Page 36 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl
‘Shh.’ He cupped his ear, gazing off to their right.
She listened. Nothing. And then she heard it. A sort of squeaking. Some sort of rodent? She grimaced. She wasn’t all that keen on mice or rats. As a cook she had to deal with them, but that didn’t mean she would seek them out.
‘Wait here.’ He pushed off through the undergrowth.
She followed.
He gave her a dark look over his shoulder as if to say on your head be it and continued on, but she noticed he was careful not to let twigs or brambles snap back at her.
A clearing opened before them and at its edge on the other side she could see the source of what she now recognised as whimpering.
A dog. Large and black and rangy.
Its ears flattened at their approach and its lips curled back from sharp-looking teeth.
‘Careful,’ Dart said as she moved around him. He unshouldered his gun. ‘Stay back. I may have to shoot it.’
‘What? No.’ As she drew closer she could see the source of the problem. Twine around the animal’s paw. ‘It is caught in a snare. Oh, you poor thing.’
‘Don’t get too close. It is liable to bite and you are now in my line of sight.’
She turned to see him loading his gun.
‘You are not going to shoot it,’ she said, horrified.
‘I will shoot it if it attacks. Have you ever seen a case of hydrophobia? No? I have. Believe me, you won’t want to take the risk.’
She knelt beside the dog warily. It whimpered and flattened itself to the ground. ‘It is not attacking.’
He hunkered down beside her and reached out. The dog snarled.
‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ The dog whined, then dropped his head. Its tail gave a hesitant wag.
He pulled out a knife from his belt and reached for the twine.
Pamela could see the dog was anxious by the way it tensed. She stroked its head. ‘It’s all right. He won’t hurt you.’
The dog looked up at her and in that instant Dart reached for the snare. The dog, quick as a wink, jerked its head around and snapped.
‘Damnation.’ Dart sucked on one finger.
‘Did it bite you?’ she asked.
‘No. I cut myself. Just a nick.’ He dived into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. ‘I should have put these on in the first place.
The dog, some sort of retriever breed, though a bit of a mix of more than one something else, she thought, licked at its paw.
‘Now,’ Dart said firmly, ‘hold still.’
The dog whined, but surprisingly held still while Dart cut the snare.
The dog rose and shook itself.
Pamela peered at its paw. ‘I don’t think it’s been caught long. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding.’
She petted the dog’s head and stood up. Dart had removed his glove and was looking at his wound.
‘Let me see,’ she said.
