garment, with a hint of masculine aftershave about it, along with a faint scent of leather and tobacco, scents she associated with a time long ago, her father’s drawing room, her brother after a day’s hunt, so long ago.
“Do you want to give it back?” he asked, hands on hips.
Without his coat, he still cut a strong and imposing figure. His cotton shirt had somehow remained white, and the breadth of his shoulders seemed even more visible. His flesh was bronzed by the sun to a deep copper, and that, with the striking rise of his cheekbones, reminded her of someone she knew, but could not place.
She hugged the frockcoat to her. “No, I don’t want to give the garment back. I thank you for the courtesy. But ... now that you know I’m actually an innocent caught by circumstance, sir, you’ll forgive me if I wish to part ways—”
“An innocent?” he inquired with dark skepticism.
“Yes, really! And I’m about to be on my way—”
“What?” he lashed out succinctly.
“I’m going,” she said, then sighed with impatience. “I go my way, you go yours. You’re a Yankee, I’m a Rebel, but since there’s no one else here, just us, no real war about, it seems we should just go our separate ways.”
“Lady Godiva! Not on your life!” he informed her.
She stared back at him, growing uneasy again. She lifted her chin. “I’m leaving,” she informed him, turning about. But she didn’t manage to leave.
“Take one step toward your horse, madam, and I’ll drag you down to the dirt again, and this time, I promise, I will not let you up.”
He spoke quietly, with an almost pleasant warning, and yet, she was very afraid he meant exactly what he was saying.
She hesitated, spinning back to him.
“Then what is your intent?” she demanded.
“Well, first, we’ll go back for your clothes. After all, I wouldn’t want you thinking that Yankees can’t be gentlemen.”
“My clothing, good. That will be another honorable courtesy. And what then?”
“Then ...” he said, his voice trailing.
“Yes!” she hissed. “Then—what then?”
“Then ... we shall see,” he said simply.
She turned to head for Blaze again, but then started as she felt his hand fall on her shoulder. “Oh no, my dear Lady Godiva,” he told her.
She twisted around to meet his eyes, her own wide with innocence.
“You said that we were riding back. I was merely attempting to reach my horse—”
“You’ll ride with me,” he said, and turned her toward him, adjusting his way-too-big frockcoat over her shoulders. “I wouldn’t want you tempted to run naked into the woods again. Alone.”
“But—”
She never went further with her protest. His hands locked upon her waist and he set her upon his own mammoth gelding, slipped up behind her with the same uncanny agility she had seen before, and lifted the reins! She felt his chest at her back, his arms around her. Renewed anger and a wretched shaking seized hold of her at the same time. She didn’t want to fight at the moment—or move. Movement only made things worse. She’d shared a greater intimacy with a stranger in a matter of minutes than she had known with any man in her life—father, brothers, and patients included.
“My horse—”
“She follows behind us,” he assured her.
“There is no need to do this,” she said, trying not to sound as if she pleaded too desperately. “I am no threat to you—”
“You are mistaken. You are a threat, to me—and to yourself. In fact, your intent is to be an incredible threat.”
“But—”
“You were moving with soldiers, madam, weren’t you? By your own admission,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but—”
“You are bold enough to entice a soldier into the woods with a display of the ... the barest beauty. Clever enough to try to lie your way out of any predicament. So I wonder, who are you? What other sacrifices do you make for your war department? Give me your name.”
“I think not.”
“I think
“Do you want to give it back?” he asked, hands on hips.
Without his coat, he still cut a strong and imposing figure. His cotton shirt had somehow remained white, and the breadth of his shoulders seemed even more visible. His flesh was bronzed by the sun to a deep copper, and that, with the striking rise of his cheekbones, reminded her of someone she knew, but could not place.
She hugged the frockcoat to her. “No, I don’t want to give the garment back. I thank you for the courtesy. But ... now that you know I’m actually an innocent caught by circumstance, sir, you’ll forgive me if I wish to part ways—”
“An innocent?” he inquired with dark skepticism.
“Yes, really! And I’m about to be on my way—”
“What?” he lashed out succinctly.
“I’m going,” she said, then sighed with impatience. “I go my way, you go yours. You’re a Yankee, I’m a Rebel, but since there’s no one else here, just us, no real war about, it seems we should just go our separate ways.”
“Lady Godiva! Not on your life!” he informed her.
She stared back at him, growing uneasy again. She lifted her chin. “I’m leaving,” she informed him, turning about. But she didn’t manage to leave.
“Take one step toward your horse, madam, and I’ll drag you down to the dirt again, and this time, I promise, I will not let you up.”
He spoke quietly, with an almost pleasant warning, and yet, she was very afraid he meant exactly what he was saying.
She hesitated, spinning back to him.
“Then what is your intent?” she demanded.
“Well, first, we’ll go back for your clothes. After all, I wouldn’t want you thinking that Yankees can’t be gentlemen.”
“My clothing, good. That will be another honorable courtesy. And what then?”
“Then ...” he said, his voice trailing.
“Yes!” she hissed. “Then—what then?”
“Then ... we shall see,” he said simply.
She turned to head for Blaze again, but then started as she felt his hand fall on her shoulder. “Oh no, my dear Lady Godiva,” he told her.
She twisted around to meet his eyes, her own wide with innocence.
“You said that we were riding back. I was merely attempting to reach my horse—”
“You’ll ride with me,” he said, and turned her toward him, adjusting his way-too-big frockcoat over her shoulders. “I wouldn’t want you tempted to run naked into the woods again. Alone.”
“But—”
She never went further with her protest. His hands locked upon her waist and he set her upon his own mammoth gelding, slipped up behind her with the same uncanny agility she had seen before, and lifted the reins! She felt his chest at her back, his arms around her. Renewed anger and a wretched shaking seized hold of her at the same time. She didn’t want to fight at the moment—or move. Movement only made things worse. She’d shared a greater intimacy with a stranger in a matter of minutes than she had known with any man in her life—father, brothers, and patients included.
“My horse—”
“She follows behind us,” he assured her.
“There is no need to do this,” she said, trying not to sound as if she pleaded too desperately. “I am no threat to you—”
“You are mistaken. You are a threat, to me—and to yourself. In fact, your intent is to be an incredible threat.”
“But—”
“You were moving with soldiers, madam, weren’t you? By your own admission,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but—”
“You are bold enough to entice a soldier into the woods with a display of the ... the barest beauty. Clever enough to try to lie your way out of any predicament. So I wonder, who are you? What other sacrifices do you make for your war department? Give me your name.”
“I think not.”
“I think
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