crate. Young woman, he corrected himself. She couldn’t be past twenty years of age. She was pretty, too, with coppery hair that peeked out from the edge of her plain straw bonnet and fine features, even if those features could use a good scrub.
This couldn’t possibly be Miss Harwood’s relation. He could have sworn she’d said her cousin was older, explaining her extensive experience and utter dependability. She had made Miss Dunne sound so sober he’d expected she would look like his old nurse, wrinkled and smelling of burnt milk. He would never have expected Miss Harwood might mislead him.
Unceremoniously, James prodded the young woman’s foot with the toe of his boot. “Miss Dunne?”
She didn’t respond.
A squat fellow in wildly colored patched clothing sidled up. “I’d leave that piece alone were I you, guvn’r. She’ll bite your head off, sure she will.”
“I think I can handle her.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw that the man had shuffled off. He bent down, nearer Miss Dunne. Bite his head off would she, this petite thing?
“Miss Dunne,” he repeated, more loudly.
Her body jerked, and her eyes flew open. Eyes that were the most extraordinary color—blue-green, like deep water—and unafraid of looking him in the face. She scrambled to sit upright.
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously, pressing her back to the crate. “What do you want?”
“Don’t be alarmed. I mean you no harm.”
“As you say,” she replied, skeptical, caution keeping her pinned to her spot, courage lifting her chin. “But excuse me if I do not believe you.”
“You can trust me. Take my hand. I’ll help you up.”
He clasped her hand, small and fragile within his, and gazed reassuringly into her eyes. Suddenly he felt a connection that was startling in its intensity, utterly unexpected, a flash like a spark being thrown from a fire. He felt a pull like an anchor thrown from a ship, sucking him right down into the watery depths of her eyes.
What in heaven’s name was happening?
There was only one explanation.
He had lost his mind.
CHAPTER 4
The man bending over Rachel released her hand so quickly she nearly fell back upon the stack of crates.
“I . . . I . . .” he stuttered, the confusion that flashed across his face turning into a scowl. “I beg your pardon. It was forward of me to clutch your hand so familiarly.”
“Then perhaps you should not have done so,” Rachel retorted sharply. She didn’t care if she was rude. She was angry she had fallen asleep, leaving herself vulnerable. And now some stranger—a gentleman, she corrected, based on the cut of his graphite-colored superfine wool coat and the sound of his voice—had accosted her. “What do you want with me?”
He answered with a question. “You are Miss Dunne, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. And you have the advantage, because I do not know who you are.”
“No, you don’t.” He frowned deeper, the muscles flexing along his jaw The expression marred the handsomeness of his face, cast a shadow over his eyes, gray as the stones of the Brownshill Dolmen, and just as hard. “I am your employer.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flared. Not precisely the gracious first meeting she might have hoped for. “Of course, I should have thought so straightaway.”
“Joe,” he glanced over his shoulder, “this is she, it appears.”
Just then she noticed the boy standing to one side, the one he called Joe. It was the lad from the gig who’d been at the docks earlier.
Joe whistled between the gap in his front teeth. “Cor, sir, she ain’t no agin’ spinster lady.”
“No, Joe, she isn’t. And please don’t say ‘cor.’ Miss Dunne, I am Dr. Edmunds.” He offered a perfunctory bow of his head. “This here is Joe.”
“Good day to ya, miss,” said Joe, a friendly grin tilting his mouth. “Glad to see ya made it safe, after all. We was wonderin’ where you’d got to. Didn’ figure you ’ad any money to run off, though—”
“That’s quite enough, Joe.” Dr. Edmunds’s gaze made a quick assessment of her carpetbag. “Do you have any other luggage?”
“No, this is all I have,” she replied defensively.
“Just as well,” he answered, and signaled for the lad to take her pitiful lone bag. “There’s not much room in the gig.”
He began striding toward the carriage at such a rapid pace that Rachel imagined anyone observing them would conclude he was attempting to evade her.
“If I may, I have a question, Dr. Edmunds,” Rachel said, clutching at her skirts as she struggled to keep up. “Your