Page 37 of The Lyon Rampant

“Harsh words, Belinda! I thought we’d reached some accord.”

“That might be taking it a bit far.” She tested her weight on the bad ankle, and her jaw clenched. Anxiety shot through him—he’d been making light of it, but what if she’d broken a bone?

“If I can find a branch of hazel or something to use as a stick, I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t find any hazel on this part of the moor or much in the way of wood—industry has consumed most of it. You’ll have to let me carry you.”

Her look of alarm should have been offensive, but he’d learned by now that Belinda was a creature of feeling and that those feelings could change in an instant. Her alarm would soon turn to gratitude, he was certain.

Without giving her a choice, he scooped her off the ground and into his arms. Ordulf woofed his approval and brought up the rear as Piers made his way along the wall and over the rough ground in the direction of the track.

He must have taken the wind out of Belinda’s sails because she made not a peep of protest, and before long, her head was resting on his shoulder to stop it bouncing about as he strode down the track.

“This would be far easier for me if you put your arms round my neck. The closer I hold you, the better it is. No, Ordulf, I can’t carry you as well. You’ll just have to form a rear guard.”

When she linked her hands together behind his neck, he experienced a moment of triumph. Fortunately, she kept her eyes averted and didn’t see his smug grin.

“I may not know the area exceedingly well, but I can tell we’re heading down, not up toward the road. Where are you taking me?”

“Down to the mine where my horse is. I can put you up on the faithful Jacques and put your bad foot in the stirrup to help support it. I assume you can ride.”

“Only a little. I’m not sure that I should.”

“Well, the alternative is for me to put you in one of the wheelbarrows and push you up the slope to the road. I’d prefer not to, however—I imagine the barrows are not clean enough to receive a genteel young lady. And if Ordulf decides to climb in with you, I shall refuse to take you anywhere.”

She glanced up at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You feel that you have me at a disadvantage. Well—I suppose it would be churlish of me to deny you a laugh at my expense after what I’ve done to you.”

“Will you please stop fretting about that? I put it behind me weeks ago. I’ve developed a new strategy for finding Charlotte and forgiven you entirely. Now, does that satisfy you?”

“I suppose it should, but I still feel awkward, and I don’t like being carried by you.”

“That wounds me to the core! I’m your rescuer—should you not be throwing rose petals at my feet?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Don’t upset me, or I may feel obliged to drop you.”

He was thrilled to feel her arms tighten around him. It was a long time since he’d enjoyed himself so much. Unfortunately, he was becoming increasingly aware of the softness of her curves and the feminine lure of her body pressed tightly against his. Curse it! He’d forced himself to be celibate for too long, hoping against hope that Charlotte would change her mind and be his again if he saved himself for her.

The foolish dreams of an idiot. Perhaps he needed to reconsider the situation, especially where Miss Belinda Bellamy was concerned. She wouldn’t be easily persuaded to welcome the attentions of a man, not after her previous experience. But the fact that she did have experience and that she was forbidden fruit made her all the more tempting. He must remember, however, that she’d expected a future with the man who’d bedded her, a future that had been ripped away from her. The next man to take her to his bed must be different in every way, for whoever wanted to win Belinda Bellamy’s heart would need to offer her the security of marriage.

“Ouch. That bump just hurt my ankle.”

“I’m so sorry—I was wool-gathering.” He blinked hard several times. Whatever had got into his head, thinking of her as a potential conquest, a potential spouse?

“Here we are.” Gratefully, he lowered his lovely burden to the ground and prayed she had not been aware of the direction of his thoughts or the excitement coursing through his body. “Here is Jacques. I regret there’s no sidesaddle for you. Can you ride astride?”

“That would be a shocking thing for me to do, wouldn’t it?”

He laughed. “Just so long as you don’t fall off and expose yourself like the infamous Kitty Fisher, I shouldn’t worry.”

She gasped. “To lose one’s dignity like that—how could any woman bear it?”

He enjoyed her blush. “I won’t look, I promise. Or rather, I won’t let you fall.”

He helped her mount and carefully inserted the injured foot into the stirrup, then tightened it to make sure it gave the support she needed. Mockingly shielding his eyes, he went to Jacques’s head, took hold of the reins, and led the puzzled horse up the track toward the road.

“Where are we going? Buckleigh’s that way.”