Page 44 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
She turned back to the men, who were already waiting to follow. “Give us some moments alone, my lords,” she said, smiling sweetly as she lifted the scarf from her belt. “I wonder which of us will have this?”
With a final wave, they walked deeper into the woods, until the sun only crossed the path in dappled shades. When they were no longer in sight of the men, they picked up their skirts and began to run.
Margery laughed with a sudden breathless excitement. “Ladies, which of you would like the scarf?”
“You keep it!” Anne said, already veering away on her own. “They’ll expect you to pass it off.”
“Very well!” Margery called, climbing up an embankment and into a dense growth of trees. “Enjoy yourselves!”
Soon she was alone but for the sounds of her own breathing and the chattering of squirrels. She ran faster, determined to be the last one caught.
Soon enough she heard the men laughing and calling to one another. Heedless of her gown, she crouched on her knees in the densest copse of trees and felt a rush of excitement when she was passed by. Moments later she finally felt safe enough to stand.
As she leaned around a tree to spy on her opponents, she felt a presence at her back. Before she could even take a breath, she was caught about the waist, and a hand covered her mouth.
“ ’Tis me,” the voice whispered.
Margery recognized Gareth and sagged in his grip. He removed his hand from her mouth, but didn’t let her go.
“Gareth—”
“Shh! Sir Humphrey stalks you,” he whispered.
She listened to the occasional crack of a twig and the rustle of long grass. But her sense of hearing was soon overwhelmed by her sense of touch. She tried mightily not to feel his hips against her backside, not to notice that his arm rested just beneath her breasts—but her heart began a mad thump. She couldn’t allow this to happen again.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
Gareth removed his arm from around her waist. “I think we have successfully eluded him,” he murmured, and his breath stirred her hair.
She turned in the closeness of the trees and looked up at him. He gave her a slow smile as his gaze dropped below her face.
Margery stiffened. “And what are you looking at, Sir Gareth?”
“The token in your belt,” he answered, then glanced back to her face. “Should I be looking at something else?”
She felt a blush sweep her cheeks, and she couldn’t find words to answer. She was being a foolish girl.
“Does this mean I won?” He leaned against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest.
She glowered at him as she handed over the scarf.
His voice softened. “Do you remember when last we played this game of chase?”
“I remember chasing you about the courtyard many times. I even won a few.”
He gave her a lazy grin, the one that always shocked her with its rarity.
“Oh, I imagine you think youletme win,” Margery said.
He arched a golden eyebrow. “I was a few years older.”
“But I had intelligence.”
He chuckled, and she quickly covered his mouth with her hand.
“Sir Humphrey could still be about!” she whispered.
They froze, listening. She had leaned one arm against his chest, and her hand on his lips felt so warm, bathed in his breath. She looked up into his face. His humor had fled, leaving that spark of intoxicating danger in his eyes. What was it about him that called to her, that drew her toward emotions she’d vowed to deny?
