Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

J acob jarred awake for the second time that morning. Creek water projected out of his mouth, along with what might have been a small minnow. He hacked out a cough and drew glorious air into his lungs.

He was alive, blessedly, wondrously, alive, albeit wet and chilled.

He opened his eyes, but Lord Benton wasn't sneering at him. Instead, he peered into the angelic face of a woman. Her finely arched brows knit together as she leaned over him. The bite of the freezing water fell away as Jacob dissolved into a pair of soft amber eyes. She had finely molded cheekbones and a small chin. An unruly lock of thick mahogany hair dangled over her forehead, brushing his. Her rosy lips parted, and she panted as if she'd exerted herself overmuch.

Suddenly, his day seemed vastly improved.

No longer gagged, he instinctively shifted to draw this fetching display of beauty to himself and kiss her soundly. But the rope cutting into his wrists reminded him his hands were still bound. An utter shame, for he hated a missed opportunity.

"Praise God. I thought you were dead." Her features relaxed.

As did I. "Are you my guardian angel?" His voice cracked on the last word.

The furrow in her brow returned. "I beg your pardon?"

He cleared his throat. "A woodland fairy?"

She blinked, her thick lashes sweeping over those enchanting eyes.

"A Valkyrie, maybe?"

"A what?"

"A Valkyrie. A noble maiden carrying a slain warrior to Valhalla."

Her alluring mouth curved into a frown. "The lack of air has addled your wits."

He relished the warmth of her hand seeping through his shirt. "Quite so, or maybe the lack of blood to my brain." He lowered his gaze to where her hands pressed on his chest and her shin rested on his hip. Her knee dug into his stomach.

"Oh!" She scrambled off him backward in a crab-like crawl. She glanced around as if to ensure there were no witnesses before she jumped to stand. "Right. Dreadfully sorry."

A becoming blush tinted her cheeks. The rose color contrasted against the paleness of her skin and drew out the amber in her eyes.

He resolved to make her blush often in the future.

She shook the wrinkles out of her gown, made of a sturdy fabric. He'd like to see her dressed in soft muslin or perhaps silk. Definitely silk.

He shook his head to clear it. Why was he thinking such things about a servant woman? Maybe the water had addled his wits.

Addled or not, he continued lying on the ground, gazing at this captivating female.

"Do you think the rogues will return?" She looked over her shoulder. Her profile displayed the pertness of her nose, petite and fitting for her features.

"Doubtful." Knowing Lord Benton, he'd run straight to the nearest tavern and toss back some spirits before calling for a surgeon. The men would follow Benton's purse looking for the pay due them. "But it's best not to wait around in case they do." Plus, Jacob needed to check on his coachman and servant, but he couldn't rush back in case one of the highwaymen lingered to search his coach. Best to go slowly and not put his rescuer in harm's way. Jacob rolled to his side, putting his weight on his bruised shoulder. He winced and dragged his legs underneath him until he rested on his knees.

"Here, let me help you." She bent and picked at the knots binding his hands until they came undone. "There."

"Much better." Jacob pushed off the ground and rose to his feet. He rubbed his wrists where the restraints had left red marks. "It's amazing how often we take the use of our hands for granted."

Her lips spread into a shy smile. "Especially when you're swimming."

A sense of humor . He returned her smile. "Most definitely." He dipped his head in salute. "I must thank you, Miss…"

"Emily Thompson." She bobbed a polite curtsy.

Her neck curved in a graceful ark the likes of which would make swans jealous.

She cleared her throat, and his line of vision settled back on those enthralling amber eyes as he untied the loose hanging gag from around his neck.

A crow cawed.

She jumped at the sound and gazed at the field's perimeter.

"How poorly done of me." He tried to regain her attention. "I've been remiss in all the excitement, but since your excellent marksmanship has my assailants running for the hills…" He bowed. "Lord Jacob Warren, at your service." He hit her with a smile that would flutter many a fan in a London ballroom.

