A grunt—deep and unmistakably masculine—broke the tranquil silence.
Margaret whirled around, eyes wide in alarm. It was not a wall she had backed into but a man. A tall and imposing gentleman, to be precise.
The moonlight illuminated his features: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and an aura of quiet authority that seemed to radiate from him. He looked like he had stepped straight out of the novels she adored. Her breath caught for a moment, and she could not help but think,A knight indeed.
“I beg your pardon,” she began quickly, her voice filled with genuine surprise.
“You might start by stepping off my toes,” he said gruffly, his voice a low rumble.
Her face burned as she realized her misstep—literally. She hopped back, muttering another apology, but his words had pricked her pride. “It’s Lady Margaret, sir,” she corrected, drawing herself up to her full height.
“Noted,” he replied curtly, brushing down his lapel.
Margaret frowned. “I suppose this is where you offer an apology for lurking about the garden like some phantom, startling unsuspecting ladies.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, though it was hardly a smile. “I wasn’t aware the garden was reserved for damsels in distress. Shall I beg forgiveness for simply existing, Lady Margaret?”
“A damsel in ennui, sir, n ot a damsel in distress,” she shot back, her voice cooling. “But I had thought a gentleman might exhibit better manners when encountered.”
“Ah, so I am lacking in charm as well?” He tilted his head, his dark gaze scrutinizing her with infuriating calm. “Pray, do you find my manners wanting?”
“Wanting would be a generous term,” Margaret retorted, her chin lifting. “I daresay you are no knight of old.”
“And you, Lady Margaret, are no fairy-tale princess ,” he returned smoothly, his tone edged with dry amusement.
Her mouth fell open before she snapped it shut. “How dare you!”
His brow arched, and the faintest trace of a smirk played on his lips. “Is this the part where you faint, or must I endure more spirited reprimands?”
Margaret bristled, her hands tightening around her skirts. “Rest assured, sir, I am perfectly capable of reprimanding you further, though I hardly think you worthy of my time.”
“Then by all means,” he drawled, gesturing for her to proceed. “Do not let me detain you.”
With a huff, Margaret turned to go, only to feel a sharp tug at her scalp. She yelped, spinning back toward him as she realized her hair was caught on the button of his lapel.
“Hold still,” he muttered, his large hands reaching toward the offending button.
“Careful!” she said, wincing as the motion pulled her closer to him.
“You’re the one tangled up in my coat,” he shot back. “This is hardly my fault.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been skulking about?—”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t turned so abruptly?—”
The sharp retorts were cut short as the tension between them snapped—quite literally. Margaret stumbled forward, colliding with his chest as his hands instinctively caught her shoulders. Before she could regain her footing, momentum carried them both backward.
There was no time to think, no time to protest, only the cold shock of water enveloping them as they tumbled into the fountain with an almighty splash.
CHAPTER 2
“Get your person off of me,” the gentleman barked, his voice reverberating within the fountain as they both struggled to disentangle themselves.
Great. Just what she needed. Drenched, flustered, and utterly mortified.
Margaret barely managed a huffed retort before, with alarming ease, he lifted her as though she were nothing more than a feather and deposited her unceremoniously to one side. The water sloshed noisily as he straightened himself, muttering a steady stream of curses under his breath.
The indignity of it all burned at her cheeks.
