YOU DIDN'T RUN

"Major Sinclair?" Travener said, more softly this time.

She watched the breath Ian drew, his mouth opening slightly to accommodate its depth.

Finally he turned his head to look at the man standing beside them. The pistols with which Doyle Travener had scattered the angry mob were still in his hands.

"Would you find my coachman, please?" Ian asked, as if that request were the most ordinary thing in the world. As if Travener were someone who might be sent to do his bidding.

"Are you sure you are alright, sir?"

"Perfectly sure, thank you," Ian said formally. "Miss Darlington, however, should be conveyed home immediately. She has had a shock, as you may imagine."

She had, of course, but she wasn't hurt, and she certainly wasn't hysterical. She couldn't imagine why she was not, but then she could never have imagined any of what had just happened.

"Of course," Mr Travener said, moving away to carry out the assignment he had been given, as if the chain of command that would have bound these two men in Iberia had not been changed by their present circumstances.

When Travener had disappeared, Ian turned his head again, looking down once more into her eyes. He was no longer that touching her. There was as much distance between them now as if they were dancing or conversing at so. even crowded rout.

And yet it seemed as if she could still feel the imprint of each individual muscle of his body on her skin. Her breasts were tight and aching, with fear or excitement or need. And she felt as if she had been burned by whatever incredible current of emotion had passed between them during the seconds-long eternity his eyes had held on hers.

"It seems I once more owe you my life," she said when this silence had also gone on too long.

He shook his head, the movement small, but clearly negative. There was still within his face something of the battle rage she had glimpsed before. Even as she watched, however, his features seemed to be changing, transforming themselves once more into the face of the man she had thought she knew.

"You should have run when I told you to," he said.

"You might have been hurt."

"You didn't run."

The stern line of his lips softened, not quite a smile. "I can't," he said, touching his thigh.

"I don't think you ever knew how to run from a flight. Maybe that's a lesson I haven't learned either," she said returning the smile. "Obviously Elizabeth's teaching is at fault. Or perhaps I am more my father's daughter than I have believed."

And once more his eyes changed, slowly, gradually, even as she watched. There was again a physical withdrawal, more subtle this time than the actual step back he had taken before.

What was happening now was nothing so blatant as that. Perhaps it had been only a shift of his weight into his good leg. Or maybe a shift of his attention.

She became aware of the arrival of the carriage at the same time Ian turned to face it. The coachman brought the horses as close to them as he could, given the size of the crowd which had now gathered in the street. Annie wondered where all those people had been when they were being attacked.

And then she saw Ian's cane lying in the street between them and the coach. She brushed past him and walked over to it, stooping to pick it up.

She realized as she did that Mr Travener was standing beside the coach, holding the door open for her. He had apparently put his pistols away, for his hands were free.

Instead of walking over to the carriage, she turned around and carried the cane back to her guardian, who was standing exactly where she had left him. She held the stick out like an offering on her open palms.

His eyes rested on it a moment, and then he reached out and took it from her hands. For a second or two, she stared down at her stained kid gloves, which she had noticed for the first time. She looked up, smiling at Ian to indicate how little she cared that they were ruined, and realized that her guardian's eyes, holding the intensity they had held before, were on her face.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She expected him to take her arm and lead her to the coach. And his support would have been very welcome since he knees had begun to shake. Unaccountably, they hadn't while the attack was going on or even when she had walked that short distance to retrieve Ian's cane.

Now that it was all over, however, she had had time to realize how near to tragedy this had almost been. And time to understand the consequences had Mr Travener not intervened. Had he come a little bit later than he was, then...

Neither of them had yet expressed their gratitude. She turned and walked towards the coach. As she approached the door beside which Mr Travener still stood, she held out her hand. Doyle took it, but instead of kissing it, he enclosed her shaking fingers in his, as a friend might have done.

"Thank you, Mr Travener," she said.

"I only regret I wasn't sooner."

"You were soon enough," she said. "We owe you our lives."