Page 4 of Winning Winnie’s Hand

She motioned over her shoulder with a dart of her thumb, and he looked to where she signaled, then back to her. “You’re from the States?” he asked, his dialect disappearing.

“Oh, so you do speak normally?” she asked.

His lips curved into another smile. “Ah, forgive me, my lady. Your accent hath startled mine straight from my lips. I only meant to ask the fair lady if she hails from the…the former colonies.”

He’d hesitated, clearly trying to come up with the right words.

Winnie couldn’t help her growing amusement. He had to be an actor, and a charming one, at that.

“Do I have to respond in your way?” she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Or will you understand my present-day tongue?”

He thought for a moment, then pressed his gauntleted hand on his armored chest. “I shall do my best to comprehend whatever leaveth thy lips, my lady.”

Normally, Winnie didn’t enjoy theatrics. She didn’t really have time to participate in anything so frivolous. But for some reason, she didn’t mind how this conversation was playing out.

“In that case, yes,” she finally responded. “I am from the States.”

She lowered the window an inch more, fully aware of how judgmental she was for trusting the guy now that she saw how attractive he was.

“Thou art far from thy home,” he continued. “Might I ask what bringeth thee to ye olde England?”

Winnie hesitated. She wasn’t sure if Mr. Wintour had told his staff that he’d hired her. Employers typically brought on consultants in secret, as even the mere whisper of one of “her kind”—an outsider with typically limited knowledge of the company—sent people into a frenzy.

Either way, the knight had to be an employee himself, so a vague response would be her safest bet. “I’m just trying to find Foxwood Hall. I’ve been following the GPS, and it said I had arrived a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen any estate yet. There wasn’t a signpost or anything either, so I have no idea if I’m going in the right direction or not.”

“Ah,” he said, peering up the road. “What a conundrum.”

He wiped the rain from his face, then slicked his hair back with his gloved fingers. His armor clanked in protest with his movements, but Winnie wasn’t about to complain, his features more visible now more than ever. Straight nose. Smile lines near his eyes. Ridges in his neck. Was he really as broad-shouldered and barrel-chested as his armor suggested?

“I fear I have no notion as to what this GPS contraption is that thou speakest of,” he continued, “but I do believe my knightly intuition can help thee yet. The grand estate of Foxwood is just yonder, past the trees and final bends of the pathway. Thou shouldst arrive in a matter of moments, what with the speed of thy emerald steed.”

Another smile stretched across Winnie’s lips. He was entirely too charming.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she responded, looking at the road ahead of her instead of the angle of his jawline. “And am I to expect more of your…kind at the estate? I’d really love to know if I’ve been transported to the eighteenth century after all.”

His eyes shone in the dimming light, his chin slightly ducking as his brow raised. “Did the fair lady mean to say the eighth century?”

He winked, and heat crawled into Winnie’s cheeks at her mistake. Frankly, she was so tired, she wasn’t even sure what year it was now, let alone when knights existed. Could she be blamed for the fact?

“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” she lied, raising her chin and willing the warmth in her face to depart. “I guess I was just confused with a knight from the eighth century knowing about the former colonies,” she challenged, referring to his words from earlier.

His amused gaze lessened her embarrassment. “Ah, right you are, my lady,” he said. “It would appear that I have made a mistake myself. I must beg thy forgiveness, then, if I have offended thee with my correction.”

Winnie didn’t like to be corrected, but that charming smile of his swiftly swept away the last of her wounded pride. “Apology accepted,” she stated.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, studying her in silence before he spoke again. “Being the noble knight that I am, my lady, I fear I must inform thee that even if thou dost make it to the estate, Foxwood does not typically accept guests during so late an hour as this.”

Winnie swiped at the water still dripping onto her armrest. That was just what she needed—damage to the inside of the sports car. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m actually expected tonight.”

His eyes narrowed. “Art thou?”

“Yep,” she stated simply, unwilling to give him more information. “I guess it doesn’t really matter if I’m expected or not, though, since, you know, I’m kinda stuck here.”

Most obvious hint ever.

Fortunately, the knight caught onto it as his eyes returned to the back of the car. “Ah, yes. Of course. I pray thou wilt excuse my lack of proper language now, as I’ve grown weary of finding the correct words in reference to thy steed.” He cleared his throat, his accent shifting to a more modern-day English. “Was the road overly slippy?”

Slippy? Didn’t he mean slippery? She would have corrected him had she thought it would do either of them any good. “Yeah, I think I hit a puddle,” she lied, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t about to admit that her spinout was due to speeding. “I tried to drive out of the mud, but it just seemed to make me sink deeper. I don’t think I’m going to be able to push myself out either, unfortunately.”