Clara broke into a sprint, the pounding rain soaking through her skirts, causing them to wrap awkwardly around her legs. She increased her pace, racing around the eastern side of the house towards the stables. Rivulets of icy water trailed down her face, and she swiped a hand across her skin, blinking furiously to clear her vision.

By the time she reached the courtyard, it was flooded. She arrived at the stables a dripping mess, and shoved the doors open to storm inside.

Her body swayed, the strong smell of hay and horses assailing her senses, and she leaned forward to catch her breath. “Oscar?” she called between pants. She raised her voice. “I need a horse . . .”

The boy appeared from around a corner, pitchfork in hand, regarding her with shock. His pale blue eyes were wide, devoid of all comprehension.

“Aren’t you a housemaid?” he asked in disbelief.

Clara had recovered and was already hurrying over to where the leather saddles were hanging neatly on the wall. As she heaved one off its mounting, Oscar rushed over in a panic.

“Hey! You can’t touch those! What are you—” His speech trailed off as she whirled around to skewer him with a black look.

“The master’s niece has run off to the woods, and both Lord Ashworth and Lord Evanston are away on business.” She hauled the saddle through the stables, examining the horses in their stalls to quickly try and assess which one would best fit her needs. “I need a horse now, and a recommendation would be welcome since time is of the essence.”

Oscar’s eyes shifted from her face down to his shoes, as he weighed the consequences of caving in to her demands. “I dunno, miss. It could be my job if I give you a horse without any sort of approval first.”

“You are right, of course,” Clara conceded. “In this instance, though, I can honestly say that if you don’t give me a horse, and some harm befalls the earl’s niece, you will be more likely to lose your job than had you thought to trust me just a little.”

The boy still stared at her with reluctance. Obtaining a horse would be much tougher without him on her side. She drew herself up and clenched her fists in exasperation. “Can’t you understand? It’s my neck I’m risking here as well. Were I not convinced of the validity of my request, I would not be making it.”

This argument seemed to sway him the most, although he still looked uneasy when he finally nodded in ascension. He ran his fingers through his wheat colored hair and mumbled, “I suppose I don’t have much to say against that.”

He led her to a beautiful gray horse with shining black eyes. It looked to be the perfect size for her. It reminded Clara of her own horse, Philomena, that she had left behind in Silvercreek.

Oscar looked down at the saddle in her hands.

“Er—don’t suppose you’d prefer a sidesaddle?” he asked, looking uncomfortable.

Refusing to acknowledge the irony of the situation, she stared at him and said, “Do I look like a lady to you?”

Perhaps wisely, he decided not to answer her, rapidly saddling the horse and helping Clara up. Her skirts were ill-suited for this activity, and they bunched and gathered around the saddle. Oscar managed to adequately ignore her scandalous riding position, along with the fact that her legs were exposed, by quickly turning to fit the horse with a bridle and reins.

The moment he’d finished, she steered the horse towards the courtyard, slowing to obtain a lantern on her way out of the stables, then turned once more to face him.

“A rider must be sent to the village . . . it is possible Lord Ashworth could still be there.” A shadow crossed her features as she scanned the darkening horizon. “If I’m not back soon, we will need a larger search party.”

And with a whirl of the reins and a kick of her heels, she was galloping furiously across the field.

Clara slowed her pace once she arrived at the woods. The pathway, so inviting just hours earlier, now looked dark and dangerous, the trees serving as dark sentinels on either side of the entrance. She shivered, wishing she had thought to bring a blanket or a cloak for Rosa. The temperature had dipped considerably in the last half hour.

“Rosa! Can you hear me?” she shouted.

The forest remained quiet. Indifferent.

Her eyes scanned the dim landscape, searching for any sign of movement. Occasionally, she would hear a noise and catch the shadow of a scared animal out of the corner of her eye, and each time her heart leapt into her throat. Fortunately, the horse she rode upon was exceptionally even tempered, only whickering softly at these disruptions. Clara leaned over and softly stroked her head.

“There’s a good girl. We’ll be there soon enough.”

The pair continued. Clara kept calling out for the girl, her voice sounding loud and out of place in the quiet solitude of the woods. Her increasing panic demanded she charge forth and find Rosa in haste, but the rational part of her mind feared trampling the girl in the deepening gloom. She forced herself to keep a slow and steady pace, calling out to her in the hopes of receiving a response.

