She knew he would deem their last encounter a close call and be thankful they'd dodged a bullet. She deemed it anif at first you don't succeed encounter.

As she brought her wet towel to her face, she contemplated her future, wondering, as ever, if it would include him. The facts: He found her attractive, and he'd wanted to make love to her. He would die for her. That first night he'd returned to London, he'd been so dirty because he'd ridden for days to reach her.

So why wouldn't he desire her for more—

Footsteps over crackling leaves sounded just behind her. Before she could whirl around, a hand covered her mouth; other hands seized her, dragging her away from the water and deeper into the shadowy woods.

She dug her heels into the ground, furiously biting at the hand over her mouth, clawing wildly. The man holding her grunted and cursed. Just as his hand moved, she twisted around to see her attacker; cold metal pressed against her throat and she stilled in terror—

"Get your hands off my wife," Hugh said with a steely calm.

The men froze. Jane frantically blew hair from her eyes and saw Hugh with a rifle, raised and steady, his eyes as cold as ash in the dying sun. He had it aimed at one of the two men who'd grabbed her, the one who had a hunting knife against her neck and a soiled bandanna hanging down around his own. The second man trained his pistol on Hugh. "Let her go, or I'll kill you."

Raw fury emanated from Hugh, but somehow he controlled it.

These two must be bandits, some of the very unheroic ones Hugh had mentioned. Why weren't they hiding their faces with the cloths they wore?

Because she and Hugh weren't only to be robbed.

Rattled by Hugh's killing look, the man holding her swallowed audibly, his bandanna rising with his Adam's apple, and pressed the blade harder to her skin. When she felt blood dripping down, she gasped.

Hugh's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, just waited. Jane realized that she'd seen him go utterly still like this before—when he'd been hunting and had a target in sight.

Time seemed to slow. How many times had she seen this uncanny concentration just before his forefinger smoothly pressed the trigger? When she saw Hugh's thumb brushing his rifle, she realized these men were about to die.

The one clutching her began dragging her away. The knife wasn't so tight at her neck as they stumbled back. She should hit him…kick him…give Hugh his chance to shoot.

Jane felt the bandit's rank breath waft over her as he said to Hugh, "Yer bonnie wife's about to be my—"

The boom of the rifle made her jerk with fright, but the knife was gone. The man lay crumpled to the ground behind her, blood oozing from a hole between his sightless eyes.

She glanced back at Hugh.

Never taking his gaze from the second man's shaking pistol, Hugh emptied the cartridge from his rifle as if he had all the time in the world. "Pull the trigger, then," Hugh demanded,impatiently .

Jane screamed when the bandit shot; a bit of dark cloth flew up, but she couldn't tell where Hugh had been hit. When the man saw Hugh was still standing, he paled and hurled his gun at Hugh before spinning around to run.

Jane tottered on her feet.So close. But Hugh must have been unharmed, because he tossed his empty rifle to the ground and caught the man in three long strides, his movements contained, lethally silent.

Everything's as silent as he is. The woods hushed by the shot. Or is my hearing weakened from the report?Then she heard a whimper, and didn't know if it came from her or the wide-eyed man struggling to free himself. But his thrashing was useless—Hugh's grip was unyielding, his massive hands and forearms clamped around the man's head.

How can Hugh move so quietly? What an odd grip he's got on the bandit—

Jane flinched as Hugh's strong arms twisted in different directions. Suddenly, the thick pop of breaking bone was deafening. The man dropped to his knees, head lolling at an unnatural angle, before his body slumped to the ground.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, Hugh turned to face her.

Chapter Thirty-two

Jane's slim body shook with ragged breaths. Her pupils were dilated and her lips were pale and parted in shock.

A trail of stark crimson crept from the slice at her neck, and alarm flared in him. "Sìne, I need to look at you," he said as he cautiously eased closer, fully expecting her to run. He knew what he must look like, and he knew that what he'd done to those two would terrify her.

No response.

"Jane, I dinna do this lightly," he explained slowly, approaching her. "Those men would have killed you."Eventually.

Nothing. Her face was drawn, white with fear. When he stood before her, he prayed she wouldn't run.Doona flinch from me…. He couldn't take it if Jane feared him.

He eased a hand to the slash on her neck, brushing his fingertips to it, then nearly sagged in relief to find it was a mere graze. Before he could stop himself, he put his arms around her. As he clutched her to him and lowered his head to hers, he groaned at the feel of her, warm andsafe in his arms, but her body was quaking. "Shh, lass," he said against her hair. "You're safe now."

"Wh-what just happened?" she whispered. "I don't understand what just happened. Were they bandits?"

"Aye, of a sort."

"Are you hurt?" There was a burn mark and a small hole through the outside of his pants leg.

"No, no' at all. Do you think you can ride tonight?"

"But what are we going to do with the b-bodies?"

"Leave them. They will no' be found for some time, if ever." He drew back so he could look down into her eyes. Running his hands up and down her arms, he said, "We must leave this place immediately. Can you get dressed while I see to the camp?"

She nodded up at him, and he forced himself to release her, knowing he had work to do, and quickly. Keeping a close watch on her as she dressed and daubed a wet cloth to her neck, he packed up their gear and re-saddled their horses.

When Jane was ready, she said, "Can I…can I ride with you?" She glanced down as if embarrassed to ask.

Without hesitation, he lifted her into his saddle, then swung up behind her, wrapping an arm around her. He exhaled a long breath, pleased she still wanted to be near him.

"Try to rest—I'll ride through the night."

She gave him a shaky nod.

Eager to get her away from this area, he redoubled their already punishing pace. After an hour of hard riding, they reached a craggy, dry creek bed. When they had to slow to cross, she murmured, "Thank you. For what you did back there—for what you're doing."

"Say nothing of it."

"Apparently, you're more of an expert at this than I'd imagined." When he was silent, she continued, "Which makes me wonder, in light of this and Lysette's death, how much of an expert Grey is."

He ground his teeth.

"You're not a mercenary, and he's not a businessman."

"No."

"Care to explain?"

Finally, he answered, "I canna tell you, even if I wanted to."

"Do you want to?"

"I…doona know." Part of him did—to get her look of disgust over with.

After long moments passed, she asked, "Are you angry with me?"

"God, no, why would I be?"

"Because I got you into this situation."

"Lass, you are no' at fault here. I am. I should have been more aware—"

"No, I wasn't saying I thoughtI was at fault—neitherof us is. I was saying that I'm sorry you had to kill because of me. I fear you'll feel badly about it."

"Should I no'?"

He felt her shoulders stiffen. "I will truly have my feelings hurt if you regret doing something noble and necessary to save my life."

Noble?He felt a deep welling of pride, and discovered then that noble was exactly how he wanted to be around her—exactly how he hoped she might see him.