by Anne Barton
There was no help for it. She would have to hop all the way back, in a pitiful imitation of a kangaroo.
She pushed herself away from the tree, took a big leap forward, and heard a sickening rip—the unmistakable rending of fabric. With no small amount of dread, she turned to look behind her. A handkerchief-sized scrap of striped silk stuck to the trunk, which meant it was not where it should be—namely, covering her backside.
“Damn.” The closest cow, which lay some distance away, shot her a condescending glare and mooed.
Olivia’s dress was beyond repair, but really, that was the least of her worries. Her chemise covered her legs somewhat but it was so wet that it was almost transparent.
She resolved to ignore any concerns about modesty for now and concentrate on making her way back to James and the coach. With strength born out of sheer desperation, she clutched the front of her dress to raise her hem… and hopped. She hopped and hopped until James came into sharper focus. She considered calling out to him for help, but she’d come this far—what was a few more yards? He leaned casually against the fence, his broad shoulders narrowing to slim hips and lean, muscular legs. The tails of his jacket covered his bottom, but she knew, even without seeing it, that it was perfectly sculpted and firm.
Letting her thoughts wander in such a pleasant direction distracted her from the painful straining of her muscles and the throbbing in her right foot until she hopped onto her hem and lurched forward.
“Oh!”
James turned at the sound of her scream. Probably just in time to see her tumble head over heels into a puddle of foul-smelling mud.
One hoped it was mud.
Blessedly, she hadn’t hurt herself further. She was, however, covered in muck from her chest down; a few tendrils of hair had been dipped as well. While James sprinted toward her, looking like some demigod in buckskin breeches, she managed to push herself to a sitting position and scoot her way out of the insidious puddle, which had claimed one of her slippers.
James rushed over and knelt at her side. “What happened?” To his credit, he showed not a hint of disgust at her sludge-covered state.
“While practicing my somersault, I accidentally landed in a pool of mud.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Though I suspect parts of me will be sore tomorrow.”
His gaze slid to the puddle. “What is that blue object floating in the middle?”
“My shoe.” She lifted her chin a bit, daring him to mock her.
“Shall I retrieve it for you?”
She shook her head emphatically. “The cows are welcome to it.”
His green eyes crinkled at the corners, lifting her spirits in spite of everything.
“I’m going to carry you back to the coach,” he said. When she opened her mouth to object, he held up a hand. “We can do this one of two ways. I can carry you like a proper lady, or I can fling you over my shoulder like a sack of grain. Either way, I will carry you. The choice is yours.”
“Your jacket shall be ruined.” Olivia’s bottom lip trembled slightly.
“Do you honestly think I give a damn about my jacket right now?”
“You don’t have a change of clothes with you,” she reminded him.
“Ah, yes,” he said, scooping her up easily. She leaned into him, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. “I recall your hurry to leave Haven Bridge.”
“I’d give anything to be back there now. I wish I could start this day over.” She sniffled suspiciously.
“It hasn’t been all bad, has it?” He looked into her eyes. “I’d say that parts of the day have been outstanding.”
“I suppose,” she said with a distinct lack of conviction. Mud had splattered across her cheek, almost blending with her light smattering of freckles. A few strands of hair were plastered to her neck, and her skin was slick with rain. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, even now—especially now—but he didn’t think she’d believe him.
“You’ll feel better once we get you out of these clothes,” he said. “Er, once we’re at the inn, I mean. And you’re in your own room.”
Good God. When had he turned into a bumbling idiot around her?
She arched a brow at him but said nothing. And she looked miserable.
He carried her toward the coach, treading carefully over the uneven, saturated ground. All he wanted was to get her out of the rain and onto a comfortable seat as quickly as possible. He could kick himself for letting this happen. He should have insisted on staying with her—her stubborn pride be damned.
He managed to get her back to the fence without further injury, thank heaven, but there was no way he could scale the fence while holding her.
“You can put me down,” she said.
But she felt so limp and weak in his arms, he doubted her legs would hold her. “Rest a few more minutes,” he said soothingly.
“Mmm,” she murmured into his chest.
Olivia’s eyes fluttered shut, and she seemed to doze off. When his arms grew tired, he leaned against the fence for support. The sky turned dark, and James was just about to rouse her when a cart rumbled slowly down the road toward them.
Help had arrived.
A bearded older man drove the cart, which was drawn by a sturdy pair of mules. Terrence sat beside him, a disapproving scowl on his face. Before the cart had even stopped moving, the coachman jumped down from his seat and rushed to the fence.
He took one look at Olivia’s filthy gown and pale face and shot James an accusatory look. “What’s happened to her?”
Olivia lifted her head. “I’m quite all right, Terrence. I just slipped in the mud. Mr. Averill didn’t want to risk me falling again.”
“Why would you be walking at all with your injured ankle is what I’d like to know,” the coachman began, but then he waved his hand in exasperation. “Never mind, just hand her to me, then,” he said to James. “I’ll make her comfortable in the back of the cart before unloading the coach.”
Though James hated to let her go, he carefully passed Olivia over the fence. Terrence had thought to bring blankets, so James laid one over the mound of damp straw in the back. When the coachman settled Olivia there, James spread the other blanket over her.
