Compromising Miss Milton. Michelle Styles

voice held a tone of sinister menace. A wave of cold went through Daisy. ‘We are looking for a dead man. He stole something, something valuable, something that belongs to me and my brothers. There’s a reward, you understand? A large reward.’

      ‘I would not like to encounter a corpse. Or a thief.’ Daisy gave an involuntary shudder and brought the basket closer to her.

      ‘They are far from pleasant, yes.’ The man’s eyes appeared to glow red in the gloom. ‘The things this man has done…’

      Daisy willed her gaze not to go towards the hollow. She prayed that Lord Ravensworth would show sense. The last thing they needed was a confrontation. Lord Ravensworth might be able to hold his own in a fight the vast majority of the time, but not after being half-drowned in a river. ‘Perhaps it is best that he died.’

      ‘You would not have liked to encounter him alive. He has a bad reputation…particularly with the women.’

      A shiver ran down Daisy’s back at the man’s leer. Had she misjudged Lord Ravensworth? She rejected the notion instantly. His grandfather had a sterling reputation and had spoken highly of his grandsons. And she knew from her time with the Flytes all about the Ravensworth fortune. Lord Ravensworth might have all the hallmarks of a rake, but he would have no need to steal.

      She readjusted the basket on to her hip, forced her shoulders to relax. ‘Thank you for warning me. I shall return to Gilsland with all due speed. Hopefully someone will have found my charge. I should not like her to encounter such a man.’

      ‘My pleasure, ma’am.’ The man touched two fingers to his cap. ‘Should you find anything, anything at all, have someone send for Mr Sanjay.’

      ‘Yes, I will do that…if I encounter a corpse. You might want to try the waterfall. Perhaps he went over and washed downstream. No one could survive that.’

      The leader gave an ironic smile and called for his men to follow him, berating them for not discovering the body. The thick-set man aimed a kick at the dog. The dog avoided the blow with ease.

      Daisy kept still, watching them, resisting the temptation to run back to where Lord Ravensworth lay. She heard a faint crackle of a twig, but kept watching where the men had gone.

      What if they returned? What if they were speaking the truth and not Lord Ravensworth? What if they discovered she had helped him? Panic forced her throat to close and her palms became slick against the basket’s handle.

      Daisy shook her head, rejecting the notion. Whatever Lord Ravensworth had done, he did not deserve to be beaten and tossed in a river to drown.

      ‘They have gone for now,’ Lord Ravensworth said, coming out from hiding and brushing his trousers. From his fingertips, her much crushed bonnet dangled.

      ‘That is a far from comforting thought.’ She held the basket as a shield between them and resisted the urge to snatch the bonnet from his fingers.

      ‘It is not meant to be one.’ He gave an ironic smile. ‘False comfort does more harm than good. But thank you for keeping me secret. Thank you for believing in me.’

      ‘Were those men your attackers?’

      He gave a careless shrug and handed her the bonnet. His warm hand brushed hers. Daisy concentrated on her hat rather than on the sensation that tingled up her arm. The bonnet had suffered and its brim showed signs of wear, but it proclaimed what she was and would always be—a respectable governess.

      ‘They may have been,’ he said finally. ‘It was a dark night and I have a lump the size of a goose egg on my head. Only bits and flashes are in my memory.’

      ‘His gaze made my flesh creep.’ Another shudder ran through her. ‘There was something about his eyes. Peculiar. Burning. I have never seen eyes like that before.’

      ‘I saw only his boots. They were far too fine for his manner.’ Lord Ravensworth put a warm hand on her shoulder and his breath tickled the back of her neck. ‘You must concentrate on the pleasant things, and not the things that are designed to unnerve you.’

      A small curl of heat twisted its way around her insides. Daisy struggled to maintain control. She would not give in to the misconception that because she was a governess, she was desperate for a man’s attention. He was simply experienced in such matters and was attempting to distract her from her fear of the man. ‘I had the situation under control.’

      ‘You saved my life. Again.’

      ‘Then do not throw it away unnecessarily.’ She gave the basket a little swing. ‘Are you coming, Lord Ravensworth? It is your hide they are after.’

      ‘The spirit is willing, but my body is bruised.’ His face went white with pain as he started to take a few steps. Daisy’s heart clenched. Against her better judgement, she discovered she admired his courage and the way he treated his near drowning as the merest trifle. It made a change from Mrs Blandish’s dramas. ‘The river was a bit rockier than I thought. Lying there in that hollow, all the aches and pains have started to come out.’

      ‘You need a stout stick for support. And you should put the picnic blanket around your shoulders.’

      ‘The blanket is an admirable suggestion, but there is no need for the stick. I will hobble, if I can hang on to your arm.’

      Daisy’s throat went dry. The thought of being near him again did strange things to her pulse. But to refuse would be to admit that she was attracted to him. ‘If you wish…’

      ‘I do wish.’ His eyes deepened to rich golden amber. ‘And maybe you can explain why you are choosing to believe me now.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Her lips became full and ached with some unknown longing.

      ‘Why did you protect me from those men? For all you know, I may be a scoundrel or a rogue.’ His voice held silken lures and promises, making her want to lean towards him. But there was also a knowing glint in his eyes.

      Daisy forced herself to concentrate on the way her boot still squelched every time she took a step. She had not been a governess for the past six years without learning how to keep her mind focussed on the things she should be focussed on.

      ‘I take against men who carry cudgels and spit in front of ladies. It is a small quirk of mine.’ She gave a small polite cough. ‘And one should never kick a dog.’

      He gave a resounding laugh. ‘You have put me in my place, Miss Milton. Here I thought it was my innate charm that convinced you.’

      ‘Undoubtedly your high opinion of yourself will soon recover.’ Daisy turned her face from him and concentrated on finding her footing. One of them at least believed she was immune to his charm. It was an important point. She would do her duty and then this adventure would be over. She had forgotten how singularly uncomfortable adventures could be. Instead of wishing for something to happen, she should have wanted her cotton-wool life to continue, where nothing more strenuous than working out the truth in Nella’s latest tall tales was required.

      He stopped suddenly, put his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. Her whole being quivered, but she did not pull away. Everything ceased to matter except the shape of his mouth. He leant forwards slightly as she lifted her lips.

      A featherlight touch, little more than a butterfly’s. Then a gradual sinking of his warm firm lips on to hers. Before she had time to consider the shape or the feel of his mouth, it had ended.

      Startled, her hand flew to her mouth, exploring it. The same but somehow different, fuller and pleasantly aching.

      ‘Miss Milton, as you can observe, I keep my promises. Your reputation will be protected and you will have a new pair of gloves.’

      ‘And who will protect me from you?’ She tilted her head to one side.

      His hands took the bonnet from her nerveless fingers, placing it on her head. He frowned slightly and with expert fingers straightened it and tied the bow. ‘There, quite the governess again