Finally, the light from her lantern shone on the stone wall ahead. Her heartbeat quickened as she clumsily dismounted and fumbled to tie the reins around the sturdy branch of a nearby tree. She approached the wall carefully, navigating over fallen tree trunks and other debris on the forest floor.

“Rosa!” she yelled. “It’s Helen! Are you here?”

Silence greeted her as she stepped over the decrepit wall. She was fairly certain the well was about twenty feet to her left, so she edged her way carefully towards it. Her pulse was pounding now, and she forced thoughts of what she might find at the end of her quest out of her mind.

“Rosa, love! It’s safe to come out!” Her voice was trembling now.

The dark shape of the well was discernible in the twilight. Clara inched closer until she could see it in more detail, then she shouted in hoarse denial, her fists rising to her mouth in terror. Half the boards on the wooden cover had been broken through, their spiky ends grinning at her like rotten jagged teeth. The breach appeared just the right size for a little girl to slip through.

Clara sank to her knees, distantly aware that hot tears were gushing down her cheeks. She crawled over to shine her lantern down the well, but it was too deep and her light did not reach the bottom.

“Rosa!” she cried, her face crumpling in despair. The thought of her bright little life being lost was too much to bear, and Clara sobbed until her lungs spasmed in her chest.

As she stopped to catch her breath, she heard a faint sound. A weeping to match her own, like some distant echo. She leaned forward at once, but the sound didn’t seem to be coming from the well. Silencing herself, she stood eagerly on shaky legs and craned her neck to hear it better. The crying grew louder and it was only when Clara looked over the side of the stone wall that she saw a quivering shape huddled low against it. She inhaled the damp forest air to calm herself before speaking.

“Rosa?” she called, her voice even.

The shape raised its head, growing quiet. As Clara raised the lantern, she saw it was indeed Rosa, tightly gripping her doll. Without thinking, Clara leaped over the wall and gathered the girl tightly in her arms.

“Oh, thank God! I thought I’d lost you!” Clara cried. “Did you not hear me calling?”

The child sniffled and tried to catch her breath. “I did hear you, but I was scared. Then when I was going to call out, you started crying and scared me some more.” Her eyes were huge and round in the darkness. “Am I in awful trouble?”

Clara couldn’t help but let out a trembling laugh. She stroked the child’s sodden hair and gazed at her affectionately. “No, darling, not at all. I’m just so happy that you’re safe!” Her brows lowered. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did you injure yourself?”

“I hurt my leg when I tried to walk on that,” she stated, pointing towards the shattered boards covering the gaping well.

Clara’s eyes widened. “And you managed not to fall in . . .” She gently took the girl’s leg in her hands and examined it. Scarlet gouges marked where the boards had pierced skin. Blood was still slowly oozing over the wounded flesh, appearing black and strange in the shadows. Thankfully, though, the injury appeared mostly superficial.

Clara reached behind and untied her apron. Quickly she lifted it off over her head, wrapped it tight around Rosa’s leg and tied it securely.

“We need to get you back to the house.”

She stood and helped Rosa to her feet, then scooped her up in her arms and carefully maneuvered back to the horse. Once the reins were untied, she lifted the girl into the saddle then pulled herself up behind her. The horse immediately responded to the gentle jab of her heels, carrying them through the drippy confines of the woods, its hooves making soft sucking noises in the mud.

The world felt right again with Rosa safe in her arms. She squeezed her tightly against her body, attempting to impart some of her own heat to the shivering child. Clara couldn’t bear to think about how close the girl had come to falling down the well.

She had no idea how Lord Ashworth would respond to the entire situation. Hopefully he would forgive her impetuous use of the horse, but she couldn’t be certain he’d allow her the privilege of continuing to spend time with the girl, seeing as both she and Louise had been directed to watch her, and both had failed.

The trip out of the thicket seemed much shorter than the trip inside had been. Soon the horse was trotting out from the trees and into the field near Lawton Park. Up ahead in the distance she could just barely make out the light of multiple lanterns bobbing towards them in the night. Darkness had completely claimed the land, a tiny slip of a moon providing very little in the way of illumination. Her body was chilled through, and she knew Rosa felt the same. The thought of dry clothes and a blazing fire made her weary with anticipation. She pushed her wet hair out of her face; it had long since fallen from its pins.

The lights grew brighter until she could finally see the shapes of the men that held the lanterns, galloping swiftly towards them. The world suddenly became a thundering of hooves and commotion around them as the two groups converged. Her horse reared in panic, but a strong hand grasped the reins and Clara glanced up to see the earl right next to her, his green eyes dark and haunted.