"Pleased to meet you, my lord." She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the road as if to reassure herself the bandits weren't returning.

She appeared unaffected by his charms. Not his best day. He would have to try harder.

"The pleasure is all mine." He procured her hand and raised it to his lips. "Especially since you saved my life. I shall forever be in your debt." He lowered his voice to a baritone. "And endeavor to make my gratitude known."

H is gaze locked on hers, and Emily couldn't look away. The devilish charm in his smile caused her stomach to flop about like a fish on land, and his blue eyes twinkled as if communicating a shared secret. She knew nothing of flirting, but something inside told her this was how it was done, and Lord Jacob Warren was the master.

His lips lingered over her hand a tad too long.

Emily yanked her hand away. "Should we hide or something in case they return?"

Lord Warren beckoned her and silently skirted the wooded edge of the field. She picked up the quiver and followed. He paused and listened, then scanned the road. "It appears their leader's off to lick his wounds, and without him, the rest have scattered. Thanks to you."

There was that lopsided smile again. Heat rushed to her cheeks. This stranger had become too comfortable around her too quickly. Was it due to the harrowing circumstances? Saving someone's life—and having been saved—must bond people quicker than normal. However, it was situations like this she needed to avoid—not saving a man's life but interacting with a man as if a future together were possible.

The twinkle in his blue eyes goaded her to forget herself and the circumstances of her birth. The jaunty twist to his full lower lip teased as if to provoke her smile, but she mustn't lose her head. She checked the top button of her blouse and clasped her hands in front of her. Since she learned the truth about her actual birth mother, it was imperative that she remain above reproach.

"Miss Thompson, could you perhaps tell me where I've had the good fortune of making your acquaintance?"

"Sylvanwood, outside of Gloucester in the Cotswolds."

"Splendid. I was practically at Brownstone Hall before being accosted."

She cleared her throat and worked to keep the shock out of her tone. "You are to reside at Brownstone Hall?"

"You know of the place?"

"Um, well, yes…" An image of the manor with its strange inhabitants, locked shutters, and overgrown vines floated through her mind. Emily knew the manor home well, for a far corner of Brownstone Hall's grounds abutted their field.

"Why does your response give you pause?"

"I didn't know Lady Athol had any relatives. I've never seen a soul visit."

"Which is what I am here to remedy. My brother sent me because we fear the estate has fallen into disrepair, and I'm to attend to it. Among other things."

"I'm certain it will improve under your supervision." She forced a positive tone, but her incredulity caused her words to sound measured.

He ran a hand over the top of his head, and water droplets dripped over his shoulders and back. "Why do I have the impression you're saying that because it couldn't get any worse?"

"It is—ah—merely in need of sprucing."

"Indeed. Your hesitation doesn't give me much encouragement."

"I apologize." What was she apologizing for? Her hesitation? Or for not conveying the full truth of the wretched condition of Brownstone Hall, which a person couldn't fathom until seen firsthand. Lord, forgive me . Definitely the latter.

"No need. My brother warned me about the sad state of Brownstone Hall from my aunt's missive." His eyes widened, and the muscles around his jaw tightened. He patted the top of his breeches before stuffing a hand into his pocket.

"Is something amiss?"

A whoosh of air slid from his lips, and his mouth relaxed along with his shoulders. "I-I feared the letter with the estate's address might have gotten ruined during my unfortunate swim, but it feels dry."

"No need to fret. Everyone in Sylvanwood knows where Brownstone Hall is. It's on this side of town. One could walk from here."

He shivered, his lips graying from the cold.

"Do you have a coat?" she asked.

"In my carriage."

"Is it safe to head in that direction?"

He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. "In my experience, it doesn't take much to scare off highwaymen."

"You have a history of being accosted by highwaymen?" Emily hesitated at the gentleman's bold maneuver and glanced about. What if someone witnessed her strolling with a stranger?

