Page 19 of A Troublesome Circumstance

Jude smirked. “She believes I’m the gamekeeper.”

Stevenson blinked. “The gamekeeper?”

“I’ve already instructed Glover to make the household aware. As far as Lady Josephine is concerned, I am simply Jude,” he said. “I fear she would grow suspicious if I returned bathed and with a change of clothes.”

The valet’s mouth curved in reluctant amusement. “It seems a risky deception.”

Jude sank into the nearest chair. “Perhaps,” he murmured, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “but it is necessary… for now.”

Stevenson inclined his head. “Very good, my lord. I shall see to the tray at once.”

The door closed softly behind him, leaving Jude in silence. The crackle of the fire filled the room, its warmth barely cutting through the chill that had seeped into his bones from the long ride. He leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as the tension began to uncoil from his shoulders.

For the first time since dawn, he allowed himself to be still.

His plan had to work. It was the only way to ensure that Lady Josephine would remain safe and that he, in turn, would remain unentangled. As far as she need ever know, he was no more than a humble gamekeeper, a man of little consequence who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

He told himself it was better this way. Safer. Simpler.

And yet, as the firelight flickered across the polished floor, his mind betrayed him once more with the image of her standing in the doorway of his cottage, his coat draped around her, her lips curving into that hesitant, hopeful smile.

Jude groaned softly and dragged a hand down his face. “Fool,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s not for you.”

Still, even as he said it, some quiet, stubborn part of him refused to listen.

He opened his eyes and stared into the flames, his jaw tightening. The ruse will hold. It must.

For her sake. And his.

4

Josephine sat near the narrow window, her gaze fixed upon the empty trail that wound through the trees beyond. The late afternoon light slanted in through the glass, soft and golden, painting the worn wooden floor in stripes of warmth. It had been hours since Jude had left—at least, it felt that way. Time moved differently in the quiet; the stillness made every creak of the cottage and every sigh of the wind sound louder, more significant. The clock on the mantel offered no guidance. Its hands, frozen at half past eleven, seemed to mock her impatience.

She lowered her eyes to the small, leather-bound book resting open in her lap. Normally, she would lose herself gladly in the pages of a story, forgetting her duties for an hour or two. But now there were no duties to shirk—no mother calling for her, no servants needing direction, no embroidery waiting to be finished. Just her, the book, and the endless whisper of the woods. The words on the page blurred together, unread.

Her thoughts betrayed her, knowing she was alone in a cottage, in the middle of the woods. What if Mr. Broderick came looking for her? The very thought made her throat tighten and her palms dampen. She could still see his cold, determined eyes, hear his voice promising a future she had never wanted. If he had survived the accident—and she feared he had—would he not try to find her? To drag her back into that cursed carriage and force her northward to Gretna Green?

A shiver raced through her, though the small fire in the hearth still burned low and steady. She shook her head sharply, as if to drive out the thought. No. She would not go with him. She would never be forced again.

A sound pricked the hush—a pounding, distant at first, then nearer—the thunder of hooves on a path. Her hand closed around the muff pistol instinctively, then she peered through the glass. Relief threaded through her faster than sense: a rider leaning forward in the saddle. Jude.

She unbolted the door and slipped out, the cold of the threshold biting through her slippered feet. The horse slowed, nostrils flaring, and Jude reined in with a practiced hand. He smiled when he saw her—an easy, crooked thing that reached his eyes.

“I have come bearing good news,” he said, dismounting before she answered.

“Which is?”

His glance flicked to the pistol in her hand and his brow lifted. “Did something happen while I was away?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “Only that I like to be sensible. A lady must be practical, is that not so?”

“Fair enough.” He gestured towards a chestnut horse. “I brought a mare I think you should be able to handle.”

“How would you know my riding abilities?” She stepped closer, measuring the beast.

“I daresay a stubborn, yet fast mare will suit you. Was I wrong in my assumption?”

“No. I am an excellent rider.”