“Uncah!” Rosa exclaimed. She was suddenly a wriggling mass in Clara’s arms, and his eyes caught the movement.

“Rosa, my God . . .” He was off his horse in an instant, reaching up to gently grasp the little girl. Clara relinquished her hold as he pulled her to him in a crushing embrace.

Evanston was not far behind, swinging off his horse to approach Clara, his face grave.

“Let me assist you,” he said.

Since there was no ladylike way to dismount from her current position, she simply swung her leg behind her, wincing as mud went flying, then turned to place her hands on his shoulders. Lord Evanston quickly lifted her off the horse and set her on solid ground. To her dismay, her legs wobbled, and she had to grasp his arm to steady herself. She saw Matthew and Charles lurking behind the two gentlemen, still on their horses, worry etched plainly on their faces. She nodded towards them in acknowledgment, and they tipped their heads grimly in return.

She and Evanston approached the earl and his niece to find his arms still locked tightly around her. The viscount placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Ashworth,” he murmured, “we should get her back to the house. The doctor will be waiting there.”

Finally, the earl pulled away, taking the girl’s face in his hands and turning it from side to side as if checking for signs of injuries. When he spoke at last, his voice was rough with emotion.

“Are you all right, sweetheart? Are you hurt?”

Rosa sniffed, and Clara could now see rows of scratches covering her face. “I’m much better now that Helen found me. It was scary out in the woods, not fun like I thought it would be.” She winced in pain and touched her wounded limb. “My leg hurts.”

The earl reached down to lift her leg into view as she continued talking. He was looking closely at the makeshift dressing. Then he glanced at Clara sharply. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t believe so. Nothing a good cleaning and a bandage won’t fix.”

He tipped Rosa’s chin up gently. “We’ll get your leg all taken care of, my love,” Ashworth murmured.

Evanston reached a hand out to muss Rosa’s sopping hair. Clara could tell the viscount had a great deal of affection for the little girl too, although he was more ill at ease in showing it. To his very obvious surprise, Rosa reached over to wrap her little arms fiercely around his neck. Within seconds, she had burrowed under the warmth of his cloak. Evanston glanced over at Ashworth, an awkward look upon his face.

“Er, I’d hate to extract her now. Perhaps she should return with me, on my horse?”

The earl nodded in reply. “That’s fine,” he said, smiling. “It is clearly what she’d like to do.”

Turning to face Clara, Ashworth’s eyes raked over her. Suddenly, she was aware of how tightly her wet clothing was clinging to her body. Her apron was still tied around Rosa’s leg, so she couldn’t even use it to cover herself. Biting her lip, she glanced down, unsure what to do. To her surprise, the earl stepped closer to her while he untied the laces of his cloak. She stared up at him, paralyzed, as he leaned forward to wrap the thick fabric around her shoulders, covering her completely. The garment was exquisitely warm with his own body heat.

“You may ride back with me, if you wish,” he said. His voice was low, still rough with emotion, and it sent a delicious fire racing through every part of her body.

She swallowed, imagining what it would feel like to be held tightly against his broad chest . . . to feel the strength of his body wrapped around hers . . .

Which was why she could not say yes. To allow herself the luxury of physical closeness with this man, when she knew nothing could ever come of it, would cost every last bit of her sanity.

She lifted her chin. “Thank you, my lord, but I am able to ride on my own,” she said, nearly choking on the words.

Ashworth’s eyes widened, his expression an intriguing blend of emotions. Clara tried to decipher them, but they vanished as quickly as they’d come.

“As you wish,” he replied. His tone was polite, but his jaw was clenched, as if he were restraining some particularly intense emotion.

He accompanied her to the patiently waiting gray horse, and took her right hand in his so she could pull herself up to straddle her steed. Again her legs were bared to view, and again she struggled in vain to adjust her skirts.

As he turned to mount his horse, she could have sworn she saw him smiling.

Clara immediately went to change into dry clothing. She returned downstairs wearing her dark pink morning dress, her damp hair pulled back into a proper bun. She felt much recovered, but still chilled to the bone. Stella ushered her to a place by the fire and pressed a steaming cup of tea into her hand, and the heat from both the tea and the fire soothed her icy flesh. Stella lowered herself into the chair opposite hers.

“The doctor has already examined Rosa,” she whispered in a hushed voice. “I thought you would like to know—she will be fine.”

