Page 34 of The Rules of Matrimony
And no, he was not losing his mind from locking himself in his office for over a week and primarily speaking to a dog. Once he had assured himself that she was well and safe on her walks, he could leave her to herself. It was the least he could do ... as her husband. Weren’t husbands supposed to be protective?
Chapter 14
The next morning, Ian watchedthrough his study window as Amie left the house. He kept her blue spencer and red bonnet in sight until an easy distance separated them.
“It’s time,” he said to Tiny.
Tiny jumped to his feet, as if anticipating the walk together.
“Sorry, not this time chap. I can’t have a single bark giving me away.”
Tiny whined.
“I’m merely ensuring her safety. Try not to misunderstand.” He bent down and scratched behind Tiny’s ears before heading out after Amie.
He kept off the road, tromping through the dew-glossed grass and tucking himself behind trees. She walked without suspicion, holding a small woven basket on her arm. No more than a half mile from the house, she stopped at the gamekeeper’s cottage. Ian had met the older couple who lived there several times over the years but could not profess to knowing them well. Was Amie requesting a certain game for the table? Couldn’t she ask the cook to do that?
He held back, watching from a distance as the gamekeeper’s wife waved Amie inside. Amie shook her head but said something that made the woman wrinkle into a full smile. When the door closed, he fully expected Amie to turn around and return home, but she was off again, holding her basket to her as she continued down the lane. Unable to resist, he followed her again.
To his surprise, she stopped at the very next cottage. Ian crept closer, ducking his long body behind a stone wall that came up tohis waist. He lifted his head enough to see her hand something to someone inside the house.
Amie stepped back and waved. “Enjoy the broth, Mrs. Turner!”
Broth? Ian frowned. Was she playing nursemaid?
A moment later, Amie continued on, swinging her basket happily at her side. There weren’t many houses along the road, but Amie stopped at every last one of them. Depending on where he could secrete himself, Ian couldn’t always observe her interactions. It seemed she was ... helping her neighbors. But how did she know them so well in such a short matter of time? Regardless of how, she had made fast friends with everyone. She was a marvel. There had been no need to worry about her at all. If she could take care of everyone, she could certainly take care of herself.
If he had possessed an ounce of guilt at walking away from Oak End, it slipped away with the morning sun. Indeed, her behavior now reminded him of their visits with her neighbors in Chestervale, where everyone had raved about her kindness. She’d even rescued Tiny, and Ian supposed he could include the mint leaves she’d so helpfully given him. A sudden grin played on his mouth. There was no denying that Amie had a bit of a Rebel spirit.
He tilted his head, trying to get a better look at her position. She stood on the front step of a stone house with a thatched roof, nodding and speaking little. Why was she lingering at this particular house? What were they conversing about? He couldn’t make out a thing. He and Amie had certainly never spoken this long together. He shifted, his legs starting to cramp.
While he didn’t mind freely observing her, he felt a trace of frustration. Shouldn’t she have told him where she was spending her time? All these people—these strangers—were spending time withhiswife, while he had to hide behind a shrub to get a good look at her before dinner.
He scoffed at his own unjust reaction. It was exactly how it should be. The neighborly interactions seemed innocent enough,and his thoughts were borderline jealous. The whole arrangement was confusing him, and he was not an easily confused man.
Amie stepped away from the cottage and finally began to return the way she’d come. He sucked his breath in to narrow the breadth of his chest, realizing this particular tree would not hide all of him should she look over.
When she passed, he stepped around to the back of the tree, but he should have looked at his feet and not at her. His boot caught on a raised root, and he went crashing down to the grassy undergrowth.
Someone gasped. He wasn’t sure if it was him or Amie.
“Ian? Good heavens. Are you well?”
Blast. It was Amie. He hurried to his feet, brushing his trousers off. “Of course.” His knee was smarting, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“What are you doing there?”
He pointed to himself. “Me? I’m ... hunting.” He forced an amiable smile.
She frowned, clutching her basket with both hands by her waist. “Hunting? For what?”
“Squirrels,” he blurted. Because grown men always hunted squirrels. He barely withheld his grimace.
Her charming brown eyes blinked rapidly. “With no gun or weapon?”
He reached to scratch his neck and paused with his arm in the air. “I prefer to use my bare hands.” He waved his hands like it was the obvious answer.
“I see.” She shook her head. “Actually, I’m having trouble visualizing how this is done. My curiosity is piqued. Might I watch?”
