The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(101)

She slowed down as she reached a slightly wooded area and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sounds and smells of the park fill her senses. She thought of a blind man she'd once met, who'd told her that the rest of his senses had grown sharper since he'd lost his sight. As she sat there and inhaled the scents of the forest, she thought he might be right.

She listened hard, first identifying the high-pitched chirp of the birds, then the soft, scurrying feet of the squirrels as they hoarded nuts for the winter. Then—

She frowned and opened her eyes. Damn. That was definitely the sound of another rider

approaching.

Daphne didn't want company. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her pain, and she certainly didn't want to have to explain to some well-meaning society member why she was alone in the park. She listened again, identified the location of the oncoming rider, and took off in the other direction.



She kept her horse to a steady trot, thinking that if she just got out of the other rider's way, he'd pass her by. But whichever way she went, he seemed to follow.

She picked up speed, more speed than she should have in this lightly wooded area. There were too many low branches and protruding tree roots. But now Daphne was starting to get scared.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as a thousand horrifying questions rocked through her head.

What if this rider wasn't, as she'd originally supposed, a member of the ton? What if he was a criminal? Or a drunk? It was early; there was no one about. If Daphne screamed, who would hear her? Was she close enough to her groom? Had he stayed put where she'd left him or had he tried to follow? And if he had, had he even gone in the right direction?

Her groom! She nearly cried out in relief. It had to be her groom. She swung her mare around to see if she could catch a glimpse of the rider. The Hastings livery was quite distinctly red; surely she'd be able to see if—

Smack!

Every bit of air was violently forced from her body as a branch caught her squarely in the chest.

A strangled grunt escaped her lips, and she felt her mare moving forward without her. And then she was falling ... falling ...

She landed with a bone-jarring thud, the autumn brown leaves on the ground providing scant cushioning. Her body immediately curled into a fetal position, as if by making herself as small as possible, she could make the hurt as small as possible.

And, oh God, she hurt. Damn it, she hurt everywhere. She squeezed her eyes shut and

concentrated on breathing. Her mind flooded with curses she'd never dared speak aloud. But it hurt. Bloody hell, it hurt to breathe.

But she had to. Breathe. Breathe, Daphne, she ordered. Breathe. Breathe. You can do it .

"Daphne!"

Daphne made no response. The only sounds she seemed able to make were whimpers. Even

groans were beyond her capability.

"Daphne! Christ above, Daphne!"

She heard someone jump off a horse, then felt movement in the leaves around her.

"Daphne?"

"Simon?" she whispered in disbelief. It made no sense that he was here, but it was his voice.

And even though she still hadn't pried her eyes open, it felt like him. The air changed when he



was near.

His hands touched her lightly, checking for broken bones. "Tell me where it hurts," he said.

"Everywhere," she gasped.

He swore under his breath, but his touch remained achingly gentle and soothing. "Open your eyes," he ordered softly. "Look at me. Focus on my face."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"You can. "

She heard him strip off his gloves, and then his warm fingers were on her temples, smoothing away the tension. He moved to her eyebrows, then the bridge of her nose. "Shhhh," he crooned.

"Let it go. Just let the pain go. Open your eyes, Daphne."

Slowly, and with great difficulty, she did so. Simon's face filled her vision, and for the moment she forgot everything that had happened between them, everything but the fact that she loved him, and he was here, and he was making the hurt go away.

"Look at me," he said again, his voice low and insistent. "Look at me and don't take your eyes off of mine."

She managed the tiniest of nods. She focused her eyes on his, letting the intensity of his gaze hold her still.

"Now, I want you to relax," he said. His voice was soft but commanding, and it was exactly what she needed. As he spoke, his hands moved across her body, checking for breaks or sprains.

His eyes never once left hers.

Simon kept speaking to her in low, soothing tones as he examined her body for injuries. She didn't appear to have suffered anything worse than a few bad bruises and having the wind knocked out of her, but one could never be too careful, and with the baby...

The blood drained from his face. In his panic for Daphne, he'd forgotten all about the child she was carrying. His child.

Their child.

"Daphne," he said slowly. Carefully. "Do you think you're all right?"

She nodded.

"Are you still in pain?"



"Some," she admitted, swallowing awkwardly as she blinked. "But it's getting better."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded again.