The Perfect Arrangement (The Not So Saintly Sisters #4) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,19

my decision with her, actually. And she tells Kingsley everything. It’s just I wasn’t one hundred percent sure…But she can be trusted.”

Christian covered her hand with his. “Of course. I’m glad you were able to talk to someone you trust.” He’d a casual acquaintance with the Earl of Kingsley. The man would only interfere if he thought his wife’s friend was in danger.

“But she did not advise you against this?” He wondered what would cause anyone else to go along with their mad capped scheme.

“She understands me,” Lillian answered. “And I told her that I had a feeling…”

“A feeling?”

Christian enjoyed watching her. She wasn’t obvious in any way, but if he watched closely, he could observe subtle movements that gave away some of her emotions: a slow blink, the tip of her tongue peeking out to lick her lips, a slight hitch to the corner of her mouth.

“About you.”

“My mother did that.” He hadn’t talked about his mother with anyone for a very long time. But the reminder was uncanny. His family had always watched for signs. The entire village he’d been raised near often made collective decisions based upon superstitions.

Lillian lifted one shoulder into that delicate little shrug he was coming to appreciate. Her shawl slipped down to hook on her arms when she did so, and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to press his mouth against the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.

He cleared his throat instead. “I felt the same.” He admitted instead. Did it mean anything that he felt like he’d known her for much longer than a day? “Let’s hope that both of our instincts are spot on.”

She turned her body to face his now, leaning one elbow on the railing of the bridge, but staring down at her hands, fingers threaded together.

“Hope is a good thing.” She glanced up and met his gaze. Before he’d found her chocolate-colored eyes comforting and steady. In the moonlight, they were so dark they appeared almost black—deep, rich, coffee.

“Would you be offended if I kissed you?” He couldn’t take without permission—because she was an innocent, and she trusted him. They had not yet married. She had no one to turn to if she wanted to change her mind.

“I think,” she whispered, “that I would be offended if you did not.”

It was all the permission he needed. But just as he went to lean forward, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.

“Don’t move.” he whispered, instinctively alert. Leaves rustled from the opposite side of the stream, not gentle whispers fluttering in the breeze, but snapping twigs and brushing, as though something large was pushing its way through them.

Touching his fingertips to Lillian’s mouth in a silencing motion, Christian bent down and reached inside of his boot. He clasped the cool metal handle of his knife at the precise moment grunting sounds and the thunder of hooves clambered onto the bridge. As though erupting from a nightmare, a grunting, snarling beast shattered their romantic interlude.

Christian whipped around, stepping in front of Lillian, and buried the knife into the animal’s neck even as a sharp pressure shot through his thigh. He withdrew the knife and. catching a glimpse of the boar’s sharp teeth, plunged it into the beast a second time, this time with more force. Warm liquid oozed onto his hand as he twisted, and then plunged it in one last time.

With a few grunts, and then a shudder, the animal backed away, stumbled off the bridge, and then collapsed on the opposite side.

The silence that followed barely penetrated Christian’s mind. His legs burned but his blood ran ice cold through him everywhere else. He’d been careless.

He’d lost sight of his future, or lack thereof.

“You’re bleeding.” Her voice trembled behind him. She hadn’t screamed or called out. He heard a ripping sound and looked to see her tearing the hem of her dress.

“Don’t ruin it…” She could use his cravat, “Gah…” His mind had turned to molasses. Then she was kneeling before him, wrapping the wound. The tremendous amount of blood wasn’t his, he knew. It was from the damn pig, but he was covered in it.

“I’m all right,” he managed and then grunted when she chose that moment to tighten her knot. “Are you hurt?”

How was it possible that his heart was racing and yet he could hardly breathe? If she’d been alone… Or if he hadn’t thought to carry his knife… His mind ran through an abundance of scenarios ending far