It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(37)

St. Vincent grinned. “Tell me, darling, what happened to cause bad blood between you and the earl?”

Startled by the casual endearment, Lillian thought of reprimanding him, then decided to let it pass. After all, it had been very nice of him to give up his morning ride to escort her back to the manor. “I’m afraid it was a case of hatred at first sight,” she replied. “I think Westcliff is a judgmental boor, and he considers me an ill-natured brat.” She shrugged. “Perhaps we’re both right.”

“I think neither of you is right,” St. Vincent murmured.

“Well, actually …I am something of a brat,” Lillian admitted.

His lips twitched with barely suppressed humor. “Are you?”

She nodded. “I like to have my way, and I’m very cross when I don’t get it. In fact, I’ve often been told that my temperament is quite similar to that of my grandmother, who was a dockside washwoman.”

St. Vincent seemed entertained by the notion of being related to a washwoman. “Were you close to your grandmother?”

“Oh, she was a ripping old dear. Foul-mouthed and high-spirited, and she often said things that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt. Oh …pardon…I don’t think I’m supposed to say the word ‘stomach’ in front of a gentleman.”

“I’m shocked,” St. Vincent said gravely, “but I’ll recover.” Looking around them as if to ascertain that he wouldn’t be overheard, he whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not really a gentleman, you know.”

“You’re a viscount, aren’t you?”

“That hardly goes hand-in-hand with being a gentleman. You don’t know much about the peerage, do you?”

“I believe I already know more than I want to.”

St. Vincent gave her a curious smile. “And here I thought you were intent upon marrying one of us. Am I mistaken, or aren’t you and your younger sister a pair of dollar princesses brought over from the colonies to land titled husbands?”

“The colonies?” Lillian repeated with a chiding grin. “In case you hadn’t heard, my lord, we won the Revolution.”

“Ah. I must have forgotten to read the paper that day. But in answer to my question …?”

“Yes,” Lillian said, flushing a little. “Our parents brought us here to find husbands. They want to infuse the family line with blue blood.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Today my sole desire is to draw some blue blood,” she muttered, thinking of Westcliff.

“What a ferocious creature you are,” St. Vincent said, laughing. “I pity Westcliff if he crosses you again. In fact, I think I should warn him…” His voice died away as he saw the sudden pain on her face, and heard the sharp intake of her breath.

A tearing agony went through Lillian’s right thigh, and she would have stumbled to the ground had it not been for the support of his arm around her back. “Oh, damn it,” she said shakily, clutching at her thigh. A twisting spasm in her thigh muscle caused her to groan through her clenched teeth. “Damn, damn—”

“What is it?” St. Vincent asked, swiftly lowering her to the path. “A leg cramp?”

“Yes…” Pale and shaking, Lillian caught at her leg, while her face contorted with agony. “Oh God, it hurts!”

He bent over her, frowning with concern. His quiet voice was threaded with urgency. “Miss Bowman…would it be possible for you to temporarily ignore everything you’ve heard about my reputation? Just long enough for me to help you?”

Squinting at his face, Lillian saw nothing but an honest desire to relieve her pain, and she nodded.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and gathered her writhing body into a half-sitting position. He talked swiftly to distract her, while his hand slipped beneath her skirts with gentle expertise. “It will take just a moment. I hope to God that no one happens along to see this—it looks more than a bit incriminating. And it’s doubtful that they would accept the traditional but somewhat overused leg-cramp excuse—”

“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Just make it go away.”

She felt St. Vincent’s hand slide lightly up her leg, the warmth of his skin sinking through the thin fabric of her knickers as he searched for the knotting, twitching muscle. “Here we are. Hold your breath, darling.” Obeying, Lillian felt him roll his palm strongly over the muscle. She nearly yelped at the burst of searing fire in her leg, and then suddenly it eased, leaving her weak with relief.

Relaxing back against his arm, Lillian let out a long breath. “Thank you. That’s much better.”

A faint smile crossed his lips as he deftly tugged her skirts back over her legs. “My pleasure.”

“That never happened to me before,” she murmured, flexing her leg cautiously.

“No doubt it was a repercussion from your exploit in the sidesaddle. You must have strained a muscle.”

“Yes, I did.” Color burnished her cheeks as she forced herself to admit, “I’m not used to jumping on sidesaddle— I’ve only done it astride.”

His smile widened slowly. “How interesting,” he murmured. “Clearly my experiences with American girls have been entirely too limited. I didn’t realize you were so delightfully colorful.”