Название | A Warriner To Rescue Her |
---|---|
Автор произведения | Virginia Heath |
Жанр | Исторические любовные романы |
Серия | |
Издательство | Исторические любовные романы |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 9781474053822 |
The light from her window suddenly died and fear clenched his gut as the darkness choked him. The rational part of his mind reasoned with the irrational and he remembered his mission. Irrational fears had to be ruthlessly ignored until he knew Cassie was safe. Stealthily, Jamie crept out of the bushes and limped towards the vicarage. Her window was tucked to the side, offering him some camouflage. Fortunately, she had also left it open.
‘Miss Reeves.’ The rustling leaves stole his voice although he dared not speak any louder. Jamie chose the smallest of the stones in his hand and tossed it at the glass, then waited.
Nothing.
The next two stones tapped the window in quick succession. After half a minute of standing poised, Jamie decided there was nothing else for it. A handful of gravel pelted the darkened window as hard as he dared without shattering the glass. Finally, his perseverance was rewarded by the sight of her face peeking through the new crack in the curtains. He waved like an idiot, watching her eyes widen with alarm, and suddenly wished he had given up on his foolhardy plan an hour ago. As if the poor girl would actually want to see a broken, useless former soldier stood below her like Romeo. What the hell had he been thinking?
She flung open the curtains and pushed the window open further. Her head followed. Only then did he realise her hair was unbound. It hung down above him like a silk curtain, momentarily distracting him from the dark or from immediately explaining his presence and making him wish he was Romeo. If there had been a trellis, and if he hadn’t been lame, then he would have eagerly clambered up it then. Just to touch her hair.
‘Captain Warriner?’
She issued one of those weird whispered shouts which had no volume and appeared completely flabbergasted.
‘I apologise for the bizarre way in which I have sought you out, Miss Reeves, but I wanted to talk to you and could think of no other way to do it without raising the ire of your father.’ The words were out before he realised how stupid they were. If her father disapproved of her speaking to him in public, properly chaperoned and in broad daylight, his response to seeing his only daughter clandestinely speaking with him in her nightclothes at midnight was hardly going to go down well. The sanctimonious old fool would probably have an apoplexy. He could tell by her expression she thought much the same.
‘I was just thinking about you.’ A sentence to warm his cockles, dashed by her next. ‘And how you manhandled my father out of your drawing room.’
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