Clara felt a layer of tension filter out from her body, and she sighed in relief.

“I’m so glad,” she replied. From out in the hall, the sound of whispering caught her attention, and she turned in her chair to see the other servants gathered there to observe her from afar, murmuring amongst themselves. She laughed softly. “You must be the only one brave enough to associate with me right now.”

Stella smiled and rolled her eyes. “There may be some truth to that, although I doubt the earl would sack me just for bringing you tea, even if you did help yourself to his stables.”

“Do you think the earl will sack me?” asked Clara suddenly, sudden panic causing her heartbeat to thunder out of control.

“In this case, probably not. Your reasoning was sound even if your methods were questionable.” She eyed Clara apologetically. “Although there’s no way to know for—”

There was a rustling noise behind them as the servants gathered in the hallway straightened up and came to attention. The Earl of Ashworth, who had been conspicuously absent until now, walked into the drawing room, focused intently upon Clara as both she and Stella rose to face him. His hair was still wet from being outside, the normally gleaming, golden locks now rain-darkened and sleek. She felt the most inexplicable need to run her fingers through it.

Clara realized he was staring at her . . . watching her stare at him.

Mortified at being caught, she cleared her throat awkwardly. “My lord, I—”

“I need to speak with you in my study, please,” the earl said in a low voice.

She felt the blood drain from her face and her eyes darted over to Stella’s. “Of course,” she replied, suddenly filled with dread. Stella gave her a little nod of encouragement before facing the earl herself.

“I can join the others if you wish, my lord.”

“Yes, thank you, Stella.”

He brushed past the housemaid on his way out of the drawing room and Clara followed, steeling her shoulders against the curious gazes of the other servants—who were busy acting like they weren’t looking. Ashworth paused in a bit of annoyance.

“You are dismissed.”

The group scattered, with Matthew and Charles going one way, Amelia and Stella scurrying off in the other, and the earl resumed his route to the study with a slight shake of his head.

Clara followed him, her legs working quickly beneath her skirts to keep up. She couldn’t think of one thing she would have done differently that evening, and she would hold fast to that. Because of her, his niece had been brought home safely. If she was going to be reprimanded or dismissed, it would not be without a fight.

He ushered her into the study, and Clara came to a stop in the middle of the room, staring straight ahead as he closed the door behind them. Bracing for the worst, she jumped at the earl’s touch on her elbow.

“Please be seated,” he murmured near her ear, his closeness causing her pulse to escalate.

She glanced around nervously, then sank into a stately leather chair while he crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. Agonized, she waited for him to finish so they could get on with things. At long last she heard the sound of the stopper being replaced in the glass decanter, and he walked to the front of his desk, turning and leaning informally against it to face her directly.

There were two glasses of brandy, one in each of his hands. She stared at him in surprised silence, then glanced down as he extended one to her.

“For you,” he said, his voice low. “It will warm you up.”

Clara hesitantly accepted the glass and stared at the swirling amber depths. Imitating the style in which she’d seen gentlemen take their brandy, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a modest swallow. A blazing trail tracked down her throat and into her belly, making her gasp and cough. She looked up at him accusingly with watery eyes.

“I apologize,” he said, amused. “I should have warned you.”

The earl lifted his glass and threw it back, draining it completely, before setting it down on the desk next to him. His long fingers gripped the edge of the desk as he surveyed her, but she did not miss the way they trembled there, or the flex of his jaw muscles in contrast to his nonchalant demeanor. Tonight’s events had likely scared him much more than he was letting on.

“Thank you for bringing Rosa home safely tonight,” he said, as Clara took another tiny swallow of her brandy.

“You are welcome, my lord. But there was plenty of luck involved, I’m afraid. Things could have ended quite differently,” she said.

Ashworth averted his gaze to stare hollowly at his boots. She knew he could remember all too well how things can end when everything goes wrong. The fingers that curled around the edge of his desk suddenly tightened, causing his knuckles to turn white, and she glanced upwards in surprise.

He squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain and he twisted his head away from her with a quiet noise. Clara rose slowly and set her glass down, not knowing what to do and afraid of landing herself in more trouble than she already was. She desperately wanted to help him—although from what, she did not know. Her words came out in a concerned whisper.

“My lord?”

His lips were pressed tightly together and he shook his head in what seemed like despair. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. The only conclusion she could come to was that somehow, tonight’s events had caused some other, older turmoil to resurface. She had never seen it herself, but had heard stories of men from the local regiment back in Essex who’d seen battle and experienced similar struggles afterwards.

