‘Steady, Star, nothing to shy about.’ All desire to laugh vanished as her crushed feet thumped back onto the path. How could she walk back in these boots? She knew she could barely hobble a few yards. She had no alternative. She must remove them. Walking in stockings, however uneven the ground was preferable to having every toe broken.
She spoke aloud to the waiting mare. ‘I have to remove my boots, sweetheart, they are so small I’m crippled and cannot walk.’ The horse nuzzled her shoulder, leaving a trail of slobber behind. ‘Good girl! You must remain still whilst I pull them off. Do you think you can do that for me?’
Charlotte leant, experimentally, against the horse’s solid flank and the animal didn’t move. She attempted to lean forward and raise her leg but found she was unable to do so. Her shirt tails were so securely tucked in this was impossible. She wriggled and fiddled but soon understood she had but two options. She could try and walk home in her boots or risk undoing her britches and temporarily exposing herself to the elements whilst she released her shirt.
She had no choice. She would walk even if it broke all her toes in the process. Then a third option occurred to her; she could remount Star and ride home. She glanced around, looking for something suitable to stand on, but could see nothing. Maybe if she lengthened the stirrup leather to its fullest extent she could manage to put her foot in unaided.
Unwanted tears spilled down her cheeks. Even if she did find something to stand on, or could get her foot in the iron, she could only manage it by undoing her shirt. Her head dropped and she swallowed a sob of frustration.
She gritted her teeth and set off. The pain after only a few minutes was appalling. She rested her face against Star, unsure how to proceed, or even if she could do so.
*
Jack continued along the path his mood sombre. Miss Carstairs obviously found him so repellent that even walking beside him was too much. She was a lovely girl – delectable images of her anatomy began to drift before his eyes. He chuckled as he recalled her embarrassment. She had handled it well, he could think of no other woman of his acquaintance who would have shown such aplomb. And she was a bruising rider; the fall had not been her fault, but his. He should have apologized not teased her. Was it too late to do so now? She couldn’t have gone far on foot.
Decision made he reined back and expertly turned his mount. As he cantered round the bend he spotted her, further down, leaning against her horse, obviously in some distress. What was wrong? Had he so upset her she was unable to continue? If this was the case his presence would not be welcome.
He stopped. He would not intrude, but he wanted to be sure that she didn’t need his assistance before he continued his ride. He watched her straighten, scrub her eyes dry with her gloves and attempt to walk. Instantly he understood. Urging his mount forward he rode alongside. Stretching down he lifted her easily onto his saddle and positioned her in front of him.
‘You goose - why did you volunteer to walk home if your boots are crippling you?’
He heard her sniff inelegantly before she answered. ‘I had forgotten about the boots.’
He tightened his arm around her, drawing her close, loving the soft feel of her back against his chest.
*
Charlotte stiffened and he immediately slackened his hold. She realized she still had Star’s reins in her hand.
‘Give them to me; I can lead your mount.’ His voice was brusque, all sign of his previous good humour gone. Had it been her involuntary recoil? Did he not understand she was inexperienced, unused to being held so intimately by a man? This was not to do with his face. She hardly noticed that anymore.
Forcing herself to relax she settled back into his embrace just to reassure him she was not repelled by him. He responded by pulling her back so that she could feel his body heat through his shirt, inhale his masculine scent. He smelled good, a great improvement on their first encounter.
‘You smell much better now you have bathed, my lord.’ Her thoughts had, of their own volition slipped out of her mouth. How could she have mentioned his body or his ablutions? A lady should not appear to even be aware of such things. Horrified she tried to make amends. ‘What I mean – is— Oh! I am sorry. What I said was unpardonable.’
‘But, my dear, perfectly true,’ he replied dryly.
‘I should not have…’
‘Enough; let us talk of something else. The matter is closed.’ His mouth was so close to her ear his words were tickling her neck. ‘Perhaps, Miss Carstairs, you could explain to me why you did not wish to ride back to Thurston Hall in the circumstances?’