A snorted chuckle emanated from his nose. "Touché, Miss Thompson. How astute of you. No, I haven't made it a practice of being accosted, but unfortunately, I have several friends who've had—well—similar encounters."

The timbre of his voice vibrated through her, his closeness setting her nerves on edge. She moved to put some distance between them.

Lord Warren placed a reassuring hand over hers, holding her fast. Their gazes met. A beseeching in the depths of his eyes reminded her of a small boy pleading for attention, much the way Christian often did.

She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep the smile from her lips and fought the giddiness welling within her. Keep your head .

He nudged her forward, and they fell into a stroll. "Sylvanwood," he said. "Isn't that a bit redundant for a name? Wooded wood?"

She had always thought it a strange name for a town. The whole set of circumstances seemed ludicrous. She had rescued a man from certain death, they were walking through a field unchaperoned, and now he made small talk as though he courted her. Might as well make light of the situation. "We take our trees very seriously."

He graced her with another one of his captivating smiles. "I admire your quick wit, Miss Thompson. Most charming. I look forward to more verbal swordplay with you."

The sparkle in his eyes sounded an alarm in her head. She must end this acquaintance as quickly as possible. "I have very little free time with all my responsibilities to the parsonage."

"You're married to the vicar?" He scowled. "I did not see a ring."

She glanced at her hands. Oh, piffle. She wasn't supposed to come across anyone besides her brother and Mr. Mathis, so she hadn't bothered to wear her gloves. "I'm the vicar's daughter."

A rabbit in the tall grass darted into its burrow.

He murmured, "I enjoy a challenge."

At least that's what she thought she heard, and what was that supposed to mean? Part of her wanted to duck into a hole like the rabbit. Instead, she shrugged the quiver strap closer.

"How did you become such a superb marksman?"

"My older brother."

"We have that in common, except for I have two. The oldest is dreadfully bossy."

"Mine, too, believes he knows best, but he has a good heart and good intentions."

"How charitable of you." He grinned. The sun's position behind him illuminated his blond hair, making it glow like a halo. The strong angles of his face and chin held nice lines.

She should paint him in this light.

Merciful heavens. Where did that thought come from? She wouldn't be painting him in this light or any other light.

"You and your brother must join me for target practice. I'm certain you can find some free time to indulge the man whose life you saved. Being new to town, I'd be delighted to make the acquaintance?—"

Twigs snapped to their left.

She gripped his sleeve, imagining that highwayman returning to exact his revenge.

But her brother Samuel and Peter Mathis broke into the clearing.

She jerked her arm from Lord Warren's grasp. Oh, the talking-to she'd receive later if Peter—er—Mr. Mathis noticed. It was challenging to remember that she must now refer to the boy she'd grown up playing with as Mr. Mathis. Had her brother and Mr. Mathis heard the commotion all the way to Mr. Mathis's house?

She swallowed. "I believe you'll be afforded the opportunity now."

Samuel skidded to a halt, shotgun in his hand and breathing hard.

Mr. Mathis stopped close behind. His white-blond hair rose from a deep reddened crease in his forehead. "We heard yelling and came running." He pinned Lord Warren with a protective glare. "Who is this bloke?"

"No one." Emily stepped to the side to increase the distance between them.

Lord Warren lifted an eyebrow.

No one? He was the son of a peer of the realm. "I-I mean…" She was making a mull of things, but being spotted alone with a man in the woods, as innocent as it was, could reflect poorly upon her reputation.

"I spied him through the woods. He was about to be killed by highwaymen. By chance, I had your bow with me, so I shot the man with an arrow, and he ran off."

"You got him?" The quantity of Samuel's freckles appeared to grow with his excitement, giving his bran-face a tanned complexion. He glanced about as if to find a pierced dead body among the tall grass.

"I aimed for his shoulder but struck his arm above the elbow."

"Well done, Em." Samuel slapped her on the back, pushing her forward a half step.

