Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

6. the secret of the secret well

Geneva Withers may be committing a small crime for trespassing into the Stratford woods, but so was he. Surely it was not acceptable for a man to wait for a woman in the dark and concoct ways to get approval from the said woman, even when he could reason that he was there to catch her committing said crime.

And approval for what—to join her company? Her secrets? Catch her and hand her back to her aunts? Bloody hell, he was not even sure.

As soon as he realized his stupid, disturbing behavior, Damon thought it best to show himself. Thus, he appeared before her, intending to cause no harm nor inconvenience. But alas, he did. She yelped in surprise and jumped back, unfortunately on uneven ground, and with her balance now dangerously off, she started to fall back, her gaslight taking flight first, landing right into a bush.

Damon had the intention to grab her cloak and pull her back, but chose the most sensible thing at the last second. Any wise man would rescue the gaslight first. He heard the painful landing of a body behind him as he dove into the bush. Not too many seconds later, he emerged with the intact gaslight. Geneva Withers sat up with a fiery glare as intense as the gaslight in his hand.

"Pardon," he murmured, stepping forward to extend a hand. "Did I startle you?"

Ignoring his hand, her face morphed into a scowl. "Did you startle me?" she repeated through her teeth.

Damon dropped his hand. "I apparently did. Please, forgive me, Miss Withers."

The gaslight was enough for Damon to see how her jaw tightened before she murmured under her breath, "I'm not hurt, by the way, thank you."

"I did mean to rescue you," he said, watching her stand without signs of injuries. "But I figured the storm had long passed."

With the softest huff he had ever heard—and he meant it to be true because his own sister and cousins never sighed in such gentle manner, even in moments when they tried to be—before she asked, "What?"

His gaze looked away from her dirtied cloak and up to her face; higher to her eyes where it stayed. It was like looking at a caged tiger who was so used to being inside its cell. "It means the ground is dry, so are the leaves." Her face glowed brighter when he lifted the gaslight. "And this little innocent thing could start a serious fire."

A gentle smile curled his lips when he saw her swallow and blink down to brush dirt off her clothes. "I—I'm sorry. I did not realize I was placing the woods in danger—"

"Fret not, Miss Withers," he cut in, stepping closer. "It was my fault for startling you, which was not my intention." He turned to the direction she was originally headed to, speaking again before she could question his presence here. "I was out checking if my cousins sneaked out of their rooms again, but found you instead." He motioned ahead. "I'll walk you to your destination."

There was a slight moment of pause before she found her voice. "What?"

Turning slightly to look back at her, he motioned with his head. "Please, allow me to escort you through this remarkable path bejeweled by traps, Miss Withers." With the gaslight in hand, Damon slowed down his pace to give her time to assimilate the situation he was suggesting, which was his company, of course. He went slower when he did not hear her behind him, and when he finally did, he smiled, picking up pace.

"Are there more traps?" she asked.

"If you follow my steps, you shall be fine."

'You're saying you know where all the traps are."

"No, of course not. If I did, Doctor Peters would have already forgotten my name."

He could not see her face, but he imagined her frowning at the back of his head. "Why do you do it?"