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Behind them, Pegasus lifted his head, watched his master depart and gave a small, offended whine. William looked back at him. "You stay warm by the fire, old man. I have serious business to attend to with the mistress of the house."

Chapter Fourteen

When Kate woke the next day, she almost laughed at the sound of rain pelting against the windows. So much for Mama's advice that everything would be brighter in the morning. She pushed back the covers and pulled a wrapper around herself, walking to the window to look out at the rain-slicked landscape. Even Pemberley, with all its innate beauty, looked drab and desolate under the weight of a heavy grey Derbyshire sky and the rain, which fell in merciless sheets.

She stood gazing mindlessly out of the window, her thoughts wandering over the events of the past few days and still failing to make sense of the elusive Nathaniel Briar, when she spotted a figure making its way across the lawn. Who was out in this weather? And not running from building to building or skirting around the side of the house, but striding out into the downpour as though it were a pleasant summer morning. It was a gentleman, and as she watched, he pulled the collar of his greatcoat higher and wrapped it firmly around himself. It would do little good, she thought. He must already be soaked to the skin.

It could not be her father. He was certainly not fool enough to go out in this. George, perhaps? But why, when it was still so early?

And then she realised. It was him. Nathaniel Briar, off in a rainstorm to do what, exactly? Stomp about in the mud at the dig site? Even the most committed labourers would not dream of working in these conditions, and what could he possibly uncover if his great hole in the ground was currently filling with water? He could not even make notes. They would be sodden before he got through a sentence, and surely the only thing he would achieve today was disturbing their careful progress, which would already be undermined by the rain.

This man! Who was he, and why did he have the capacity to vex her so? To kiss her like that and then barely glance at her at dinner. To say not a word about it. To act with such feeling and then appear so heartless. This would not do. She was a logical woman. She believed in scientific enquiry, in observing the evidence, forming a hypothesis and testing it against the facts. If the evidence did not support the hypothesis, then one must reconsider and investigate further. That was how one arrived at the truth, was it not?

And what did she have in this matter? A jumble of complex feelings which she could neither organise nor properly recognise. She could draw no sensible conclusion from them, and certainly no hypothesis worth testing. She needed more information, more evidence, and her most useful source of that information was currently tramping about in the pouring rain, apparently determined to drown himself in a muddy hole.

All of a sudden, she knew exactly what she must do. A sense of cool, comforting calm washed over her, and she methodically dressed in two pairs of stockings. a thick chemise and a warm flannel day dress. She wrapped an old shawl about her head and neck before rushing downstairs to the hallway. Luckily, there was no one about, and she was able to retrieve one of her father's greatcoats from the cloakroom, an old, rather enormous affair that he used when going out to inspect the livestock. She pulled it tightly around herself, the hem falling almost to her ankles and the sleeves swallowing her hands.

You may be able to run, Mr Briar, but you cannot hide.

And with that, she slipped out of the front door, hurried around the side of the house and set off across the lawn, following his path towards the barrow.

By the time she was halfway to the barrow, the greatcoat and shawl no longer seemed such a good idea. Both were now sodden with water, and she felt as though she were dragging a great weight upon her shoulders as she made slow and unsteady progress over the already saturated ground. The rain not only fell in violent sheets, but hung in the air, creating a fine misty haze which prevented her from seeing more than a few feet in front of her. More than once, she thought about turning back, but she had made a decision, and although it might not have been her finest one, she did intend to see it through.

When she reached the edge of the barrow, she saw Mr Briar standing atop the mound, looking down into the trench. The brim of his hat was pulled low over his eyes, and rivulets of water ran down his face. Was the man trying to injure himself?

"Mr Briar!" she shouted. "Mr Briar! What are you doing? It is not safe!"

He did not appear to hear her, and a rumble of thunder sounded somewhere in the distance. She heaved up the greatcoat and her skirts beneath it and clambered up the mound, shouting his name the whole time.

"NATHANIEL Briar!" she roared at last, with such force that her lungs burnt and her throat felt raw.

That did it. He spun around, his eyes wide with shock. "Miss Darcy! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the very same question, sir! This weather makes the site most dangerous, and no labourers will work here today. All you will achieve by stomping around is to further damage what has already been accomplished, and I assure you the storm will do a good deal of that for us itself."

"I came to see if there was anything that could be done to protect the site," he said, looking at her in bewilderment. "But never mind that. You must return to the house at once. Good Lord, Miss Darcy, you are soaked through!"

"I am perfectly aware of my current state of dampness, sir."

He blinked rapidly at her and then appeared to come back to himself. "Then allow me to escort you back." He took a step towards her and placed a hand upon her elbow, but she shook him off.

"Not quite yet, Mr Briar. There is a matter I would discuss with you."

He said nothing, and for a couple of long heartbeats all she could hear was the heavy pounding of the rain. A streak of lightning split the sky somewhere above the distant hills, causing her to jump, and he grabbed both her elbows to steady her. She did not shake him off this time.

"What did you mean by it?" she asked, leaning close to ensure he heard.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean. What did you mean by kissing me that way?"

"I… I don’t… it was a mistake."

"A mistake?" she repeated, astonished. "A mistake is miscalculating a row of figures or misplacing one’s favourite novel. It is not grasping another person in your arms and kissing them senseless for a good three to five minutes!"

He pulled off his hat and threw it to the ground, sending water splashing everywhere, and he ran a hand through his damp hair. He looked thoroughly sodden. Tiny droplets sparkled on his dark lashes, and as the light reflected on them, it looked like his eyes were filled with stars. His face was pale with cold, but his lips remained full and pink and damp and disarmingly attractive. She tried not to stare at them.

"I came out to check the barrow," he said. "I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to prevent some of the damage that the weather might cause."