Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,3

she was not an innocent maiden.

“Left or right?” he asked.

“Right.”

He inched up the mud-splattered dress that had been sunny yellow, and then he delicately rolled down her right stocking, not permitting his hands to rise past her knees. When the smooth, pale skin of her ankle became exposed, he saw that it was already beginning to swell. “It’s either sprained or broken,” he proclaimed. “Either one causes great swelling and pain.”

He turned his head to examine it from every angle. “It doesn’t appear to be broken, though the bone could be cracked.” It was a wonder his voice didn’t tremble. This woman’s slender but shapely bare leg had a profound effect upon him. He hadn’t been so physically affected by the innocent touch of a female since he’d been at Eton. What in the devil had come over him?

“I suppose only time will tell,” she said with resignation. “I believe if it’s a sprain, it could possibly heal in a matter of days whereas a break would take weeks to mend.”

So she was well informed. “Let’s hope it’s merely a sprain. It’s fortuitous I happened by when I did. I can carry you to my coach and take you home.”

“Yes, very fortuitous, I should say.”

“What does fortuitous mean?” asked the boy who had remained at his mother’s side like a miniature protector.

His mother smiled at him. “It means lucky.”

“We sure were lucky,” the lad said. “Did you see his coach and four?”

“No, I did not! I’m in pain, covered with mud, and cannot even see the lane, you horse-mad lad!” she said good naturedly.

David gathered the red knitted shawl that had fallen off when she tumbled. “Allow me to help put this on. It’s bitterly cold today.”

Then he scooped her into his arms. She was a slender little thing. It was no trouble at all climbing up the ravine with her. In fact, he found it rather pleasant—even if her dress was muddy. A little mud could not diminish her loveliness.

When she clasped her arms around his neck, he drew in his breath—again like an impressionable lad from Eton. This young mother made him forget he was a man of the world who’d kept mistresses and dallied with any number of women over the past decade.

“I’ll get your basket, Mama,” the lad said as he scurried off to claim the basket she’d dropped when she fell.

She turned her attention back to David. “I do hope I’m walking soon. I have so much to do. People need me. Poor old Mr. Knight’s not doing well. I’ve been checking on him every day. And, of course, it’s Christmas, and I’m all my little boy has.”

How was it this woman knew his neighbors so well? Come to think of it, why did he not know this woman? He sure as hell would remember her if he’d ever met her before.

As he reached the lane, his annoying neighbor Benedict Blatherwick brought his curricle to a halt and leapt from the box, his bushy blond brows lowered with concern. “What in the blazes has happened? I should have been here! Were I here to offer my protection, no harm could ever befall the lady.” He puffed out his chest. “For if I do say so myself—and far be it from me to boast. I only speak the truth—there’s not a braver man in two counties than Benedict Blatherwick.”

It was all David could do not to roll his eyes. The Buffoon was more interested in singing his own praises than in determining the extent of the lady’s injuries.

David’s sinfully wealthy former neighbor approached the stricken woman, and his voice gentled when he addressed her. “I do declare, my dear lady, I was in the process of paying you a call. You cannot see them now as I left them in my curricle when I saw that you were under distress, but I was bringing you a magnificent bouquet. As you know, I am noted for my gardens. They are the loveliest in all of Sussex. I spared no expense when having them designed, but then, as you know, only the finest of everything will do for Benedict Blatherwick.”

“Yes,” she said, “so you have told me before.”

He shrugged. “But, of course, my gardens are not in bloom in winter, but far be it from me to do without bounteous blooms the year around. Many a lovely flower grows in my orangery when the ground outside is covered with snow. You may recall my father commissioned the orangery