Page 19 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

“I have a feeling I know where he is.” The stablehand spotted Victor, swallowed, then put his attention back on Anne. “I’ll go get him now so he doesn’t get too far.” He then climbed atop Pancake and went out into the rain.

Anne found a nearby bench and collapsed into it, letting her head drop back against the wall, pulling Victor’s jacket around her tightly.

Though the thunder had weakened and all but disappeared, the rain was still coming down hard, pelting the side and roof of the stable loudly.

Unfortunately, it was a good walk back to the house.

Hopefully, the rain would let up soon, too. Otherwise, they would be stuck here.

When she opened her eyes, she found Victor farther down the stables, his back to her. A tawny horse had its head out, and Victor was gently petting the animal.

Anne watched, enamored by the sight. Victor’s hand, large and masculine and rough, gently pet the horse.

His white shirt, soaked almost transparent, clung to every curve of his shoulder and bicep.

It was the same hand and arm that had held her close just moments ago.

She could still feel his arm around her, his hand gripping her side.

With a swallow, she allowed herself a study of the rest of him. Victor was a large man—all of the McNabs were—but she’d never really studied him before.

She felt her face flush at the thought. She had never really looked at him in this way before.

Then again, it was a bit impossible to ignore it now.

His white shirt and dark trousers clung to every inch of him.

And she could practically see through the shirt, as if he didn’t wear one at all.

He had muscles all up and down his back, muscles she hadn’t even known existed.

She had seen him at work, the way he would carry heavy barrels on each shoulder as if they were mere pebbles, so she knew where they had come from.

Anne shifted in her seat and looked around to make sure no one saw what she was doing.

“It doesn’t seem to be letting up yet.” Victor let his hand drop from the horse and turned around to face her.

Anne opened her mouth to reply with an agreement but stilled as she set her eyes upon Victor’s front.

He was walking toward her, and what a sight he was for feminine eyes!

The last time she’d let her late husband touch her had been before Freddy had been born.

Now it felt like part of her was sputtering back to life.

She could see everything. The hardness of his chest, the ropes of muscle on his stomach and side.

The hair. Dear Lord, the hair. That was an unexpected discovery. And she was surprised to find herself not put off by it, but extremely intrigued.

She made a squeaking noise.

Victor hurried over to her, stopping directly in front of her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice hard with alarm.

She began to stammer but quickly recovered. “N-Nothing.”

Blinking, Victor looked down at himself and swore out loud. “I need my jacket back,” he said with haste.

“What?”

“My jacket.” He looked her in the eye and there was a wildness there that caused her heart to hitch. She jumped up to her feet and shed the jacket.

Victor turned away, slid the jacket back on, and then turned back. “My apologies for that. I had no idea I stood before you in such a state.” He seemed put out by whatever had just happened, so she decided to let it go. In truth, she wasn’t even sure what to say herself.

“I, um…” Victor cleared his throat and rolled his neck. This seemed to get him back to normal. He looked down at her again, no hint of embarrassment anywhere. “I apologize for the unfortunate way we had to return.”

She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“The rather, ah, close way we had to sit together.”

“Oh. Right.” She forced a shrug. “It’s not a problem, Victor.” Not a problem that you held me like you would hold a lover, no, sir. “We didn’t have a choice.”

Though he hesitated, he ultimately nodded in agreement, then went to the large opening of the stables to study the ongoing storm.

Anne had known Victor for long enough, and knew him well enough, to spot the sudden but minute tension that pulled his shoulders and back.

Something was on his mind.

“This rain, the mud. Summerwood.” He paused but didn’t turn around. “It reminds me of something.”

Immediately, dread twisted in her stomach.

When she didn’t respond, Victor turned around and walked back over to her. “Do you know what I’m referring to?”

On a gulp, she shook her head.

Victor ran a hand through his soaked hair then licked his lips. He was nervous, she could tell. And she didn’t like that one bit. “The summer Vivian and Dantes married. It was the only time I’ve ever been to Summerwood before this year.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction from her.

She forced stillness.

“You ran after Winthrop and fell in the mud. Do you remember that?”

No response.

Victor sighed, and after briefly hesitating, sat next to Anne on the bench.

He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, as if considering what to say next.

He angled his head to look back at her and her heart began racing.

But it was with fear, not excitement or anticipation. Please don’t do this, Victor.

“You had fallen in the mud,” he began again. “And I helped you get up. We laughed about the state of your clothes—you were absolutely covered in mud. We had just made a promise to each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was quiet a long time. “You don’t remember it? Or how I ended that conversation? Or do you deny it?”

Her heart felt like it was going to break through her ribs.

Of course she remembered it. She had spent years trying to forget it. They had never put to words what that promise was, but she had seen it in his eyes.

And he must have seen something in her eyes. Though what, she couldn’t say.

But it had been the lowest time of her life up until that point. Bernard had not yet been deceased, but he’d been all but gone from their lives. Her marriage had failed. She’d been melancholy. She had never felt so alone before.

And there had been her new friend pulling her out of the mud.

Whatever he’d seen in her eyes that day, he’d mistaken what it had meant.

And she had dreaded the day he would bring it up.

But she couldn’t give him anything, if he wanted something. She could not promise herself to him, if that was what he wanted. She could not commit herself to him—she could not, would not, commit herself to anyone ever again.

“I have to go,” Anne said, the panic in full force. She hurried out toward the house without a further word, without a further glance back, without answering his question. And she sobbed in the rain as she ran.