The Baron’s Betrothal: An On-Again, Off-Again, On-Again Regency Romance (The Horsemen of the Apocalypse Series) by Miranda Davis Page A

while his betrothed distracted him with her green eyes and tight frock and God knows what else.
    It could have fallen out whilst he chopped her damned wood or ate her damned stew or camped out under the damned yew to safeguard her that first night. Or perhaps it fell out when he rode to and from The Graces in a Damogan-induced mental fog. It could be anywhere. He might have realized it sooner, if he hadn’t been so busy pulling pranks on his refractory wife-to-be.
    It was his rotten luck to be so easily diverted by the woman. They’d only just met and behold the consequence of simple curiosity about her. Part of his legacy, nearly an ounce of Norman gold, lay sunk in the mud somewhere in the acres between the little cottage and The Graces.  
    He held out no hope his ring would turn up miraculously if he retraced his steps; yet retrace them he must, if only to reassure himself that he’d done all he could to find it before giving up.
    He called for his horse.

    * * *

    As soon as Elizabeth heard the hoof beats, she dodged into the cottage and peeked through a shuttered window, her heart pounding. It wasn’t the baron.  
    She was treated instead to the sight of a bareheaded Mr. Tyler galloping up to the cottage and reining in his big, gray horse. He was barely dressed in linen shirtsleeves and unbuttoned waistcoat despite the chill in the morning air. He leapt down from the saddle, but issued no dire warnings about Lord Clun. She came out of hiding to greet him.
    “Good morning,” he said tersely, as if she’d angered him somehow.
    “Is it, Mr. Tyler? You look thunderous.”
    He stopped short and blinked. “My apologies, I’m distracted. I lost something when first I was here. Have you found anything lying about? A ring perhaps? Gold. Big.”
    “You lost it here, sir?”
    “I took it off to chop wood and put it in my waistcoat pocket. Perhaps not.”
    “As I recall, you removed your greatcoat and coat —” At this, she blushed. She shouldn’t admit she watched him while he undressed. He blinked again then shook his head as if to clear it.  
    “I did, didn’t I?” He scanned the yard. “Where did I put them, do you recall?”
    “You handed them to me and I put them on the bench. Let me look.” She knelt down to peer under the rough bench where she’d sat in a daze admiring him. He joined her, sweeping his hand through the grass between them. He stood up impatiently and walked over to the stump.  
    “And my waistcoat?”
    “I don’t recall,” she felt herself blush hotter. She’d been far too engrossed to notice. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “Nor was I,” he said, his tone impatient. “I stood here to chop the wood.” He looked at the ground and circled the stump slowly. “Then I put the pieces over here.” He walked to the woodpile and pulled away some firewood to look beneath. Roddy’s men had done their work and a cord of firewood lay stacked in a neat round.
    Meanwhile, Elizabeth walked slowly from the woodpile through the cottage doorway and called out, “You were wearing your waistcoat and coat when you came in here.”  
    She crouched down to look at the packed dirt floor. He came in behind her just as she stood up so she bumped against him and tottered off balance. He steadied her, and they both stilled.
    “Don’t fall,” he ordered unnecessarily still clasping her arms.
    “Of course not, thank you, Mr. Tyler.” Once he let go, she smoothed her hair back with a nervous hand and turned to face him. He stared at her as if he’d forgotten why he’d come. And at the moment, she was having difficulty recalling his purpose as well.  
    With a start, he muttered, “The yew! Mustn’t forget the yew.”
    She followed him partway to the old yew near the cottage.  
    He circled it, head bent, kicking in the grass. Looking glum, he said, “It’s gone. Lost. I am a fool.”
    “I’m very sorry, Mr. Tyler. I’ll keep looking for it.”
    “No use, that. It could be