Good grief! This was an even more unsuitable topic of conversation. Her face coloured and she attempted to move away, to place a decent inch or two between them. She failed as his hold was too strong. Holding herself straight, she eventually answered. ‘No, I could not. And a gentleman would not ask.’ Had she gone too far- again?
The silence lengthened, the only sound pad of hoofs in the grass and the birds singing in the trees. Why didn’t he answer? Becoming worried she had once more, mortally offended him, she twisted her head round to see his expression. She regretted her decision.
The wretched man was grinning down at her, his face alight with amusement. He had obviously worked out for himself her reasons for refusing to remount. She glared her disapproval and faced forward, her shoulders stiff with dislike.
He settled her more comfortably against him, and murmured. ‘I am a scoundrel for teasing you, sweetheart, but you are so impossibly lovely when you blush, I cannot restrain myself.’
Before she could think of a suitably crushing riposte to his outrageous comment, he clicked his tongue and Pegasus obediently lengthened his stride and she was flung backwards as they cantered the last mile.
Jethro, the head groom, was in the yard to take the horses. The duke lowered and released her. Like a frightened fawn she raced off, ignoring the agony from her boots, in her desire to return to the privacy of her chambers.
Thankfully Annie wasn’t there. That was one hurdle overcome successfully. The second would be to remove her boots herself. She unfastened her ruined breeches and removed the shirt tails from between her legs. Only then she noticed how chafed her inner thighs were. Free from the restriction imposed by the material, she collapsed onto the floor desperate to remove the hated footwear.
She spent a fruitless fifteen minutes before abandoning the task. Her feet must have swollen inside and she would never get them off without assistance. She hobbled over to the bell-strap Jenkins had replaced the day before. She would call her maid - far too late to worry about receiving a bear-garden jaw for her indecorous exploits. The boots had to come off.
This time she pulled it more gently for she did not want a repeat performance and find herself standing in a fresh pile of plaster. A scant ten minutes were left to cover her semi-nudity. She tugged at the waistband and it tore, making removal easy. In desperation she dropped to her knees and crawled across to the chair on which her green day dress was still draped. She scrambled up using the chair for support and then sat down gratefully.
After removing the waistcoat she tugged the shirt off over her head. She doubted she could manage to put on her chemise and petticoats before Annie arrived. She would have to wear her gown without the underpinnings. The cambric felt rough against her overheated skin but at least she was decently covered. She scooped up her discarded boys clothes, and used undergarments, then on her knees, she shuffled back to the tester bed and stuffed them under the coverlet.
Next she sat firmly on the bed, making certain her maid’s sharp eyes could not see beneath her. Oh dear! There was mud on the soles of the boots. On examination of the leather she spotted tell-tale traces. She groped under the comforter and removed her chemise, and spitting on it, she scrubbed first one and then the other sole until satisfied they would pass inspection. She pushed the ruined garment back into its hiding place not a moment too soon.
The door in the dark wood panelling opened a
nd her maid bustled in. ‘Is something wrong, miss? The bell nigh fell off the wall downstairs.’
Charlotte’s eyes checked the ceiling; the bell was still firmly attached. She had not realized how hard she’d pulled. ‘There is, Annie. I tried on my old riding boots and find I cannot remove them. Could you please do it for me?’
‘Certainly, miss. I’m surprised you didn’t realise they were too small when you put on the first one.’
‘It felt snug, but not too bad. When I tried to walk around I became aware they pinched my toes horribly. And by then they were firmly stuck.’
Annie bent down and took Charlotte’s right foot firmly in her two hands. She tugged - it didn’t budge. She pulled harder and Charlotte shot off the bed landing with a thump on the boards only just managing to hold down her skirts.
‘My word, Miss Carstairs. I’m that sorry. I don’t know my own strength. Are you hurt?’
Charlotte scrambled up hastily knowing any assistance might reveal her lack of undergarments and that would be impossible to explain. ‘Not at all, it was no more than a bump.’
