Page 37 of The Gentleman's Confession
She wrestled to free her hands. “Are you or are you not going to marry Lisette?”
Miles dropped his hold on Jemma and blew out a long breath. “I ... cannot marry her. I never wanted to marry her.” He opened his mouth to explain further, but hoping she’d listen was as logical as letting his guard down.
Jemma pushed him, and this time, he was not ready for it. Somehow, her small amount of weight gained just the right momentum, sending him sprawling backward into the water. Nothing cleared a man’s head as fast as a shockingly cold bath.
If only one’s heart were so easily wiped clean.
CHAPTER 16
Jemma stepped to the edgeof the dock, remorse sweeping over her as Miles’s head came up out of the water. She should never have lost her temper, despite how justified she might have felt. They weren’t adolescents anymore. She couldn’t push someone into a pond. Especially not a vicar!
Calm, gentle Miles was gone, and angry, wronged Miles now gripped the dock with his strong, athletic arms to draw himself out of the water.
She took a step back as he found his footing again. Miles glared and ran a hand through his wet curls, slicking them back. Without taking his eyes off her, his lips in a stern line, he unbuttoned his drenched waistcoat and threw it onto the dock.
Jemma’s heart hiccuped.
His translucent shirt clung to his firm chest, and his hands went to his hips. His eyes, dark and brooding, narrowed further, and he took a purposeful step toward her.
She took two steps backward to match his stride. “Miles ...”
“Jemma.”
How could she explain why she couldn’t listen to his explanation? Why some things just had to be, regardless of feelings. “Miles, I ...” The heel of her bare foot caught between the planks of wood, and she stumbled. Two wet arms caught her.
She looked into Miles’s eyes, softened by his worry for her. Her pulse ricocheted in her chest, hummed in her ears, and sent heat waves through her veins. She wasn’t supposed to be in his arms. It wasn’t safe for her.
“Jemma, I ...” Miles paused and blinked, as if swallowing back the words he wanted to say.
Reflexively, she reached for his wet shirt, but her fingers barely brushed it when he righted her. He was too quick to drop his hands, leaving her cold where the wetness seeped into her gown. She was safer now, but his nearness had confused her—taunted her even.
Shouldn’t anger be her only emotion?
Miles looked over her shoulder, searching past her. “Where is Alan?” He pivoted around her. “Alan?”
Jemma hadn’t even noticed Alan’s disappearance. It wouldn’t be the first time Tom’s son had run off, but this was on their watch.
“Did he fall in the water?” They had learned last September that Alan was a natural swimmer, but the pond appeared empty.
Miles scanned every inch of the area to make certain. “He loves to swim, but I don’t see any sign of him, nor did I hear any splash.” He shoved his feet into his boots, leaving his waistcoat and jacket by the fishing things. He wasted no time darting away, his steps clipping down the dock at a sprint. She shoved her feet through her own stockings and half boots and followed after Miles.
Miles’s voice was more frantic now. “Alan! Alan, please come out if you’re hiding.”
Ian rode up on his horse just as Jemma reached the grass. “Did I miss an invitation for swimming?” He chuckled at the sight of Miles still soaked through.
Ian maneuvered his horse up alongside Jemma’s under the tall oak.
“Fishing, actually.” Miles cleared his throat. “An unfortunate incident ensued, but not the most important at the moment. Alan has disappeared.”
“Again?”
“Could he have run home?” Jemma came up beside Miles, folding her arms over her chest. She could restrain her myriad feelings long enough to find Alan.
“It’s a good three miles or more.” Ian’s horse danced, feeling the indecision of his rider. “I didn’t notice anything on my ride, and if he knows the road home, we should have crossed paths.”
“He might be hiding close by, then.” Miles ran his hand through his wet hair again and scoured the bushes along the pond with his gaze.
Jemma drummed her fingers on her arm, wishing she knew of a way to draw the boy out. Suddenly, an unbidden memory came to her of Alan standing in line for a sweet from Miles. “You don’t happen to have any sweets hidden in your waistcoat pockets, do you?”
