Suddenly, a warmth engulfed her. Thornbury’s coat, she realized, cozy from the heat of his body, though the outside was still damp. She pulled the lapels closed, her frozen skin soaking up the warmth. Had he been watching her and seen her shiver from the cold?

“Won’t you freeze?” she said with a slight chatter to her teeth.

“I should have offered it to you earlier,” he replied gruffly, his arm moving over her shoulders and drawing her against him. “I have endured much worse with much less.”

It made her think of what he’d done for the sake of his job. She knew his travels had taken him all over the world in service to the British Crown. Had he been in situations like this before? Running for his life? Escaping death? Seeking a passionate outlet? Her thoughts flicked to the gorgeous woman who’d been married to him, and Bronwyn’s stomach soured. Had the two of them ever shared that kind of near-violent, frantic intimacy? Had the former countess known the lithe thrust of those strong hips, the feel of those hands, the wicked, erotic taste of him?

Bronwyn’s stomach wound into ugly jealous knots.

Of course she had. She’d been his wife.

A vision of them coiled naked together in the throes of sexual congress assaulted her. Bronwyn pinned her lips, bitterness surging into her throat, its fingers clawing upward and making it hard to breathe. She had zero claim on him. What they had shared had been sex, nothing more. She needed to get her head out of her arse, especially where this man was concerned.

“What is wrong?” Thornbury asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You made a strange, angry sort of noise,” he said.

She bit down on her lip. “My ankle hurts.”

“It’s not far, I don’t think,” he said and tugged her closer. “Here, if you won’t let me carry you, lean on me a bit more.”

He was right. It wasn’t much further until a dark structure came into view. It did resemble a pile of old, gothic ruins, with what looked to be a square base with a cylindrical tower looming above them. Follies on estates in England were built to be admired, depending on the tastes of the gentlemen who owned them. Gentlemen who had returned from travel abroad took creative liberty on their estates. There was a folly at her family’s country seat in Kettering that resembled an ancient temple and another that was a dovecote.

This one, however, looked like it was in danger of crumbling apart, as if it had been forgotten and left to its own devices. Bronwyn wrinkled her nose, though the promise of shelter made her giddy.

“Stay here for a moment,” Thornbury said. “Let me check that it’s safe and empty of vermin.”