“There it is.” Thank God.

The tiny cottage still stood at least. Four stone walls with a thatched roof black from age and the rain. He put his shoulder to the slick door, and after one or two shoves, it gave. Harry stumbled in and held the lantern high to illuminate the interior. Small shapes scurried into the shadows. He checked a shudder.

“Gah! It does smell.” Lady Georgina walked in and waved her hand in front of her pink nose as if to shoo the stink of mildew.

He banged the door closed behind her. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Why don’t you just tell me to shut my mouth and be glad I’m out of the rain?” She smiled and pulled back her hood.

“I think not.” Harry walked to the fireplace and found some half-burned logs. They were covered with cobwebs.

“Oh, come, Mr. Pye. You know you wish t-t-to.” Her teeth still chattered.

Four rickety wooden chairs stood around a lopsided table. Harry placed the lantern on the table and picked up a chair. He swung it hard against the stone fireplace. It shattered, the back coming off and the seat splintering.

Behind him, Lady Georgina squeaked.

“No, I don’t, my lady,” he said.

“Truly?”

“Yes.” He knelt and began placing small splinters of the chair against the charred logs.

“Very well. I suppose I must be nice, then.” Harry heard her draw up a chair. “That looks very efficient, what you’re doing there.”

He touched the lantern flame to the slivers of wood. They lit and he added larger pieces of the chair, careful not to smother the flame.

“Mmm. It feels good.” Her voice was throaty behind him.

For a moment Harry froze, thinking of what her words and tone might imply in a different context. Then he banished the thoughts and turned.

Lady Georgina held out her hands to the blaze. Her ginger hair was drying into fine curls around her forehead, and her white skin glowed in the firelight. She was still shivering.

Harry cleared his throat. “I believe you should remove your wet gown and wrap the rugs about yourself.” He strode over to the door where he’d dumped the carriage robes.

From behind him, he heard a breathless laugh. “I don’t believe I have ever heard such an improper suggestion made so properly.”

“I didn’t mean to be improper, my lady.” He handed her the robes. “I’m sorry if I offended.” Briefly his eyes met hers, so blue and laughing; then he turned his back.

Behind him was a rustling. He tried to discipline his thoughts. He would not imagine her pale, naked shoulders above—

“You aren’t improper, as well you know, Mr. Pye. Indeed, I’m beginning to think it would be impossible for you to be so.”