Page 35 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

He straightened in his seat, gently releasing her mount. “I returned to England for the fulfillment of that one desire.”

“Er…what?”

“Miss Powel, I seek your regard. And, naturally, your hand in marriage.”

Which was when, with absolutely no one riding nearby, she tumbled off her horse.

Chapter Eight

Peter saw it with his own eyes, but still struggled to believe it. After hearing his proposal of marriage, Miss Powel was so repulsed, she jerked backward on her horse. Her eyes were wide with shock, and her mouth gaped into a dark red O of horror.

Shock, when he’d thought himself clear in his intention for more than a week now.

Horror, when he was the heir to an earldom.

She jerked away from him, which meant sideways on her saddle. Then another gasp—and this time he was too slow to react—before she desperately pulled on the reins. Too hard, too fast, which made her horse shy badly, and down she went with a squeak of alarm and a tumble of skirts.

He leaped off his mare and steadied both horses, because he feared her mount would step on her. As soon as he could, he tossed the reins to her groom, then rushed to her side. She appeared unharmed, though some injuries might not show for a while. Her face was red with embarrassment, but she moved easily as she flounced her skirt back into order. But not before he’d seen two nicely trim ankles leading to very shapely calves. Still, he was trying to be a gentleman and not make things worse.

He didn’t have to look up to know that she was already a subject of fun among the dashing gents and ladies. He glared at the nearest group, giving them a silent warning. He didn’t know if it would work, but he tried. And thankfully, they moved back.

Which left him staring helplessly at Miss Powel and wondering what he could say. He couldn’t think of any social inanities, so he settled on what he did know: basic medicine.

“Is your chest tight? Is there pain or numbness? Does your head hurt?”

She glared down at her feet. “I landed on my—” She cut off her words. “On the softest part of me.”

Hardly, since she fell on her bum and not her breasts.

“Nothing is hurt except my pride.” She tucked her feet under her, and he held out his hand to her. He feared she would disdain even that, but she grabbed it quickly and he pulled her to her feet.

“Let’s walk this way, shall we?” He gestured to an empty pathway.

“So long as it’s away from here,” she muttered. He watched her gaze travel over their onlookers. Her mouth pinched tight, and her cheeks colored, but she didn’t say more.

“Don’t worry. People fall off their horses all the time.”

She slanted him a defeated expression. “Why yes, I’m sure it happens hourly. Someone somewhere in the world falls off a horse. Today was just my turn.” She began walking slowly. “I had to do it in front of the horse-mad set.” Then she looked to her left and winced.

“What is it?” he asked. “Pain?”

“No, no. I just saw Mr. Randall. Or rather, he saw me.”

“And he offended you?”

She released a mournful laugh. “No. I shall simply have to cross him off my list of potential husbands.”

He frowned. “Mr. Percy Randall? The horse-mad puppy with delusions of oratory genius?”

She turned to him. “You know him.” It wasn’t a question.

“We all know him. His attempts to match his father’s eloquence have been the subject of laughter since he was in school.” He cut off his words there, but that didn’t silence his thoughts. The woman was considering Percy Randall, a braying ass if ever there was one, but she fell off her horse rather than accept him?

“I thought I could help him,” she said almost too softly to hear.

At which point, his temper snapped. They’d walked far enough to be relatively private, so he drew to a stop and touched her arm. He wanted to grab her and haul her around, but he did not.

“I will have an explanation, Miss Powel, or I will drag you to the nearest doctor, for you are obviously concussed.”