“Thank you for rescuing me, Terrence.” Her smile was so sweet and sincere that the coachman’s cheeks flushed red. “But what shall we do about the coach? I don’t like the thought of leaving it here overnight.”
Terrence puffed out his chest. “Don’t give it another thought, my lady. I’ll stay here with the coach. I’ve already had a word with the stable master. He’s going to bring the horses just after dawn so we can take the coach to the village and get the axle inspected. I suspect we’ll be on our way to your aunt Eustace’s tomorrow evening.”
“If you’re to stay in the coach overnight,” Olivia said, “you must take this blanket.” She whipped it off and thrust it at him.
“I couldn’t, Lady Olivia.”
“I insist,” she said firmly, and tossed it to him.
James helped Terrence load the cart with all the items still in the coach, except for the basket of food, which Olivia was adamant the coachman keep for himself.
“Thank you,” he said. “Miss Hildy has your room ready and waiting for you.” As an afterthought, he added, “And yours, too, Mr. Averill.”
James climbed into the cart beside Olivia. “Excellent. Lady Olivia shall be safe with me.”
“Of course she will,” the coachman said.
Although the evening had turned dark, James was fairly certain his words were accompanied by a rolling of eyes. He couldn’t blame Terrence for doubting him. James shuddered to think what Huntford would make of the situation—if he knew.
The bearded farmer gave his mules a slap of the reins and the cart lurched forward, rolling slowly through the drizzly, moonlit night. Olivia shivered slightly, and James pulled the blanket she sat on up around her shoulders and across her legs. She looked wistful, sad, and dejected.
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“I meant what I said earlier,” he said.
“Which thing?”
“That I care for you.”
“Sometimes you have an odd way of showing it.”
“I know.” But he would try to do better. Starting now.
Chapter Twelve
Olivia had never been so happy to see an inn.
Her gown—or what remained of it—was soaked through, chilling her to the bone. Bits of straw stuck to the mud on her dress and in her hair. She’d lost one slipper, and the other squeezed her swollen foot so tightly that she’d likely have to cut it off.
Worst of all, her heart was breaking.
Perhaps James was not the man she’d imagined him to be. The man she’d dreamed of would not have turned cold and distant just because she’d asked an innocent question about a letter.
All she wanted was to put on a clean night rail, burrow into a bed, and pull the covers over her head until morning.
James carried her into the inn, and while it stung her pride to be treated like an invalid, she was too weary to argue. He carried her all the way up the narrow staircase and down the hallway to her room without the slightest bit of difficulty. Hildy opened the door, took one look at Olivia, and began fussing like a mother hen. “Oh, my dear. Put her on the bed. No, not on the sheets. Set her on the chair”—as though Olivia were a puppy who’d come in from the yard with dirty paws.
While her maid rummaged through Olivia’s portmanteau, James gently placed her on a hard wooden chair and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’ll have the innkeeper send up warm water for a bath—and summon a doctor, too.”
“The bath sounds heavenly,” she said, “but let’s wait until morning before sending for the doctor. My ankle will probably feel much better tomorrow.”
He shot her a doubtful look but did not argue. Instead, he wagged a finger at her and sternly said, “No walking.”
“Blast. That spoils my plans for dancing all evening.”
“Lady Olivia!” Hildy scolded. One would think her maid would have grown accustomed to her wicked tongue by now.
James smiled. “I’ll leave you, but I’ll be in my room if you should need anything.”
Hildy ushered him out and closed the door behind him. Then she gingerly peeled off each layer of Olivia’s clothing and tossed each article into a sorry heap on the floor. She toweled Olivia’s skin dry and helped her slip into a soft, clean robe.
Olivia sighed. “Thank you.”
“There’s only one small matter we still need to deal with,” the maid said.
Ah, yes. The slipper. There was nothing small about it, however, as her grotesquely swollen foot had stretched the shoe well beyond its normal size.
“Let’s try the scissors from your sewing kit,” Olivia suggested.
Hildy retrieved the scissors, knelt beside Olivia’s foot, and carefully began cutting. It was an arduous task for both the maid and Olivia. The fabric was thick and the slightest jarring set Olivia’s teeth on edge. After a quarter hour, Olivia had a sheen of perspiration on her brow; she gripped the seat of her chair with both hands.
“Almost done,” Hildy said. Then she pried both sides of the slipper apart like a mussel’s shell.
Olivia’s foot was free. She wiggled her toes—as much as the swelling would allow—and felt the blood rush to them. She wanted to howl from the pain at first, but after a minute the throbbing subsided and she relaxed.
“I hear someone in the hallway,” Hildy said. “It must be your bath.” She peeked her head outside the door and waved in a pair of maids. One carried a hip bath, while the other bore a stack of linens. They doubled a sheet over and spread it on the floor before placing the tub on top of it.
“The water’s heating now, my lady,” the ruddy-faced young girl said. “We’ll bring it up shortly.”
True to their word, they soon returned, carrying two pails each. They mixed the steaming and cooler water, pouring in a little at a time until the temperature was just right. The slight, taller girl produced a bar of soap and left one pail of water beside the tub for rinsing.
