A Matchmaker's Match

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Psyche sighed. “Thank you. That feels much better.”

  He tested her ankle, his fingers gentle. “We really should get that boot off. In case your foot swells.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  He straddled her legs, his broad back to her. “Can you brace yourself with your other foot?”

  “I—” To do what he suggested she would have to plant her other foot directly on the seat of his immaculate inexpressibles.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”

  The blood rushed to her face. “I-- Your-”

  “Just put your boot where it will do the most good.” He grinned. “And count yourself fortunate. Few people get such an opportunity.”

  She decided to take him at his word and set her good foot firmly on the seat of his breeches. “Ready.”

  “All right. I’m going to make it quick. It’ll probably cause you some pain, but to go slow would only drag it out.”

  She nodded. What sort did he think she was? Lady Bluestocking would not cry out. That kind of carrying on was for frailer females. She braced herself against the rocks. “I’m ready.”

  True to his word, he was quick. The boot came off with a jerk and she fell back among the stones, not quite able to contain a little whimper.

  He turned to her at once, his eyes full of concern. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but leaving your boot on would have made it much worse. And cutting one off can be tricky business.”

  She moistened her dry lips. “I—I am fine. Thank you for your help.”

  To prove she was fine she started to get up, to show him she could do so quite easily, but the world, unfortunately, refused to stand still. Indeed, it commenced spinning in dizzying circles and then, quite to her astonishment, the ground came rushing up to meet her.

  In that last second before the darkness hit she felt the earl’s strong arms closing around her. She was conscious of the smell of leather and his pomade. And then there was nothing.

  She opened her eyes to find herself lying in his arms. For the briefest second she fought the temptation to close her eyes again, to savor the moment.

  He frowned in concern. “Lady Psyche, are you in much pain?”

  “I—” She struggled to sit erect, terribly conscious of his arms around her. “I am not in pain.” She frowned. “Well, perhaps just a little. But I am frightfully dizzy. The result of my fall, no doubt.” She hesitated. “Perhaps you could help me to my horse?”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “And have you fall off him into my arms? I think not. You might injure yourself further.”

  “But . . .” Actually the prospect of falling into his arms did not seem at all daunting. Why must the man have such a bewitching smile?

  “No buts,” he continued. “I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed such a thing.”

  She looked at him in bewilderment. “But then how shall I get back to the house?”

  He gazed directly into her eyes. “You must ride with me, of course.”

  Her heart began to pound in mad confusion. “With you?”

  “Yes.” His smile was tender. “I shall lift you into the saddle first, then swing up behind you. But you must call out immediately if you feel faint. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Good. I shall carry you out to the horses then and we’ll be on our way.”

  “There’s no need to carry me,” she protested. “I mean, I can lean on your arm.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I prefer not to take that risk.”

  “I am not a small woman,” Psyche began, painfully aware of the impropriety of being carried. And by such a man, by a man who already made her heart pound in a dreadful fashion.

  The earl shrugged. “I’m much larger, and I’m no weakling.” Moments later he was on his feet and lifting her into his arms.

  She discovered that she was quite comfortable there, in his arms. He had a strength to him, imparting a certain sense of safety to her. But she was conscious, too, of some other feelings, feelings that might prove quite dangerous.

  Picking his way carefully among the scattered stones, the earl was soon back to where the horses waited.

  He set her on her good foot first, keeping his hands on her waist, his face so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath. Then he lifted her right up onto the saddle.

  “Hang on while I get your boot,” he said with a worried look. “Don’t faint on me now.”

  “I’m fine.” She was feeling light-headed again, actually rather giddy. But she strongly suspected the feeling was caused by the earl and not the pain in her ankle which only throbbed a little.

  He came back with her boot and tucked it under a strap on her saddle. Then he loosened the horses, holding both sets of reins, and swung up behind her. It was a strange sensation, having a man so close. One she liked. The men who had pursued Lady Bluestocking had been the sort a woman wanted to get away from, not get close to.

  She tried to sit erect. This was, after all, the man Amanda loved. If she meant to help the girl, she could not give in to these feelings of weakness that threatened to engulf her. And at any rate the earl was only being kind. Last night’s repartee was only that—witty badinage to pass the time. He knew she was Lady Bluestocking, and therefore not interested in matrimony.

  Nevertheless, she felt a terrible inclination to melt back against him. She stiffened her spine. Perhaps conversation would help to distract her. “How did you happen to be out here?” she asked.

  His arms were so strong around her, gathering her closer. But she shouldn’t think of that. Or the feel of his chest against her back, his warm masculine chest.

  “I just thought I would explore the ruins,” he said. “Remember, I am interested in antiquities.”

  She smiled. “How fortunate for me. I might have lain there for a long time, undiscovered.”

  “Yes.” His voice was rough. “You really should tell the stable boy where you’re heading when you ride out.”

  “How do you know I didn’t?”

  “Because I asked him.”

  The answer was obvious, but still it startled her. “Oh.”

  “I saw your hunter was gone and so I asked.” His voice grew stern. “You really should not put yourself in such danger.”

  “You needn’t read me a scold,” she said. “I did not mean to injure my foot. It was an accident.”