‘I’ll try the other way, shall I, miss? I’ll turn round and you put your foot through my legs.’ Charlotte did as instructed. ‘Now, you push on my rear end whilst I pull. I’ve seen your father’s valet remove his boots this way.’
It all seemed very unorthodox but she was prepared to try anything to remove the wretched things. But however hard they tugged neither boot shifted. Hot and flustered they admitted defeat.
‘They’ll have to be cut off, miss. There’s no other way.’
‘Cut off? How? They are so close fitting a blade wood cut me as well’
Annie shook her head. ‘Not if it’s real sharp. I’ve seen a doctor do it, years ago, after one of the grooms broke his ankle.’
‘That’s as maybe, Annie. But the groom’s boots would not have been glued on to his legs as these are to mine. I swear they have shrunk since I put them on.’
‘Don’t fret now, Miss Carstairs. We’ll soon have this sorted out. You wait quietly, and I’ll send for Dr Andrews to remove them.’
Charlotte flopped back on to the bed with such force it shook a cloud of dust out of the hangings. She closed her eyes in disgust. It could be some time before help arrived, perhaps she would have a nap to pass the time.
She ached all over, her face stung, her thighs were sore and the pain in her feet, after all the pushing and pulling, was excruciating. In fact she was thoroughly wretched. She hoped if she kept still, tried to relax, the throbbing would subside.
What was the time? It must be past noon; Betty must have brought in the children and given them their luncheon. She frowned. How could she have allowed herself to neglect her duties in this way? She was becoming a hoyden. Scarcely more than a month pad passed since her mother had died and already she was behaving as though she had no cares in the world.
Mama had made her promise not to mourn, to move on with her life, but all of them appeared to have done so with indecent haste. What had come over her since she had arrived at Thurston Hall? She heard voices in the corridor and heavy footsteps. The door opened and the duke came in his face etched with concern.
‘You little idiot! What were you thinking of? You should have asked for assistance.’
Shocked speechless by his sudden appearance she could only wave her hands, gesturing him away. He ignored her and continued his approach. She found her voice.
‘Lord Thurston, this is no concern of yours. My maid has sent for Dr Andrews. He will be here soon. I prefer to wait for him.’
‘I do not.’ He picked up a chair and dropped it by the bed. Then he slid a silver blade from the top of his Hessian. Seeing her eyebrows shoot up into her hair, he grinned. ‘All soldiers carry a blade in their boot. I have not given up the habit.’ She edged across the bed, trying to remove herself from his reach. Annie intervened.
‘Miss, let his grace help you. He has done this many times before and I reckon he will be better than a doctor. And he’s right here, not two miles away.’
She could not let him; he would discover her state of undress. Had she not suffered enough embarrassment for one day? Sensing her distress, he ducked his head, speaking softly so only she could hear.
‘What is it, little one? I promise I shall not hurt you. I have done this many times and have never injured anyone in the process.’
‘It is not that,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I… I am... not properly dressed.’ She glanced down at her skirt and he understood. His smile vanished and he became as impersonal as a physician. He sat back, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Annie, come sit on the bed with Miss Carstairs. She is apprehensive and could do with your support.’
‘Of course I will, my lord.’ The maid came forward.
‘Sit there, between me and Miss Carstairs; I believe she will be happier if she cannot observe what is going on.’
Annie did as she was bid. Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed the ordeal would soon be over. He took her right leg and held it firmly, then there was a hiss and the boot was off. She had felt nothing- the blade had not touched her.
‘Christ in his heaven! What a mess!’
Annie almost fell off the bed in horror at his profanity when he saw Charlotte’s blood-soaked stockings.
‘Hold it. Wait until I have removed the second, then you can deal with it.’
This time Charlotte watched as he deftly slit the boot along the seam and peeled the leather away from her leg. The left foot was equally shocking.
