will start playing and you'll be tossing yourself over a bridge."
Regaining her practical senses, she took another step—and lost her footing. Her boot encountered a hole hidden beneath the carpet of moss, and she yelped as her ankle went over. She lost her balance, tumbling into the shallow gully next to the path.
Lying on her back, breathing rapidly, she blinked up at the leaves and glittering patches of light. She became aware of an odd buzzing noise and thought, at first, that her ears were ringing because of the fall. But the sound grew louder and darkness swarmed her vision, obliterating leaves and light, covering all a vortex of black, swirling frenzy.
Wasps. Thousands of them.
Panicked, she scrambled to get up, but her skirts were caught in the brambles. She yanked at them as the insects roared. She managed to stumble to her feet, only to fall with a cry as her wrenched ankle gave out. The wasps descended in a humming shroud. She curled into a ball, shielding her head with her arms, her heart hammering with helpless fear.
The ground shook beneath her. The rhythmic vibration jolted her to her senses. The pounding of hooves, a horse ...?
She cried out, "Help! Over here, help me, please!"
Heartbeats passed. Powerful arms reached through the veil of death and swept her up.
SEVEN
Just beyond the woods, Paul drew his horse to a stop at the folly. It was the closest place he could think to go. He lifted Charity Sparkler into his arms, ignoring her protests, and carried her through the gothic arches into the gazebo. With care, he placed her down on a stone bench, surprised to realize that his heart was pounding.
"Are you hurt?" he said tersely.
"I didn't get stung." She peered up at him with worried eyes. "What about you?"
"I'm fine." He exhaled. "We'll have to wait here until the blasted things clear from the path."
He thought it was a miracle that she'd escaped unscathed. With the exception of the dirt smudged on the tip of her little retroussé nose and the leafy bits clinging to her gown, she appeared much as she usually did. Most ladies he knew turned into watering pots in the presence of one buzzing insect, never mind thousands. But not Charity Sparkler. Her expression was as composed as a sonata.
His mouth twitched as he noted that although she'd lost her bonnet, only a single lock of hair had escaped her topknot. The strand had an unexpected wave and clung with gentle sensuality to her cheekbone. She brushed it away, and, as she did so, the tendril caught the light. The burnished glimmer made him blink.
Frowning, he scrutinized her coiffure. Whatever she used on her hair—some sort of waxy substance?—obscured its natural brilliance. Up close he glimpsed hints of shimmering gold and bronze twined with rich hazelnut. Why would she hide such an asset with pomade and pins? His palms prickled with a sudden memory of silken waves, grasping them as he plundered the softest, sweetest mouth—
He rubbed his hands over his thighs, shaking off the queer sensations. Where the devil had that come from? Was he hallucinating now? The aftermath of danger must have unbalanced him. Or mayhap her hair reminded him of a past lover's, some spontaneous and inexplicable association … yes, that must be it.
Yet he couldn't recall bedding anyone who resembled Miss Sparkler. He made it a point to stay away prim and proper types. Not to mention virgins.
"Thank you … for saving my life," she said softly.
It had been a long while since anyone had looked at him this way. As if he were wearing a coronet of stars. His chest expanded, even as he replied with his usual wit.
"Happy to oblige. I know you adventurous types thrive on risk," he drawled, "but in the future I must remind you of that old adage: never stir a hornet's nest."
"I didn't do it on purpose , sir. And I'm not adventurous—not at all."
She sounded so appalled that he almost chuckled. What an earnest little mouse she was. He couldn't resist teasing
Regaining her practical senses, she took another step—and lost her footing. Her boot encountered a hole hidden beneath the carpet of moss, and she yelped as her ankle went over. She lost her balance, tumbling into the shallow gully next to the path.
Lying on her back, breathing rapidly, she blinked up at the leaves and glittering patches of light. She became aware of an odd buzzing noise and thought, at first, that her ears were ringing because of the fall. But the sound grew louder and darkness swarmed her vision, obliterating leaves and light, covering all a vortex of black, swirling frenzy.
Wasps. Thousands of them.
Panicked, she scrambled to get up, but her skirts were caught in the brambles. She yanked at them as the insects roared. She managed to stumble to her feet, only to fall with a cry as her wrenched ankle gave out. The wasps descended in a humming shroud. She curled into a ball, shielding her head with her arms, her heart hammering with helpless fear.
The ground shook beneath her. The rhythmic vibration jolted her to her senses. The pounding of hooves, a horse ...?
She cried out, "Help! Over here, help me, please!"
Heartbeats passed. Powerful arms reached through the veil of death and swept her up.
SEVEN
Just beyond the woods, Paul drew his horse to a stop at the folly. It was the closest place he could think to go. He lifted Charity Sparkler into his arms, ignoring her protests, and carried her through the gothic arches into the gazebo. With care, he placed her down on a stone bench, surprised to realize that his heart was pounding.
"Are you hurt?" he said tersely.
"I didn't get stung." She peered up at him with worried eyes. "What about you?"
"I'm fine." He exhaled. "We'll have to wait here until the blasted things clear from the path."
He thought it was a miracle that she'd escaped unscathed. With the exception of the dirt smudged on the tip of her little retroussé nose and the leafy bits clinging to her gown, she appeared much as she usually did. Most ladies he knew turned into watering pots in the presence of one buzzing insect, never mind thousands. But not Charity Sparkler. Her expression was as composed as a sonata.
His mouth twitched as he noted that although she'd lost her bonnet, only a single lock of hair had escaped her topknot. The strand had an unexpected wave and clung with gentle sensuality to her cheekbone. She brushed it away, and, as she did so, the tendril caught the light. The burnished glimmer made him blink.
Frowning, he scrutinized her coiffure. Whatever she used on her hair—some sort of waxy substance?—obscured its natural brilliance. Up close he glimpsed hints of shimmering gold and bronze twined with rich hazelnut. Why would she hide such an asset with pomade and pins? His palms prickled with a sudden memory of silken waves, grasping them as he plundered the softest, sweetest mouth—
He rubbed his hands over his thighs, shaking off the queer sensations. Where the devil had that come from? Was he hallucinating now? The aftermath of danger must have unbalanced him. Or mayhap her hair reminded him of a past lover's, some spontaneous and inexplicable association … yes, that must be it.
Yet he couldn't recall bedding anyone who resembled Miss Sparkler. He made it a point to stay away prim and proper types. Not to mention virgins.
"Thank you … for saving my life," she said softly.
It had been a long while since anyone had looked at him this way. As if he were wearing a coronet of stars. His chest expanded, even as he replied with his usual wit.
"Happy to oblige. I know you adventurous types thrive on risk," he drawled, "but in the future I must remind you of that old adage: never stir a hornet's nest."
"I didn't do it on purpose , sir. And I'm not adventurous—not at all."
She sounded so appalled that he almost chuckled. What an earnest little mouse she was. He couldn't resist teasing
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