She supposed a deadly carriage accident was a lot like a battle.

Disregarding caution, at least for the moment, she took a step closer to place her hand just above his elbow. The earl’s arm was hard beneath her touch, and it was shaking along with the rest of him. Her heart tugged at the feel of it. She squeezed tighter and leaned in.

“How can I help?” she asked softly.

With a suddenness that took her aback, his eyes flew open and he reached across his body to seize her hand. His breath rushed out in a pained exhalation.

“Don’t,” he commanded, his wild eyes mere inches away from hers. His grip on her wrist did not relent, however, and she remained where she was, willingly imprisoned by the blazing heat of his hand on her skin. He was holding her so close, and that same euphoria she’d felt the day he’d rescued her in the village came back with an intensity that caused her head to swim with dizzy pleasure. Clara knew she should pull away, but only wanted to sink further against him, to distract the troubled earl in some way. She saw the light gleam of perspiration on his brow, and longed to taste the salt that she knew lingered there, and on his lips, his neck. She leaned in closer . . .

He pushed away from the desk to release her, and she stumbled backwards until the back of her legs collided with her chair. Clara stared at him in horror. She’d just nearly kissed him, and worse, it had been at a moment when he was vulnerable. Perhaps it was seeing this strong, capable man exposed and defenseless that had caused her reaction—the need to comfort him in some way. Although in truth, every instance of closeness with him seemed to have a similar effect on her.

Ashworth’s expression cleared and he sat back against the edge of his desk as if exhausted. When he spoke, his voice sounded rusty, as if he’d just woken from sleep.

“If that ever happens again in your presence . . . don’t touch me.”

Humiliation, sharp and swift, lanced through her chest. “Of course, my lord. I should not have presumed to—”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just can’t predict how I will react when I’m in such a state.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. The hurt from a moment before transformed into a warm, honeyed sensation in the pit of her stomach. He wasn’t angry with her, only worried.

Ashworth’s eyes rose wearily and he reached up to rub his temple. “I hope you can forget the display you happened to witness here.” He sighed. “And I would appreciate it if we could keep the embarrassing particulars between us.”

“Think no more of it, my lord.” She paused. “But if you’d ever like someone to talk to, that is, if you think it might help—”

The earl lowered his brow and it silenced her immediately. Clara clasped her hands in her lap, remembering herself. They were not friends. He was her employer, and she had already broken the rules once tonight. To her relief, his gaze turned evaluative, then he leaned his long torso across the desk to retrieve her brandy and extend it to her once more.

“Back to your earlier point—yes, things could have ended differently for Rosa. And likely would have, if not for you. Lord Evanston questioned the nursemaid. She had a very interesting story to tell.”

Clara’s breathing stopped, her fingers suddenly nerveless against the glass. “Did she, my lord?”

“According to her, Rosa escaped while in your care.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Of all the things she had been bracing for, this was not one of them. “That’s a lie!” she finally managed, her voice unsteady with anger.

“I take it you have a different version of the events?”

Her entire body was shaking as she struggled to control her temper. Blood pounded in her ears as she gazed angrily up at him, and she forced herself to glance away and concentrate on her breathing. It would be of no benefit to lose control in front of the earl while he contemplated her with smoldering green eyes. Still, she could not make an answer.

“You know, sometimes you don’t act like a servant in the least,” he finally said.

Clara’s eyes widened; she felt his gaze like a touch, and she knew this was not good. Not good at all.

“My lord, I—”

“Do you think any of my more well-behaved servants would have been able to accomplish what you did tonight?” he interrupted.

Clara stared at him, at a loss for words. She did not want to set herself apart from the other servants, but honestly couldn’t say if one of the others would have done what she had done.

“I . . . I’m not certain.”

“You go ahead and think about it,” he replied, still looking slightly pale, but much recovered from his earlier episode. He crossed the room to deposit his glass on the sideboard. “And I’ll tell you why I couldn’t care less about what that woman says.” He returned to his desk once more and seated himself behind it, folding his hands across his taut midriff. “First of all, Rosa told me Louise fell asleep while she was meant to be watching her.”

Clara slumped backwards in relief as he delivered the news.

