She was clinging to him like a lunatic barnacle, the fabric of his jacket balled up in her closed fists. A quiet voice at the back of her mind, one that sounded suspiciously like her sister, was telling her she was a harridan and that she would never find a husband with such wild behaviour. She should listen to that voice before she got into trouble, should drop her hands, step back and apologise for her impropriety. But the last few moments had been very trying indeed. Nolan was firm and solid. In his arms she was safe. For a man who looked like he was carved from marble, he gave surprisingly good hugs.
‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, yet again, but I fear someone else is approaching the Dower House.’ His voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating within her.
She lifted her head. ‘Oh yes, I can hear the crunch of feet on gravel. We should go.’
He dropped his hold and she shivered at the loss. He’d already turned away from her and didn’t notice. By silent agreement, they took the back door to avoid the newcomers, ending up in an overgrown kitchen garden.
‘I am going to guess that we have to climb that sheer wall in order to escape this ordeal.’ Nolan was staring at the red-brick border that separated this garden from the rest of the estate. His skin was flushed, his eyes bright. The mud was still smudged on his forehead and dust coated his hair. After only one morning with her, this normally put-together man was undone. If he could see a mirror, he would be horrified.
‘I do not think we shall need anything so dramatic. There will be a gate or doorway.’
They stared at the thick ivy clinging to the walls.
‘I shall investigate.’
‘I will come with you.’
‘And ruin that pretty dress? I think it would be better if you waited here until I find an exit.’
Butterflies erupted in her stomach as he strode forward. He had complimented her clothes, not her face, but it seemed her body could not tell the difference. She was glowing from his casual praise. Somehow receiving the comment from a man who thought her spoilt was better than a hundred vacuous flattering remarks made in a ballroom.
He was making quick work of his task, his movements precise and assured as he searched for a way out. Sienna had always liked the way Nolan filled out his tailored coats, his proud form striding around ballrooms. But there was something very arresting about watching him navigate the wilderness.
He glanced back at her, smiling broadly when he saw she was watching him. Forget butterflies, whole swathes of fireworks erupted beneath her skin.
She took a half-unsure step towards him, when he disappeared from sight, a muffled oath the only evidence he still existed.
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