“Hmm.” Clara examined the little creature. “He’s very small. And though he’s brown, his coat has a great deal of red in it. What about Firefly?”

“Firefly,” Mr. Cross repeated. “I like it.”

“You saved his life, you know. And hers, too, I have no doubt.”

“With your help.”

Pride bloomed within her. She had helped, hadn’t she? She’d been useful in a practical, tangible way. Not only to Betty, and Firefly, but to Mr. Cross. It was a giddy feeling, and one she was careful not to indulge.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Anyone could have done my part. But you…” Her voice softened. “What a blessing it was that she encountered you that day at the King’s Arms.”

“I wish I c-could have done more.”

“You’ve done more than most would. More than anyone I’ve ever known. It’s easy to see an injustice and to feel grieved by it, but most people pass on. To actually do something—to speak out against a wrong and make an effort to right it—is a rarity. How many gentlemen would have cared for the plight of an injured wild pony? Most don’t even care for the plight of a poor injured child.”

“They should.”

“Yes, I daresay.” Firefly continued mouthing the air, but he made no other effort to move. “When will he stand?”

“Within the hour.” Mr. Cross’s arm fell from her waist. “We’ll have t-to prepare.”

She looked at him in alarm. “For what? There’s no other difficulty, is there?”

“Betty hasn’t any milk yet. Until she does…I’ll have to give him c-cow’s milk.”

“How?”

“With a tea kettle. You’ll see.” A flicker of uncertainty clouded his brow. “Unless… Do you have to go?”

“I believe I can stay another hour.” She smiled. “It is Christmas, after all.”

His mouth curved slowly. “I’d forgotten.”

“I haven’t.” She stared up at him. And the moment was so perfect—he was so perfect—that she raised her hand to touch his cheek. “I shan’t ever forget the events of this morning. Not for as long as I live. And I mean to live a good long while, Mr. Cross.”

Warmth heated his face—and his eyes, too. As if her touch had kindled a fire within him. “Please…call me Neville.”

Her pulse fluttered. It hadn’t occurred to her to address him by his given name. Not even when he’d begun using hers. She was that wary of making assumptions. Of presuming an intimacy that didn’t exist. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

She drew her fingers along the rough plane of his cheek in a brief caress. He went still at her touch. Holding his breath, just as she held hers. Relishing the moment. Waiting to see what might happen next.

Who was she fooling?