“Better I gauge her anger and have it directed at me,” he’d said.
But as Drake watched the exchange, doubt rose that the marquess had made any progress in quelling Honoria’s fury as she pitched rock after rock into the river.
He cringed. Was she imagining his head?
Drake wished he could transform into a bird and perch on a tree branch to hear their words.
He straightened in the saddle when Stratford remounted his horse and trotted back toward him—without Honoria.
Not good. Not good at all.
Stratford’s expression didn’t help. Those gray brows drew into a pronounced V over his icy eyes.
“Will she forgive me?” Drake asked once Stratford reached him.
“Perhaps. Given time. At the moment, she says she no longer wishes to marry you. I thought it best to refrain from telling her I already signed the marriage contract.”
A tight knot formed in Drake’s stomach. “But shemustmarry me.”
Stratford’s brows made an abrupt about-face, arching high on his forehead. “What do you mean shemust?”
“I . . . just . . .” Had the sun become hotter? His face was on fire.
Was it as red as Stratford’s at that moment? “Did you take advantage of her?!”
Drake gulped, forcing the increasingly large lump down his constricted throat. “Keep your voice down, sir.”
“I have a mind to go right back and insist she marry you as soon as we can obtain a special license, or I will shoot you dead!”
“Allow me to talk to her. I’ll get her to see reason.” Lord, he certainly hoped so, or if he had to live without her, maybe it would be better if Stratford did kill him.
The short-lived truce between them vanished, and Stratford glared like the man Drake remembered. “Wait a while before you go to her. I’ve never seen her so angry. Worse than a wet cat. I’ll give you until the end of this infernal house party to make things right, or I will demand satisfaction to defend her honor.”
With a jerk on the reins—a mite too forcefully in Drake’s opinion—Stratford turned his horse and galloped back toward the house, leaving Drake to plan a strategy.
What could he do? He pondered for a while, watching the flowing water.
A brilliant idea formed, and he turned Major—more gently than Stratford had with his horse—and raced back to the house and stables. He’d have to be quick if he hoped to catch Honoria still by the river.
Honoria’s achingarms trembled as she balanced on the log and tried to pull herself into the saddle. Perhaps she had flung one rock too many. Her empty stomach grumbled and churned, complaining both for its lack of food and the dread pooling within.
She had to return to the house—and Drake—sooner or later. With all her strength, she pulled up and pushed off the log. The log tipped forward, and her half-boots slipped. Buttercup whinnied and shied away. Losing her grip on the saddle, Honoria windmilled her arms to maintain her balance.
The log continued its forward roll, pitching her backward. Leaves rustling and someone running barely registered in her panicked mind.
“I’ve got you,” Drake’s deep voice called as he caught her.
The force of her momentum sent them both flying backward, and she landed on him with anoomph.
She twisted around toward him, and he had the gall to grin up at her.
“We’ve done this before. Last night, in fact.”
Pushing against his chest, she righted herself and scooted off of him. “I don’t want to discuss last night.”
“Honoria, let me explain.”
“Help me up on the horse.”