Hildy sprinkled a few sprigs of lavender into the water, and the soothing scent filled the room. The water looked and smelled so inviting that Olivia stood and began hobbling toward the bath.
“Careful, now.” Hildy rushed to her side. “I’ll not have you breaking your neck, too.”
Olivia managed to shrug off her robe while holding on to Hildy; then her maid helped her step into the shallow bath. Olivia scrubbed her skin till it was pink, and washed and rinsed her hair. It felt glorious to be clean.
“I’m just going to soak for a bit longer,” she told Hildy. She leaned back in the bath, closed her eyes, and let the warm water lull her into a pleasant trance.
“I’m going to see about having dinner sent up for you,” Hildy said. “Don’t you dare think about getting out of that bath before I return.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Olivia said. “I intend to stay here until I’ve turned into a prune.”
Hildy shot her a skeptical smile.
“You don’t trust me?” Olivia placed a hand over her chest, as though wounded.
“We’re at an inn, miles away from your aunt Eustace’s—where the duke thinks we are. And even though you say Mr. Averill is a gentleman, well… I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Suddenly interested, Olivia lifted her head. “How does Mr. Averill look at me?”
“Like he’s one part smitten and one part mad.” Hildy slipped into the hall and, just before she pulled the door closed behind her, ordered, “Stay put!”
Olivia bit back the retort on her lips and sunk lower into the now-tepid water. She had gotten all of them into a fine mess.
Her irresponsible decisions had led to James’s fight, her turned ankle, and the broken axle on the carriage. It just seemed unfair that now, when she was trying to do the right thing, Fate had conspired against her and left her and James alone in the coach for several hours.
And no matter how hard she tried to do the right thing, she would have had to be a saint not to fall prey to charms as potent as his.
At least she was doing her best to correct the situation. With a bit of luck she’d be at her aunt Eustace’s before anyone in her family was the wiser. And though she was glad none of them was there to witness her fall from grace—which, ironically, included an actual fall—she missed Rose, Anabelle, and Daphne terribly. She even missed Owen, despite the fact that his head might pop off from sheer anger if he knew where she was and what she’d done.
Oh well. There was nothing she could do about it tonight. They should reach Aunt Eustace’s tomorrow, or certainly by the day after.
And once Olivia was there, she’d try to figure out what to do with the rest of her life—a life without James.
Hoping to doze until Hildy returned, Olivia closed her eyes, but the memory of James’s searing kisses and arousing touch flooded her mind. The passion that had ignited between them was greater than a girl with her limited experience could have imagined.
And she’d done a lot of imagining over the years. Although she considered herself a master of the art of fantasizing, all the dreams of her and James had fallen short of the breathtaking reality of them together. There hadn’t been silk sheets or romantic candles, but he’d made her feel like a princess—beautiful, important, and worshipped. His touch had made her entire body thrum with pleasure.
Even now, her nipples puckered at the memory. The cooling water lapped at her belly, and a sweet, pulsing ache began at her core. She slipped a hand between her legs and touched herself lightly, then sucked in her breath at the frisson that went through her.
She gripped the sides of the bath and sat straight up. These sensations, new and powerful, were too tied up with the memory of her afternoon with James. She couldn’t explore them now—not when she felt so raw, so rejected.
She wanted out of the bath. Now. But she’d promised Hildy she’d stay put, so sh
e reached for a towel and began to rub her hair, small sections at a time. When it was as dry as she could get it, she threw the towel around her shoulders, pulled in her knees, and wrapped her arms around them.
It seemed as though Hildy had been gone for ages, but a quarter of an hour was probably closer to the truth. Still, Olivia was certain that if she spent another five minutes in the tub her feet would transform into a tail and she’d grow scales on her legs.
She would just step out of the tub, slip into her robe, and wait patiently on the chair for Hildy to return. What harm could possibly come of that?
She slowly stood in the center of the hip bath, balancing on her good foot. She couldn’t very well hop out of the tub—though she did briefly consider it—so she decided that she would have to, at least momentarily, put some weight on her tender foot. Never one to overthink matters, she lifted the swollen and now slightly purple foot over the side of the tub and gingerly rested it on the sheet that covered the floor beneath the tub.
She bit her lip, counted to three in her head, and stepped out of the bath, putting her weight on her bad foot.
Pain shot through her leg, but she’d anticipated that. What she hadn’t expected was that her abused ankle might not support her weight.
Her leg buckled beneath her, and as she tumbled to the floor, the foot that was still in the tub caught on the edge and tipped it over with a loud clatter. Tepid, slightly soapy water sloshed out, soaking the sheet and making an impressive puddle on the floor.
Blast.
Her left hip had borne the brunt of her fall, and it stung so badly that she had to breathe in and out through her nose to keep from crying. Good Lord, she must be the clumsiest person in all of England.
Footsteps thumped down the hall, and a fist pounded the door. “Olivia!” It was James, of course. “Are you all right?” The concern in his voice made her heart trip in her chest.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“I heard a crash. Why does it sound like you’re on the floor?”
“I tripped. It was nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“I’m coming in.” He rattled the door handle, which was locked.
