In her mind, she was in the cold mud again, feeling the rain start, wondering with terror what it would be like to waste away like a trapped animal.
“Try not to think about it,” he said, his voice gentler.
She blinked at him. “We’ve been acquainted just over a week, and already you read me too well.”
“Too well? Do you not think I’ve spent the last several hours imagining what might have happened if I hadn’t found you? From the looks of you, you’ve done the same.”
She gave him a weak smile.
“So tell me what happened,” he continued, his voice businesslike again. “And then we notify the constable.”
Her head came up. “No. Surely some poacher dug a hole to—”
“Enough with these games where you pretend to ignore the truth,” he interrupted.
He limped toward her until she had to arch her neck to look up at him.
“You don’t believe any of this was an accident, and I’m done going along with your games of fancy, where you wish things were different.”
“What are you saying?”
“We’re all concerned about you, and we’ve shared information. Miss Webster confided your concerns to Appertan, who confided in me. You think someone might be trying to harm you—or even kill you.”
She’d said that to Penelope, but hearing the cold, hard words from her husband’s mouth felt ... different, and very real. “I ... I imagine I shall keep my secrets from now on.”
He groaned and ran a hand through his dark hair. “That’syour response? That you wish you’d said nothing? Would you prefer I think you had some bad luck, so that when this villain succeeded, we could have only complained about how we wish we’d known?”
She looked away from his focused gaze, hearing the frustration in his voice even though he didn’t raise it. He was not a man to lose control, to react without thinking. “Lord Blackthorne—”
“My name is Michael. I’ve been ‘Sergeant’ or ‘Blackthorne’ for so long that I forget what my Christian name sounds like. I would like you to use it.”
“Michael,” she said in a soft voice.
Some part of him must have relaxed, for he spoke in a more normal tone. “When you fell into the hole, you saw and heard no one?”
“Not until you arrived.” She folded her hands at her waist.
“And since this all started at the time of my arrival, do you think I’m capable of this?”
“No.”
“What can I say to convince you that—” He broke off in sudden realization of her denial. “My rescue today must have convinced you of my innocence.”
“Not really. I simply ... never believed you capable of it even when I wondered if I was being naïve.” Her father had known Michael for years under the worst sort of conditions and only had high praise for him. Ever since his arrival, although they disagreed about their marriage, he’d abided by her wishes and even tried to help her brother.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes momentarily tender.
The answering sweet ache deep inside her was unsettling.
He cleared his throat. “Then call the constable,” he said again.
She briefly closed her eyes. “And what would I say, Michael? That I tripped down the stairs? That a maid admitted she thought she’d accidentally bumped the bust that fell on me? And now—a hole? The constable sees poacher traps every day!” And the most damning reason: the person with the best motive to harm her was her brother, whose life she controlled. But since he could take all of that control away from her—and she so loved him—she refused to believe he might be guilty and didn’t want anyone else tarnishing his reputation by suggesting it aloud. “Michael, I have noproof.”
“But if we talk to the constable,” Michael continued, “then he’ll be on the alert.”
“Any more than you already are? Youlivehere.”
“Are you saying youtrustme to take care of you?”