Mr. Mathis was not impressed. "What were you thinking, confronting a bandit by yourself?"

Lord Warren stepped forward. "If she hadn't, I'd most certainly be dead. If not shot, then drowned." He glanced back at the creek and rubbed the back of his head. "Probably both." His casual smile returned, and his hand dropped to his side. "Fortunately for me, I have a damsel who rescued me from distress."

All eyes were on her—staring. "I've only just met him." Her words came out rushed. "Nothing untoward happened." She pressed her lips tight and gulped.

Her brother eyed her as if she'd taken leave of her senses, and she fought the urge to hide her face in her hands. She'd said too much and only made this situation worse.

Lord Warren raised his eyebrows at her before clearing his throat and easing the moment's awkwardness. "Do let me introduce myself." He spoke to Samuel. "Lord Jacob Warren, pleased to make your acquaintance." He dipped his head. "I'm in your sister's debt. She is an incredible marksman."

"She learned from my instruction." Samuel's chest puffed. "Name's Samuel Thompson, and this is Peter Mathis. He lives around the bend there." Samuel nodded toward the woods, and Lord Warren glanced that way.

"Mr. Mathis." Emily searched the ground. "One of your arrows should be around here somewhere." A hint of royal blue from the fletching of Mr. Mathis's arrow stuck out among the yellow blades of grass. She yanked the shaft up. "Here it is."

She held it up for everyone to see and strolled back to the group. "I'm afraid the other one is embedded in the bandit's arm." She shrugged off the quiver's shoulder strap and handed it to Mr. Mathis.

He grimaced at her. "What if he'd shot back?"

Emily raised her chin a notch. "I aimed for the hand holding the weapon."

"But you could have missed." His nostrils flared.

Samuel shook his head at his friend. "She's never missed a target."

"This was the first time her target was a man." Mr. Mathis tilted his head heavenward. "God forgive you."

Emily ruffled at Mr. Mathis's accusations. He was acting strangely. Didn't he realize she hadn't had any other choice?

"Knowing how Em can aim"—Samuel whistled—"the rogue should count it as a blessing that she wasn't aiming for his heart."

"I, for one, am grateful. She saved my hide." Lord Warren craned his neck in the direction the masked man had run. "I should see about my coachman and footman. Last I saw, they were lying in the grass, knocked out cold."

Emily gasped. "Good heavens." How could they have stood around chatting while his men were hurt?

Lord Warren lightly gripped her elbow, sending tingles across her skin. "It may not be a scene fit for a lady." A crease formed along the bridge of his nose, his concern as clear as the cerulean blue of his eyes. "Even if the lady is a Valkyrie."

"Perhaps you should see your sister home." Mr. Mathis's hand cut between them and scooted Emily in Samuel's direction. "And I'll see what aid I can give."

Samuel nodded his agreement.

Lord Warren bowed. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Thompson. You have my deepest gratitude for your quick aid and my admiration for your skills."

Emily's stomach flipped and somersaulted. She nodded to Lord Warren before accepting Samuel's arm, keeping herself from looking back as they strode toward home.

Samuel aided her across the embankment.

The corner of her sketchpad peeked from behind the tree—forgotten in all the commotion. Before entering the tree-lined path, she allowed herself one glance back.

At the same moment, Lord Warren peered over his shoulder. Their gazes locked.

He smiled.

Emily scrambled to catch up with her brother and the shelter of the woods. As she reclaimed her satchel and sketchbook, her mind continued to stray to dangerous places it shouldn't go—to a pair of cerulean-blue eyes, a teasing roguish grin, and a longing to be wooed by Lord Warren.

U sually, Jacob was an excellent judge of character, an asset that often benefited him at cards and espionage, but he couldn't quite figure Mr. Mathis out. The exceedingly fair Nordic man appeared upset with Miss Thompson. Jacob had had his fair share of run-ins with jealous men, and he was certain this one intended to leg-shackle himself to Miss Thompson.