  “I know that.”

  She twisted, trying to see his face. “Why do you say that in such a strange tone?”

  He smiled grimly. “I have been on the town for some years. And during that time I have had numerous young ladies fall into my arms. Down the stairs, from carriage steps, and from just about any place else you might think of.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, many young women seem prone to falling when they are within reach of my arms.”

  “You don’t say.” Psyche straightened again. The man certainly had a good opinion of himself. “Well, thank goodness you were not present when I fell and I can be spared such an accusation.”

  His arm tightened around her, pulling her back against his chest again. “Don’t get your hackles up now. I’m only stating facts. You can’t suppose that I enjoyed it. Any more than you enjoyed the kind of suitors your maternal parent chose for you.”

  The earl felt the slight stiffening of her body as it leaned against his. Fool! he told himself. It’s too soon to let her know what you’ve guessed.

  He kept his mouth shut and concentrated on holding her close, tenderly. He’d never expected to have her in his arms so soon. The experience had almost unnerved him, left him so weak in the knees he hadn’t been sure he could carry her. But he’d managed and here she was, tucked up in front of him on the saddle.

  And he was allowed—not constrained—to put his arm around her lovely waist, to inhale the sweet scent of her hair. Careful, he told himself. She’s skittish still. Give her time, don’t scare her.

  “You don’t need to converse
,” he told her quietly. “Just lean against me.”

  Psyche really tried to remain erect, but in such proximity to the earl, she was utterly incapable of it. And so she spent the next miles melting backward into his waistcoat.

  They reached the stable far too soon to suit her. Why couldn’t they have gone on riding forever?

  The stable boy came hurrying up.

  “It’s all right,” the earl said. “The lady just twisted her ankle.”

  The stable boy nodded and took the horses. The earl slid down and raised his arms to her.

  “I can—” she began, but he did not wait to hear her finish. His hands closed around her waist and he lifted her down. She felt the giddiness returning and reached out to him. “I — ”

  “Easy now.” He gathered her into his arms and turned to the waiting stable boy. “You’ll find her boot tied to her saddle. See that it’s sent up to the house.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  The earl started off toward the house, striding easily. “Really,” Psyche said, looking up at him, so handsome, so near. “I’m sure I could walk if you would just allow me to lean on your arm a little.”

  His dark face, so close to her own, twisted into a frown. “Indeed, I will not. I intend to carry you and that is that.”

  Psyche sighed. “Very well. But kindly bear in mind that this was all your idea.”

  “Of course it was. I should certainly never be ungentlemanly enough to chide a lady over her carelessness.”

  “Carelessness!” she cried. “You have bats in your attic. I was not careless. I am never careless. I could hardly be expected to know — ”

  Something in his expression alerted her and she stopped in midsentence, looking around to discover that they had just crossed through the French doors into the library. And they were not alone.

  Around them stood the assembled guests, staring with unconcealed curiosity at the spectacle before them. Psyche felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  And then from the doorway came a voice she had hoped never to hear again. Miss Linden trilled, “Why, Lady Psyche, what could you possibly not know?”

  Chapter Four

  An hour later Psyche was settled in her chamber. Knowing that it was well meant, she had stoically endured Aunt Anna’s fluttering and fuming. But she found herself most grateful when the physician arrived and Aunt Anna departed, sent to her bed with an order to rest her nerves.

  Then the physician said Psyche had a bad sprain and suggested she stay off her foot.

  Finally only her cousin remained, nervously pulling at his cravat. “Are you quite sure you’re all right?” he asked anxiously.

  “Quite sure,” Psyche replied, “except for one thing.”

  “And what is that?”

  She glared at him. “Overton, why on earth did you invite them here?”

  He avoided her gaze. “Invite whom?”

  “You know perfectly well who I mean—those awful Lindens.”

  He frowned. “But I didn’t invite them. They came knocking on the door this morning. Said they were traveling and Lady Linden took sick.” He pulled at his cravat again. “What was I to do, Psyche? After Mama asked them in I couldn’t turn them away.”

  Psyche sighed. “Perhaps not. But mark my words—those two mean trouble.”

  Shortly before the dinner hour someone rapped on Psyche’s door. “Come in,” she called eagerly. After a long and wearisome afternoon of doing nothing she would welcome almost any visitor.

  She smiled. “Georgie! Do come in.”

  The small slender sort, Georgie, looked good in anything, but this deceptively simple gown in the Grecian style had no doubt cost her late husband a pretty penny. Its Bishop’s blue had clearly been chosen to go with her eyes, but it was her gamine smile that made her most attractive. Psyche motioned her toward the bed. “You look marvelous.”

  Georgie grinned. “Don’t I, though? It’s the most wonderful thing. When I got out of mourning, I ordered all the gowns I wished and there was no Standish to read me a lecture.” She colored a little. “Not that I ever wished him ill.”

  “I know.” Psyche smiled at her friend. Georgie was a little on the flighty side, and she probably wasn’t above an occasional innocent flirtation, but she was basically a good person.

  “So,” she said, perching on the edge of the great bed. “How is your injured ankle?”

