by Carola Dunn
“Send for the doctor,” he snapped at the stunned footman stationed there. “It’s urgent.” The footman ran. Justin took the stairs two at a time, shouting as he went, “Ginnie! Ginnie, where are you? Ginnie!”
She met him on the landing. “Good gracious. Justin, hush. You and I are early risers, but some people are still asleep. What... Jimmy!” She paled. “What happened? Bring him to my chamber.”
“He slipped and hit his head and fell in the lake,” Jack babbled, reaching for her hand as they hurried along the passage ahead of Justin with his burden. “I couldn’t see him. I was scared till Justin came. Lots of water came out of his mouth. Will he get well?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She cast a fearful glance backwards and then, regardless of her crisply clean lavender muslin, put her arm around her brother’s filthy, soaking shoulders in a quick hug.
“I don’t believe he was in the water more than a minute and a half,” Justin said as she opened her chamber door. “He started breathing again on his own, but he hasn’t regained consciousness. I’ve sent for the doctor.”
He set the limp child down on a chair and Ginnie at once started to strip him. “He’s so cold,” she whispered. She looked round. “Jack, take off those wet clothes and wrap yourself in my dressing-gown. And you, too, Justin. I mean, go and change before you take a chill.”
Appreciating her common sense even in a crisis, Justin nodded. “I’ll come right back,” he promised. He went out to the landing again, leaned over the balusters and roared, “Hot bricks! Warming pans! Where is everyone?’’
Reynolds appeared below, his moon face raised. “At once, my lord. The doctor’s sent for. How is the lad, my lord?”
“Unconscious.”
The butler looked grave. “Nurse’ll be down in a moment to help Miss Webster, my lord. And Mr. Tebbutt’s on his way to your chamber. You’ll be wanting a hot bath.”
“No time.” All he wanted was to be at Ginnie’s side, to hold her hand and support her at the child’s bedside. He turned away to go to his room and found the landing crowded with ladies and gentlemen in various stages of undress, all clamouring for an explanation.
As he impatiently told them what had happened, George kindly removed a decorative strand of water-weed from his neck. He answered a few questions, then, beginning to shiver, he said, “Excuse me, please. I must change.”
Chattering, they dispersed to their chambers. Only Lady Amabel remained, an elegant figure in a robe of white silk embroidered with huge cabbage roses.
She studied him, from lank, dripping hair, past sodden, muddy clothes, to soggy boots.
“Why, Justin,” she observed in a light, amused voice, “the country does not suit you, I vow.”
He grinned at her.
* * * *
Wrapping Jimmy in her warmest shawls, Ginnie tucked him into her bed. She heard Justin, outside, shouting for hot bricks, and at the same time she listened to Jack’s stumbling, shivering tale.
“And he couldn’t swim, even though Colin taught us, ’cos he hit his head. And I didn’t know what to do, Ginnie. And then Justin came riding like a knight in a story, ’cept he didn’t have a sword and shield and armour, like they do. And I knew everything would be all right.”
Justin was a hero.
“So he put me up on Prince Rurik, too, and we galloped home. He’s a Trojan, Ginnie. I’m sorry we did all those things. Only, is Jimmy going to die?”
This anguished question was answered by the victim himself. He opened blue eyes, sat up, and said, “’Course I’m not, but my head hurts. And I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” said Jack, at once accepting that his brother must be on the mend if his mind was already on his stomach. “We went out before breakfast.”
“You wretched children!” Ginnie exploded with relief. “Jimmy, lie down this instant. You are not to move until the doctor comes. Jack will tell you what happened while I order you something to eat.” She looked round as the door opened. “Oh, Nurse, he has come to his senses at last.”
The plump, motherly woman nodded. “Imps o’ mischief be hard to kill,” she said tolerantly. “You heard your sister, Master Jimmy. Do as you’re told and lie down. Now, Master Jack, what’ve you been up to?”