Better Mr. Mathis than Jacob. Women were a fun diversion, but nothing more. Anything deeper led to heartache or trouble, perhaps both.

Dead grass rustled beneath their boots.

"How did you come to be wet?" Mathis issued a sideways glance.

"The bandit knocked me unconscious into the water."

"Miss Thompson pulled you out?"

"I believe so." He doubted Lord Benton would have pulled him out.

"She touched you?"

Definitely jealous. He should tread lightly. "From the tenderness in my ribs, more like pummeled my chest until I started breathing."

Mathis's frown deepened. "If you are truly thankful for Miss Thompson saving your life, then I would appreciate you not revealing this detail when you retell today's events. I shall not have her reputation suffering for her good deed."

"Indeed," Jacob said. "You have my word."

Mathis's frown didn't lessen.

Jacob pressed a hand to his chest. His sore muscles and skin protested. "I do believe I'll be sporting a fair number of bruises tomorrow." Between the highwaymen's rough handling and Miss Thompson's revival techniques, his body ached, but he was alive. "I'm appreciative for the chance to be feeling anything. At the moment, a little soreness and a few aches are welcome."

His coach and team had been led into a small clearing of the woods just off the other side of the road. The horses munched on the nearby weeds. According to the tracks in the mud, Lord Benton and his highwaymen had fled in the direction of London. If he ever caught another glimpse of Lord Benton, he'd hate to think what he'd do to the odious man. This was the second time Benton had tried to kill him. Jacob wouldn't allow a third.

A muffled sound came from deeper in the woods.

Mathis notched an arrow to his bow and turned that direction in one swift movement.

Jacob dashed to retrieve his pistol from between the cushions inside the carriage. Clutching it, he nodded to Mathis. They converged into the underbrush toward the sound.

Behind a bush, his coachman and footman lay gagged and tied to an oak tree.

Jacob lowered his weapon, and their eyes lit with relief upon spying their employer.

He and Mathis worked to untie them. As Mathis examined the servants physically, Jacob interrogated them. Besides a few bumps and bruises, the pair were in good health. Mathis and Jacob held the steeds steady as the coachman and footman readied the carriage.

"Where are you headed?" Mathis asked.

"Brownstone Hall."

His pale eyebrows rose. "Truly?"

"The astonished reactions to my residing at Brownstone Hall are beginning to dishearten me. I heard it needs work, but how bad could it be?"

Mathis chuckled.

"I'd hoped Miss Thompson was jesting."

Mathis slipped between the mares and patted one's neck. "What brings you to Sylvanwood?"

"I've come to visit my aunt and oversee the repairs to Brownstone Hall."

"Not to court Miss Dorsham?"

Jacob didn't know this Miss Dorsham, but he laughed. He couldn't help it. The events of this day bordered on the absurd.

Mathis didn't appear amused.

Jacob covered his mouth with his hand until his composure returned and cleared his throat. "No, no. I left London to escape the marriage mart and their ambitious mamas. I'm in the prime of my youth. There'll be no settling down for me in the near future. At some point, I will have to become leg shackled, but that time is far off."

"Well, the ladies here are unlike those who reside in London." Mathis's white face reddened. "You understand?"

All he understood was that this man was possessive and overbearing where the ladies of Sylvanwood were concerned. Jacob put a hand to his aching head and leaned his elbow against the coach. Maybe it was because his head hurt, or perhaps it was because he'd had quite enough madness for one day, but he nodded.

A cynical smile passed over Mathis's face. "Well, good. You should report the incident to the magistrate. I can direct your man to his house. It's on the way." Mathis turned and spoke to the coachman, giving him directions.

Jacob thanked Mr. Mathis for his help as the footman opened the carriage door. Jacob climbed in and watched from the window as the odd man disappeared back into the woods.

He collapsed against the seat cushions. Today's brush with death had been a little too close.

He rubbed his face with one hand.

His handler would never believe he'd been saved by a Valkyrie.