One minute she had been clinging to him, grateful for his protection and support, and the next she was flinging off down the street as though she were trying to put as much distance between the two of them as she possibly could. “Damn and blast!” He cursed himself for a fool, though he had not the slightest idea what had brought about the change in her. “Helena!” He hurried after her. “Miss Devereux, wait. . .” At last he caught up to her. “Please.” Gently, he tucked her hand back under his arm. “It is I who should be thanking you. After all, it was your looking after my welfare that got you into tr . . . er caused the situation in which I just found you.” But she continued along, not slowing her pace in the least. What was wrong with the woman? He had apologized handsomely enough, acknowledged his debt to her even though it galled him to do so. He was a soldier, after all, a soldier, furthermore, who had been warned against the spies that permeated the city, and yet it had been a gently bred young woman, who just happened to glance out of a drawing room window and managed to follow his adversaries through the streets of Vienna.
