her gown as he confirmed for himself that she hadn't been injured. Reassured, his temper gradually cooled.

Even if other parts of him heated.

"I'm fine," she declared in a muffled voice, and then again, stronger, "I'm fine." She squirmed and although Leopold rolled off, he kept one arm around her.

For an instant, she wasn't a lady of the ton , but just a delightful woman, fresh and innocent, and ironically, sexy as hell.

But he only indulged in that mad fantasy for a few seconds. She was in his charge—his responsibility.

"Lucky thing," he murmured, still catching his breath as the rain let up and some sunshine broke through the clouds.

Face down, she did not acknowledge him. And he couldn't really blame her, seeing as he'd just tackled her to the ground.

For her own good!

"You could have gotten yourself killed." She was so damn vulnerable! Jumping from a moving carriage was the last thing he'd expected her to do.

She turned her head and stared at him with sad eyes. And then, she might just as well have stabbed him with his own knife.

"How do I know you won't kill me? Or worse?"

He groaned. Leopold had planned the technical details of this mission meticulously, but in failing to consider the human elements—the feminine elements—he'd made a grave miscalculation.

Yes, he'd committed what some might consider a few atrocities over the course of his career, but he had never threatened or harmed a woman.

There were some things a man simply didn't do.

And in the course of just a few hours, he'd subjected this young lady to gunfire, a knife at her father's neck, a less-than-delicate abduction.

And now this. A very physical attack on her person.

He reached up with his fist and rubbed his sternum.

Beneath her very proper demeanor, she actually seemed terrified. And he couldn't really blame her.

He'd been a fool not to consider what risks she might take in trying to escape—putting herself in real danger—because she feared for her life.

Because she feared him.

Unfortunately, it was too late to change the past, and telling her the actual reason he'd taken her wasn't an option yet. Leopold inhaled a deep breath.

He was going to have to approach this situation with a little more finesse. Not because of her noble status, but because… Hell, because she wasn't the enemy. And Leopold wasn't that much of an ass—not to women, anyway.

"I'm sorry." He spoke the words grudgingly. "But you need to trust that I won't hurt you."

It was the best he could do for now. When she didn't answer, but simply remained lying on the ground beside him, Leopold studied the slender curve of her back. And while the pungent odor of manure ought to be overpowering his senses, his head nearly swam from the scent of a lady—this lady—in the rain.

It was so delicate, so unintentional, he couldn't wrap his head around it.

And although he intended to alter his approach in dealing with her, he still had a mission to complete.

Pushing himself up, he sat back on his heels. "Get up," he ordered, forcing a hint of steel into his voice. "You've wasted too much of my time already."

She silently rolled over, keeping her eyes closed, and Leopold noticed that her lashes were darker, but still gold like her hair. Her cheeks were now bright and rosy from her exertions. She remained so still that she reminded him of a painting he'd seen once—of a corpse. Which, in light of his last revelation, was more than a little unnerving.

"Enough."

Those lashes fluttered open, and Leopold reached out his hand to offer his assistance. "Come on now. You can continue your pouting in the carriage."

And it worked. A spark appeared in her eyes—an angry one, but a spark nonetheless.

"I wasn't pouting." She ignored his offer of assistance and, although her skirts were twisted around her legs, managed to scramble to her feet.

"You're lucky there aren't any rams in this herd." Leopold locked his fingers around one of her arms, carefully steering her around the sheep and back toward the road. "They're territorial and have been known to throw grown men into the air."

She glanced back, her expression one of disbelief.

"But the babies are adorable," she said nonsensically. He didn't dignify the comment with a response.

By the time they reached the stone wall, both soaked to the bone and covered in muck, Leopold stopped to grip her waist and practically tossed her over it.

And this time when they climbed into the carriage, he insisted she sit on the side farthest from the door. Because he needed to protect her from herself.

"Next time," he pointed to the basket, "Eat something first." Not that she'd get another opportunity. But he couldn't have her wasting away on his watch.

"How do I know you aren't going to poison me?"

He scoffed. "Did I not eat more than half of it? I'd have poisoned myself as well." He nearly rolled his eyes at her. It would be simpler all around if he just told her the truth of this so-called abduction, but that wasn't the plan. It was quite possible she knew more about her father's dealings with Crossings than she'd let on. He couldn't discount the possibility that her sympathies were with the duke.

Her father had sunk a good deal of funds into the duke's endeavors, after all.

"You really aren't going to kill me?"

He whipped around to face her. "God, no."

Their stares locked in a battle of wills. One she would lose, and yet, similar to that moment in the mud, Leopold felt pierced, oddly exposed.

"I wish I could believe you," she said at last.

He huffed. "Well, it doesn't much matter whether you do or don't, does it?" he asked, perhaps a little callously.

But rather than appearing threatened or cowed, Lady Amelia arched one delicate eyebrow. "Does it?"

It sounded like a challenge, one Leopold had honestly not expected from her. Fear, tantrums, helplessness—these were all reactions one might plan for when dealing with a spoiled damsel in distress, a debutante out of her element and in obvious danger. With Lady Amelia Crowley, however, her behaviors were surprisingly contradictory; she was both far calmer and more difficult in different ways than he'd imagined when he'd agreed to this rescue.

Leopold thrived on challenges, though. And interviewing this stubborn little debutante didn't seem nearly as tedious as he'd expected it to be.