Page 52 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“I’m not. I am here as a friend. That’s all. I am not trying to woo her.” Sloane stood up and walked away.

He wasn’t trying to win her over. He had been circumspect and careful. No matter how much he burned for Annabeth inside, he had not kissed her or done anything improper. He’d made sure they had Priscilla for a chaperone. Hell, he had even told Annabeth she should marry Nathan. When this was over, when he was sure she was out of danger, he would be out of her life. He wouldn’t see her again. And he wished that didn’t feel like doom awaiting him.

HUNTER WINFIELD’S WORKSHOP was difficult to reach in the curricle, so the next morning Sloane and Annabeth borrowed two horses from the Haverstock stable. They rode along a lane that led to the Todds’ estate. Since they had just seen the Todds at last night’s dinner, when they reached the long driveway up to the house, they would turn and cross a meadow to the woods beyond instead of stopping in for a brief visit.

They were only a few yards from the Todds’ driveway, talking and paying little attention to anything around them, when a shot rang out. Annabeth’s horse reared, and she tumbled to the ground. Sloane’s mount took off running, but he wrestled it under control and turned back.

Annabeth was lying on the ground. Sloane’s insides were turning to ice, but by the time he reached her again, Annabeth was struggling to get up. The mare she had been riding was far in the distance, still running.

Sloane jumped off his horse, keeping a tight grip on the reins with one hand, and reached down with the other to help her stand. “Are you all right? Were you shot?”

She shook her head. “Wind...knocked out.”

“Come. We need to leave before he reloads.” He pulled her to his horse, and just as they moved from that spot, something splatted into the ground a few feet away, followed immediately by a distant bang.

Sloane practically threw Annabeth into the saddle and scrambled onto the horse behind her. The animal needed no urging; he was already running before Sloane got his other foot in the stirrup. He turned his mount toward the copse of trees and raced for it, not stopping until they were within the shelter of the trees. Sloane’s arms were locked around Annabeth, his heart pounding like mad, and his breathing was hard and fast. He could feel Annabeth trembling—or perhaps that was him.

He leaned his head against hers. “I thought you were dead. When I saw you lying on the ground, I...” Sloane wrapped his arms even harder around her and pressed a kiss to her hair.

Annabeth tightened her grip on him and nodded. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and he felt her head move against him as she nodded. Even through his clothes, the touch electrified him. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, then kissed her forehead. The feel of her, the taste of her skin, the sound of her unsteady breathing tore through his defenses, already lowered by the danger. His lips moved farther down, touching her temple, then her cheekbone. When she tilted her head a little, giving him freer access to her face, it almost undid him.

He let out a short, sharp oath. What the hell was he doing? This was madness. Someone had just tried to kill them, and here he was, thinking of nothing but making love to a woman he couldn’t have. With an effort of will, he lifted his head and loosened his arms around her.

He turned the horse’s head and looked back across the meadow and road. “I can’t see anyone.” Not surprising since he’d just spent the last few moments paying no attention at all. “Blast, I should have been watching.”

“Or he could have gone back the other way,” Annabeth said prosaically, and straightened, a movement that rubbed against him in a way that threatened his already weakened control. “Or he could have escaped while we were fleeing.”

Sloane remained there for a bit longer, watching, but he could detect no movement.

“Where did the shots come from?” Annabeth asked.

“Over there, I think.” He pointed to a stand of gorse beside a low wall. “I couldn’t be sure. He was probably a bit out of range. Both the shots fell short.”

“Too close for my comfort,” Annabeth said.

“Yes.” Sloane sat for another moment. “For all we know, he’s still there, waiting for us to return. I’m not going back out on the road to see.” He turned the horse and started through the stand of trees.

“This isn’t the way to the workshop,” Annabeth told him.

“I’m taking you back to the Haverstocks’,” he said. “Where you should have been from the start.”

“No, you’re not,” Annabeth replied. “The workshop isn’t far from here. I was about to turn off when the shots happened. Just go to your left, and I’ll be able to find the place.”

“Anna...be sensible. They are going to be alarmed when the horse arrives there riderless.”

“I am being sensible. We’re not going to waste a day with you taking me back to Priscilla’s house. And we will explain what happened when we do go back. A few hours of questions might bring some much-needed excitement to a humdrum routine.”

“You certainly are being flippant for somebody that was almost killed just now,” he rasped. At least the irritation was helping him ignore that firm bottom pressed against him, moving with each step the horse took. “You need to be somewhere safe.”

“I need to find whatever it is they want, or they’ll continue trying to kill me,” she countered.

“Yes, but I can search the workshop alone. You can tell me where the hiding places are.”

“It’s not as simple as that. With Grandmother’s box, I didn’t remember how to open it until I looked at it, and then my hands just went to it. Some are hard to explain, and I’m not sure I remember all of his hiding places, but I know I will remember when I see the room again. You need me, and you know it.”

“I need you safe,” he said tightly. “How am I supposed to concentrate, worrying that someone’s going to come in and shoot you?”

“Then you can patrol the outside while I look through the place.”