Page 2 of The Dream of Love
“You named the fox?”
She cast him an impertinent smile. “Not very creative, I will admit. Kit is what they call all baby foxes. But it suits her.” She held out both hands to him. “Will you help me up?”
He gathered her in his arms and carefully assisted her to her feet, noticing her wince the moment she put pressure on her right foot. He motioned to the nearest pew. “Sit down. Let me see your ankle. Did you twist it when you fell?”
“Maybe. Why should you care?” She sank onto the wooden bench, which offered no padding for her sore backside. Of course, the girl was too stubborn to admit she was in any discomfort.
He shook his head in exasperation. “Lass, ye cannot keep doing this.”
She pursed her lips. They were rather pleasantly shaped lips, pink and full and slightly turned down at the corners in what some might consider an alluring pout. “My father is killing the foxes for sport. I saved Kit from one of his horrible traps.”
“Hartfield is his estate. He’s entitled to do whatever he wants on it. You shouldn’t be walking in his woods. What if you were caught in one of those nasty things?”
She tipped her chin into the air. “It would serve him right, his own daughter lamed because of his traps.”
Adam arched an eyebrow. “Seems to me you are the one who will suffer the consequences. What you are doing is dangerous, Lady Remington. You’re fortunate you haven’t been accidentally shot. You must stop before you are seriously hurt.”
As though to prove his point, two shots suddenly rang out.
Her doe eyes rounded in alarm. “He’s done it!”
“Wait here. I’ll go check.”
“I’ll go with you.” She hopped to her feet and attempted to hobble out, but made it no farther than two pews before she groaned and sank back down in pain. “Please save her, Vicar. Don’t let him hurt Kit.”
Those shots had been fired by two excellent marksmen at close range. What was the likely outcome? Adam had more sense than to share his thoughts with her. Lady Remington was a hoyden, but she had the face of an angel and a very tender, caring heart. He wasn’t sure where she got it from, for her father was a pompous arse and her mother, if the rumors were true, was little better. He’d never met the mother, for Lady Hartfield lived in London while Lord Hartfield enjoyed rusticating in the English countryside.
Apparently, they detested each other.
Remi was the unwanted product of that unholy union.
He knelt beside her once more and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’ll try to stop him.”If I’m not too late. “But promise me you will stay put and not get into further mischief.”
“I will. Thank you, Vicar.”
The softness in her voice and the trust in her eyes affected him more than he wished to admit. She had such faith in him, and he felt a pang of remorse. “Och, lass, dinna thank me yet. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
She stared at him and slowly smiled. “You are doing it again.”
He frowned. “Doing what?”
“Slipping into your natural Scottish accent. It’s thicker and more rugged than the cultured one you put on. I rather like it. Why do you feel the need to hide your Highland heritage from others?”
“I don’t.” But he knew she was right. The more important question in his mind was why did he not feel the need to hide it from her? He rose and turned away, unworthy of the openhearted smile with which she’d graced him. “Wait right here. Stay out of trouble.” He left the vicarage and turned left down the lane, in the opposite direction from town. If Remi’s fox had managed to elude her two pursuers, it meant she had run back into the woods, not toward Wellesford.
The quaint town had become a thriving market destination, always bustling with activity. Survival instinct would have led the fox in the opposite direction.
He walked past Sherbourne Manor, home to the Earl of Welles and his bride, the former Miss Poppy Farthingale. Farther down the lane was Gosling Hall, now home to the Duke of Hartford and his wife, formerly Lady Olivia Gosling, whose father had owned the sprawling country manor and passed it down to her upon his death. Beyond the two estates were Lord Hartfield’s manor, park, and woodlands.
He spotted the two men, no more than specks in the distance, and hurried toward them. “Did you catch the fox?”
It did not appear so, for neither man looked pleased and neither carried a fox pelt over his shoulder.
“Blasted creature got away,” Lord Hartfield muttered.
“I’ll get her next time, don’t ye worry, m’lord,” his gamekeeper, a large, hard-drinking man by the name of Silas Wilton, assured.
That did little to mollify Remi’s father, who now turned angrily to face Adam. “You tell my daughter she needn’t come home. If she loves that fox so much, she can sleep in the woods with it tonight.” He poked Adam lightly in the chest as he spoke. “Tell her not to come home until she’s ready to apologize to me.”