Lydia rushed in. “Justin says...Oh, thank heaven!”
Leaving the twins in good hands, Ginnie decided to reassure Justin before she ordered their breakfast. She had been perfectly horrid to him last night, and now he had heaped coals of fire on her head by saving his tormentor’s life. She went towards the landing.
As she reached the end of the passage, she saw him, still dripping, standing on the far side of the stairs with the immaculate, beautiful Lady Amabel, stylish even in déshabille. Ginnie sternly extinguished a flash of wicked jealousy.
He was a hero, she reminded herself. Heroes won fair ladies and lived happily ever after. It was her misfortune that the fair lady he had chosen was not herself. All that was left to her was to pray he’d be happy with Lady Amabel.
She was about to withdraw when she overheard what he was saying.
“On the contrary, ma’am. Far from being ill-suited, I intend to make my home in the country. London would seem dull indeed compared to the exciting life I lead here. However, since the country clearly does not suit you, may I suggest that you return to Town forthwith?”
Lady Amabel glared at him with baffled fury, turned on her heel, and stalked away.
“Justin.” At Ginnie’s soft call he turned and came towards her, an odd smile on his face, holding out both hands to her. “Jimmy has recovered his senses. He is complaining of hunger! Oh, Justin, I am so sorry.” She gave him her bands.
“Sorry?”
“That the twins caused a quarrel with Lady Amabel. Surely you can heal the breach. Surely they have not spoiled your chances?”
“Good Lord, no, far from it. They have rescued me from a frightful fate.”
She looked up at him uncertainly. “You do not wish to marry Lady Amabel?”
“My darling hedgehog, how could I possibly be happy with someone who objects to wet, muddy clothes?”
Suddenly the most important thing in the world was to demonstrate to him that she had no objection to wetness or mud. She threw her arms about him, thus transferring a goodly portion of each to her own person.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he aided the process by clasping his arms about her. He held her tightly and kissed her with passion, with ardent tenderness, and, for the first time, without a trace of guilt.
Locked in his damp embrace, Ginnie felt no chill. A tingling heat spread through her body, and yet she shivered with desire. Justin was instantly solicitous, though his clasp did not loosen one iota.
“Lord, you’ll be catching cold next. I’ve soaked you. Come and help me get out of these wet clothes,” he suggested with a hopeful gleam in his eye, “and then I’ll help you.”
“I am not a strumpet,” said Ginnie, indignation flaring.
“I know, my little hedgehog. I suppose you mean to make me wait until we are married.”
“Yes, but by all means let us be married soon,” she said dreamily, kissing the corner of his mouth. Then she pulled away a little and frowned at him. “You called me a hedgehog,” she accused. “Twice.”
“I adore hedgehogs,” said Justin, and kissed her again to prove it.
About the Author
Carola Dunn is the author of more than 30 Regency romances, as well as 15 mysteries (the Daisy Dalrymple mystery series is set in England in the 1920s). Ms. Dunn was born and grew up in England, where she got a B.A. in Russian and French from Manchester University. She travelled as far as Fiji before returning to settle in California. After 30 years in the US, she says she still sounds as if she arrived a month ago.
Prior to writing, Ms. Dunn’s various jobs included market research, child-care, construction--from foundation trenches to roofing--and writing definitions for a dictionary of science and technology. She wrote h
er first novel in 1979, a Regency which she sold to Warner Books.
Now living in Eugene, Oregon, Ms. Dunn has a son in California (who has recently made her a grandmother), and a large black dog named Willow who takes her for a walk by the Willamette River each morning.
Visit Ms. Dunn's website at http://www.geocities.com/CarolaDunn/ to learn more about her Regencies and the Daisy Dalrymple mysteries.
Ms. Dunn's Regencies, since they were written in British English, have been maintained in British, rather than American, English.
Publishing Information
Copyright © 1993 by Carola Dunn
Originally published by Harlequin Regency (0373312083)
Electronically published in 200 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
