Carola Dunn Read Free Page A

decency of her underclothing. He reached for his discarded greatcoat, wrapped it about her and fastened the buttons.
    “Visiting...Lord Danville,” she whispered.
    She must be a friend of Muriel’s. He picked her up to lift her to his horse’s back. She was light as a feather without the wet garments. As an afterthought he kicked their clothes into the river—no need to start any unnecessary rumours.
    “We’ll be home in ten minutes,” he reassured her.
    She managed to cling to the horse’s mane while he swung up into the saddle. He pulled her back against his chest and resumed his interrupted journey to his brother’s house, Buttercup prancing alongside.
    The girl was shaking now, and a little colour had returned to her lips. On the other hand, John was frozen. He had not been so cold and wet since his cousin Teresa had doused him with a bucket of icy water.
    She had soaked Andrew too, he remembered with a grin, in her successful effort to stop that dog fight. What a woman she was! If she had fallen into that river, as she well might with her talent for scrapes, she would doubtless have rescued both herself and the boy without a second thought.
    John sighed. Teresa had been Andrew’s wife for years now, and he would never find another like her. The girl in his arms, for instance, seemed to be a fearful creature in need of protection, very different from his lively, independent cousin.
    Not that he had any intention of marrying. He rather thought he should enjoy a life of bachelorhood, like his Uncle Cecil, though he’d be damned if he’d ever let himself grow so stout.
    * * * *
    They cantered around the poplar windbreak and up the drive. Rebecca felt a flood of relief as the house grew nearer. The stranger really had brought her home. She was much warmer already, in control of her limbs, and she could not wait to escape his overpowering, masculine presence.
    As soon as their mount came to a standstill at the front steps, she pulled away from his restraining arm and slid to the ground. To her dismay, her knees buckled. Grasping for  support, she found herself clinging to a well-muscled leg clad in damp buckskin. The gentleman grinned down at her and an embarrassed flush swept her from top to toe.
    She transferred her grip to the stirrup leather, still far too close to him for comfort. As a stableboy ran up to take the reins, her rescuer awkwardly dismounted on the horse’s other side.
    Whatever he thought of this strange manoeuvre, the patient, well-mannered beast merely snorted gently.
    His master advanced on Rebecca. For the first time she realized how very large he was. Though her height was above average he topped her head and shoulders, making her feel small and helpless. The feeling was intensified when he picked her up without a by-your-leave and strode up the steps to the front door, shouting for service.
    Lord Danville’s footman had the door open when they reached it. “Lord John!” he gasped. “Miss Nuthall!”
    “Hot baths,” ordered the gentleman, coming straight to the point. “A hot drink for the lady—Miss Nuthall?—and brandy for me.”
    “At once, my lord.”
    The butler appeared. Unruffled by the commotion, he dismissed his underling about his business with a wave. “An accident, I take it, my lord. Perhaps your lordship will be so good as to carry Miss Nuthall into the parlour, where there is a good fire.”
    “No, I can walk,” Rebecca protested.
    Lord John’s arms tightened about her and, panicking, she began to struggle. At once he set her on her feet, steadying her with a hand at her elbow.
    Lord Danville emerged from the library to one side of the vestibule, Muriel from the parlour on the other, the latter followed by Lady Parr.
    “John, what...”
    “Beckie, what...”
    “Rebecca, what is the meaning of this disgraceful scene?” Lady Parr’s enquiry cut through the babble.
    “Pray hush, Mama, can you not see that she is unwell? Dear Beckie, come above-stairs at once.