“And second, it was not your primary task to supervise Rosa at that time of day. Even if she had entrusted Rosa to your care, she would be the one ultimately who had failed.” An expression of annoyance crossed his features. “She has been dismissed. Lord Evanston is currently making the necessary arrangements to get her off this estate as expeditiously as possible. I only wish I had done it sooner,” he said, with a sigh of regret. Tipping his head, he asked, “Just to satisfy my curiosity, how did you become involved in all this?”

His scrutiny was almost too much to bear. Even after being absolved of blame, she found her hands were still unsteady. When she spoke, she was humiliated to discover that her voice was too.

“Louise enlisted my aid when she could not find Rosa on her own,” she answered. “At that point Rosa had been missing for one hour.”

Ashworth’s gaze was unrelenting. “And how did you think to search for her out of doors?”

Clara shifted anxiously in her seat. “You might recall this morning’s trip to the forest, my lord, and the fairy gateway Rosa mentioned in the nursery,” she explained. “While I was checking the exits I found a trail of her favorite tarts behind the house, leading towards the woods, and I knew she’d gone back there . . .”

“To the well,” he interrupted, his voice grim. “So then you, a housemaid, managed to coerce my stable boy into granting you access to a horse, which you used to ride, alone, in a storm, to find my niece.” He looked incredulous. “Is this an accurate representation of the events?”

Her neck prickled in warning. She needed to downplay her actions or risk becoming overly conspicuous. “My lord, please know . . . I would have normally never . . . had not the circumstances . . .” She stumbled nervously over her words.

“Rest assured, the circumstances were extraordinary,” he interjected, evaluating her solemnly from across the desk. “Not only were the measures you took warranted, they were necessary. And,” the earl continued in a quieter tone, “I wholly acknowledge you risked both your personal safety and your position here to recover my niece and bring her home unharmed. For that, you have my eternal thanks.” He paused. “However . . .”

Ashworth cleared his throat and looked away. Any security she had been feeling vanished.

“Unfortunately,” he continued quietly, “I cannot leave these actions unpunished.” The earl frowned, taking in her surprise, and added without enthusiasm, “I can’t have my staff thinking there are no consequences for disobedience in my household. Even if that disobedience was used for the highest good.”

His words hit her like a slap in the face. Clara understood Ashworth’s perspective, of course. He wanted to maintain order in a household where she had created upheaval. The knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less, though.

“Do you understand?” he pressed.

“I do understand that in most cases, what you say would be warranted, my lord. And yet—I can’t see how you could find it in your heart to punish me, when a child’s life depended on my willingness to break the rules,” she responded unhappily. Clara stared at her shoes as tears pricked her eyes. She brushed at them angrily with the back of her hand, cursing herself for appearing weak in front of the earl.

Lifting her head, she found he had stood to approach her from around his desk. His face was serious, his expression melancholy, and she became oddly aware of the sounds of their breathing in the quietness of the room. He lowered down to one knee beside her chair.

“My heart has nothing to do with this decision, Helen,” he said softly. “This is business. I am grateful for your risk but must still assert myself as your employer.” He shook his head. “You’ve put me in a terrible position. And you’ve also done me a great service,” he added, his voice rich with sincere gratitude. She felt a sudden urge to reach out and stroke the side of his face—to touch him in any small way.

“Will I still be able to see Rosa?” she asked instead.

A small smile curved his lips. “I doubt I would be able to keep her away from you.”

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. She looked down at her hands.

“Then what is my punishment to be, my lord?” she ventured, her voice almost a whisper.

For a moment silence was her only answer, until at last he sighed. “You will lose your Sunday privileges for one month. Starting tomorrow.”

It could have been worse. She wasn’t happy, but it could have been so much worse. Dipping her chin in a small nod, she lifted her glass and drank the remaining brandy, this time enjoying the burn.

They both rose to stand, and she moved around him to collect their used glassware from the sideboard.

“I will take these downstairs. That is, if my lord requires nothing more of me tonight?” Clara couldn’t help but allow a little sarcasm to slip into her voice. She hadn’t meant to, but she was exhausted and unhappy, and being so near the earl was still wreaking havoc on her emotions.

“Helen,” Ashworth said, a warning note in his tone. But when she met his stare, it seemed her words had affected him differently than she had intended. His golden-green eyes slid down the entire length of her body, snapping back up an instant later. Clara’s breath caught in her throat as his gaze trapped hers. Fear and excitement flooded through her in equal measures.

Yes. Please . . . yes.

His expression changed quickly, a look of regret immediately stamped across his face. Ashworth took a deep breath and turned away from her.

“Good night,” he muttered darkly, putting an end to the conversation.