During his years on the continent, it had been his business to lure unsuspecting gamblers like George out into deep water. It was how Alex made his living. Thousands of pounds wagered on the turn of a card. He had an innate skill for gaming. A cool-headedness that served him well under the most strenuous circumstances. It enabled him to win far more than he lost. And win he did—often substantially.

But no more. Not if his plans for Miss Talbot came to fruition.

He was done with cards. Done with a life of rootless wandering. At long last, it was time to settle down. He couldn’t permit himself to be distracted.

And Miss Hayes was distracting.

So much so that, in the seconds before he’d taken his leave of her at the pond, he’d felt the unholy urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. An emotional aftereffect of diving into the pond, no doubt. A brief desire for warmth. For human connection.

Fortunately, good sense had prevailed.

If there was any warmth to be enjoyed, he must find it with Henrietta Talbot. And he would. On that he was determined.

“Not until today,” Miss Hayes said. “When you attempted to rescue me.”

He cast her a humorless glance. “Attempted being the operative word.”

“I told you I was in no danger. And even if I had been—” She gave a dismissive shrug. “I can take care of myself.”

“So I observed.” From the little he’d seen of her thus far, Miss Hayes seemed a capable sort of female. One who might well disrupt his plans if given half the chance. “Does Miss Talbot often employ you as her chaperone?”

She looked up at him, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

Before Alex could form an answer, Miss Talbot called to them over her shoulder. “Don’t dawdle! My wishing bridge is just up ahead.”

George flashed him an apologetic glance. He and Miss Talbot had outpaced Alex and Miss Hayes by several yards. A few yards more and they would leave the canopy of branches behind and step out into the sunlight.

“We’re right behind you!” Miss Hayes called back. As the others continued ahead, she lowered her voice. “Squire Talbot is complacent about many things, but his daughter’s reputation isn’t one of them.”

Alex settled his hat back on his head. “Why is it that I get the distinct impression that you’re warning me off?”

“Perhaps I am.”

The sun filtered through the leaves, hotter and brighter, as the branches opened once more to the blue summer sky. Ahead of them, a small wooden bridge crossed a man-made waterway, its shallow bed littered with smooth river stones and the odd glint of coins.

The wishing bridge, as Miss Talbot had described it during tea. Her wishing bridge.