‘There, my dear, it is done. I shall leave your maid to tend to your injuries. When you are sufficiently recovered I should like to speak to you in the library.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I am sure that I will be able to get around again tomorrow. I shall send word when I am available.’
He smiled and her heart turned over. Her eyes followed him until the door closed and she was alone with her maid. She sank back on her pillows, her mind full of contradictory thoughts and unexpected emotions.
If Annie wondered how walking around her bedchamber had caused such injuries, she did not say so. Charlotte was just relieved to have her crushed toes free from constriction and quite forgot that she disliked and despised the duke and could do nothing but sing his praises whilst Annie bathed and bandaged her mangled feet.
‘You will not be able to walk easily for a while, but it looks worse than it is, I’m happy to say.’
Charlotte risked flexing her toes and discovered the pain was bearable. ‘Thank you, Annie. Like Lord Thurston, you have done a splendid job.’
‘If you’re comfortable, miss, I’ll get back downstairs and check how the children are.’
‘Yes, please do so. I have been anxious myself about their well-being.’
Left alone in her sparsely furnished room with nothing to read and not even her embroidery to occupy her hands, she stared about with displeasure. The first thing she must do was send Jenkins up into the attics to find her a chaise-longue and a side table and perhaps a comfortable armchair.
‘Good heavens!’ She exclaimed aloud when she remembered that she had, in fact, sent Jenkins out to deliver a note to Dr Andrews hours ago. Why had he not returned? He was a fit young man and could have walked there and back in an hour and a half with no difficulty. Whatever could be keeping him?
Chapter Six
Charlotte was tempted to crawl across to the bell strap but it would be Annie who was obliged to answer her summons and her maid’s first concern must be for Beth and Harry. Her curiosity about the tardy footman would just have to wait.
It could only be a matter of time before someone pointed out to Lord Thurston he had compromised her. He had not wished her to move in and if it were not for her injury by the stone, she was sure he would not have admitted them. This appalling situation was her fault; and she could not allow him to sacrifice his freedom because of it.
She banged her hands on the cover. The situation wasn’t all her error- if he h
ad done his duty - then there would not have been angry villagers and the missile wouldn’t have been thrown. She smiled, happy she could lay some of the blame for their predicament at the duke’s door. Strange warmth bathed her limbs as she daringly said his given name in her head. Jack - it suited him.
Her discomfort grew until her crumpled green gown felt too tight. Why did thinking of Jack (she risked his name again and a corresponding wave of heat coursed round her) make her feel so strange? Admittedly he was monstrously tall, and his shoulders were broad and his chest well-muscled but he was badly disfigured and had a fearsome temper.
She fanned her hands ineffectually in front of her face but they did little to reduce the glow of her cheeks. She couldn’t stay in bed. She needed to be up; needed something else, but wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that her restlessness was linked to him.
He might be Jack in her thoughts from now on, but she could just imagine his reaction if she was unwise enough address him so familiarly to his face. She sat up and carefully put her bandaged feet the floor. She applied weight, winced and sat back. Her toes were too painful to carry her, but perhaps if she walked on her heels? Holding tight to her bedpost and balancing in this way was difficult, but relatively pain free.
It would be wise to remove the evidence from beneath the comforter and don some undergarments before her maid returned. She pulled out the discarded riding clothes and her petticoat and chemise then, tucking them under her arm, she shuffled her way over to the closet.
Her heels were sore by the time she’d achieved her objective but at least she hadn’t fallen. She pushed the riding clothes into a dark corner and tossed the undergarments into the laundry basket. Manoeuvring in here was easier as she had the shelves to hold on to. She edged her way around the tiny room until she reached the pile of freshly washed and pressed, petticoats and chemises.
Shrugging off her ruined gown she stood naked for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool air on her skin. She stared down critically at her body. Was she too plump? Her breasts were full, her torso tapered to a satisfactorily small waist, her tummy was flat and her hips rounded. She peered awkwardly over her shoulder, almost losing her balance, to check that her bottom was acceptable.
The Duke's Challenge Page 6