  “It throbs a little,” Psyche admitted. “But the surgeon said it will not swell much.”

  To her surprise, Georgie giggled. “No, I don’t suppose it will. Come, tell me now, how did you get the stone on top of it? Did you see him coming and then do it?”

  “Of course not.” Psyche frowned. Trust Georgie to make something complicated of the simplest accident. “I stepped on a stone wrong and it flipped over and pinned my foot. I was trapped for some time before Southdon arrived.”

  Georgie nodded, but her eyes danced with merriment. “Whatever you say, my dear. But I wish I’d thought of it. It’s much better than falling from the top step or—Psyche, stop it, why are you laughing at me like that?”

  Psyche swallowed hastily. “I’m not laughing at you. He told me— You mean he was right? Young women do actually fall into his arms?”

  “Of course they do.” Georgie patted her hand. “My dear, this man is the catch of the decade. Every young woman in the ton hopes to bag him. And some older ones, too.”

  Psyche sighed. “And Amanda had to set her sights on him.”

  Georgie shook her head. “The girl’s being foolish. Southdon is not for her. He likes his women older.” She smiled slyly. “And with experience.”

  While Psyche considered this, Georgie stared at her. “Are you really going to do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Belatedly Psyche remembered that Aunt Anna as yet knew nothing of her niece’s part in the come-out. “Do what?”

  “No need to hedge,” Georgie said, raising an eyebrow. “Overton told me he asked you to manage his ward’s come-out.” She frowned, smoothing her silken skirt. “She’s pretty enough. But she’s not for Southdon.”

  “I don’t suppose we can decide that,” Psyche said, uncomfortably aware that she wished to agree with her friend, wished it very much. “That’s up to him.”

  “True enough.” Georgie got to her feet. “But you haven’t answered my question. Are you going to do it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Georgie nodded. “The Lindens are saying you won’t, that you don’t dare come back to town.” She frowned and patted her hair. “They seem to think they are responsible for your leaving.”

  “What!” Psyche reared up. “This is the outside of enough! First they call me bracket-faced and—”

  Georgie raised a hand to her mouth. “Psyche, they didn’t!”

  “Oh yes they did! It’s time someone put those two—two backbiters—in their place.”

  “And you’re just the one to do it,” Georgie added, turning toward the door. “Overton will be pleased.”

  “Georgie! I didn’t say-”

  “Rest now,” Georgie said, with a smug smile Psyche found annoying in the extreme. “You’ll need your strength.”

  And then she was gone. Psyche glared at the curtains that surrounded the great bed. The Lindens were a scourge, a pair of scandalmongers par excellence. But she would not let them drive her home again, like a fox into a bolt-hole.

  She swung her legs around to the edge of the bed. Enough of this resting. But just as her good foot touched the floor, the door burst open.

  “I’m sorry, milady,” Amanda cried, rushing in, her gown fluttering, her curls bouncing. “But I can’t wait any longer. I must talk to you now.”

  Psyche swallowed a sigh. This was not the sort of company she’d been thinking of, but she schooled herself to patience and leaned back among the pillows. “Yes, Amanda. What is it?”

  Amanda made a moue of disgust. “The Lindens are saying the most horrid things about you. Miss Linden has a most wicked—�
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  “What kind of horrid things?” Psyche asked wearily. It looked like she was in for more discomfort from the Lindens, a lot more.

  Amanda wrung her hands—a vapid gesture obviously learned from Aunt Anna. “They are saying that you don’t mean to help me with my come-out at all. That— That you are angling for the earl yourself.” She eyed Psyche tearfully. “They said— They said you hurt your foot on purpose. That it was all a ruse.”

  This time Psyche didn’t manage to swallow her sigh. “The Lindens are wrong,” she said. “I am not trying to snare the earl. And I did not trap my ankle under a building stone on purpose.” To think that the chit would be taken in like that! “But you may believe them if you like. I’m sure Aunt Anna will be more than glad to help you with your come-out.”

  Amanda paled, obviously distressed at the prospect. “Oh no! I don’t— I won’t believe them. Please, please, milady, say you’ll help me!”

  Psyche surrendered to the inevitable. She had never been able to forego a challenge. And certainly the Lindens had issued one. “Very well,” she said. “I will do it. But you must not tell the Lindens I have agreed. Not just yet.”

  Amanda smiled through her tears. “Oh, I shan’t! How very kind you are. Oh, I do hope your sprain is soon healed.”

  “Thank you, Amanda. You’d better run along now and get dressed for dinner.”

  “Of course. And— And thank you again.”

  Amanda went hurrying out and Psyche moved to swing her feet over the bed.

  “Here, here. What are we doing?” the earl asked, appearing in the doorway.

  “We,” she replied, shooting him a dark look, “are getting up.”

  He looked dubious. “Is that wise? After all, your sprain— Doctor Higham said you must stay off your foot.”

  “Did he also say that I must be consumed by boredom?”

  The earl pretended to think. She was so beautiful, his Psyche, in her claret-colored wrapper with the white lace at the throat, her dark hair tumbling about her shoulders in riotous disorder. He wanted to rush across the room, to hold her, to love her, to—Slow down, he told himself. You must slow down.