Compromising Miss Milton. Michelle Styles

      Chapter Four

      ‘The hotel is just up this slope. You see—all the danger has passed,’ Daisy said as they reached a well-trodden pathway. ‘You are safe now.’

      ‘Am I?’ A tiny smile played on his lips. ‘It is pleasant to know. Slightly disheartening though. I had not planned on being safe just yet.’

      ‘You know what I mean.’

      ‘You react well to teasing, Miss Milton. I would have thought governessing had drummed it out of you, made you into a drab creature who matched her clothes. I suspect underneath there beats a passionate heart.’

      ‘I suspect we should keep on walking.’

      ‘As you wish.’

      Daisy concentrated on taking steady calming breaths and maintaining a dignified silence. She tried to think about the men they had encountered, rather than her passionate heart. Had they returned to the clearing? Had they discovered that two people had been there, instead of just her?

      Several times during the journey back to the hotel’s grounds, she had started to turn around, convinced the men were about to reappear. But Lord Ravensworth had trudged relentlessly onwards, refusing to let her stop.

      In a way, it was easier because every time they paused, her thoughts drifted back to the kiss he had bestowed. When she was a girl, she had often dreamt of her first proper kiss. Then it had been all orange blossoms and sweet-scented myrtle. She had never considered that it might have been from an injured man under a sun-dappled oak as they hurried for their lives. For luck, he had said. And she wished it had been for something more.

      ‘I believe I know this path. It leads down to the popping stone and the kissing bush,’ Lord Ravensworth said.

      ‘I am surprised you know where that is. You do not look like the marrying kind.’ Daisy made her voice light. The popping stone was one of the main attractions in Gilsland Spa as Sir Walter Scott had famously asked his wife to marry him there. Miss Blandish had been after Lord Edward to take her for a stroll in that direction, but so far he had resisted.

      ‘It pays to be wary. But kissing is always in season.’ Lord Ravensworth removed his arm from her shoulders for the first time since they started out from the oak. ‘I can find my way to the hotel now.’

      ‘I am quite happy to walk you to the hotel and explain the situation. My employer is an active member of the hotel’s circulating library and the innkeeper knows me.’

      ‘You have done enough. Your part has come to an end.’ Lord Ravensworth inclined his head.

      He was dismissing her. A lump of disappointment grew in Daisy’s throat. The connection with him she had felt only a few moments before had been a trick of circumstance, an illusion.

      ‘If you are certain…’ Daisy straightened her shoulders, and gripped the handle of the basket tighter, holding it against her body. For her, she could not get the touch out of her mind. For him, it had been the merest brush of lips. ‘You are quite right—I have no wish to expose myself to scandal. Imagine if Nella’s tongue got the better of her…’

      ‘And what happened to Christian duty?’

      ‘You are deliberately being provoking.’

      ‘A little.’ His features relaxed into a heart-stopping smile. ‘Your eyes flash when you are angry. They reveal the passion that your employers have not been able to extinguish. I wanted to see you as Daisy Milton, my saviour, rather than as Miss Milton, the governess, for one last time.’

      ‘You are wrong. I have always been like this.’ Daisy firmly turned her thoughts away from passionate eyes and towards the state of her gloves and the hours she would have to spend mending the rents in the gown. Luckily, she knew how to sew a fine seam, and the black stuff could be repaired.

      ‘I have no wish to deprive you of the blanket the next time you go on an expedition.’ He took the woollen picnic blanket from his shoulders. ‘Shall I put it in the basket for you?’

      ‘No, I am perfectly capable of arranging my things.’ She took the blanket from him and placed it in the basket.

      His face became inscrutable, the haughty face of a viscount again. ‘I know you are capable.’

      ‘Then it is goodbye and good luck, Lord Ravensworth.’ Daisy held out her hand.

      ‘Next time I need the perfect governess… I will know who to call.’ He bent over her hand and kissed it as if they were at a ball, rather than standing in a glade. ‘Miss Milton, you should work on a come-hither look. You will find that honey catches more flies, even when you are a governess.’

      ‘I doubt you will have cause for such a glance.’ Daisy gave her fiercest glare, the one that sent Nella running to hide in a corner, in an attempt to hide her confusion. ‘You do not appear to be the marrying sort.’

      ‘Men do not have to be married to require a governess, Miss Milton.’

      ‘This is goodbye for ever, Lord Ravensworth.’ Daisy turned on her heel and fled.

      ‘Not for always, Miss Milton,’ Adam said softly, watching the way her skirt swirled about her ankles. But Miss Milton’s step remained resolute and her back stern.

      The necklace had to be retrieved. It was another mistake. He should have insisted on carrying the basket for her. It was safe for now in the lining, but he would have to get it back. He frowned, annoyed at the slip. Miss Milton had distracted him with the provoking way her white teeth caught her full bottom lip. No, he decided it was only the after-effects of the drugged beer and the dunking in the river. The next time he encountered her, things would be different.

      He began to climb up towards the hotel, his muscles screaming if he put a foot wrong. And he wished that he had been less hasty in dismissing Miss Milton.

      ‘Ravensworth? Is that you crashing through the borders?’ a well-bred masculine voice called out. ‘My God, you are alive.’

      Adam started. The last time he had heard those drawling nasal tones was over a hand of cards at White’s in London a month ago, just before he had set off for his business in Scotland. He straightened his shoulders, arranged his face into his more normal arrogance. ‘Heritage, what are you doing here? A bit far from your usual haunts of St James’s and Piccadilly.’

      ‘Looking for you.’ Heritage rounded a boulder and stood. His black frock coat was impeccably tailored and his stock was just that fraction higher than was physically comfortable. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his pale forehead, pushing a white blonde lock to one side.

      ‘Why?’ Adam’s body tensed, ready to spring. Heritage should be far from here. ‘Surely you have not come from London expressly for that purpose?’

      ‘I