Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(35)

“Gracious,” Daisy exclaimed, setting out jars and fabric bolts on the table. “What a wicked old witch she was! Just like the fairy tales…” And she regaled the children with a dramatic recitation of Hansel and Gretel that sent them giggling and screeching beneath the table, peering out at her with delight.

By the end of visiting day, Daisy had filled a little book with notes…would it be possible to locate a specialist to look at old Mr. Hearnsley’s failing eyes and might the Blunts be given another bottle of the housekeeper’s tonic for Mr. Blunt’s digestive complaints?

Promising that she would convey all questions directly to Lord and Lady Westcliff, Daisy climbed back into the now-empty pony cart and headed back to StonyCrossPark.

It was almost twilight, long shadows of oaks and chestnuts crossing the unpaved road leading away from the village. This part of England had not yet been deforested to feed the fleets and factories that had sprung up in the major cities. The woodlands were still pristine and other-worldly, scored with small cartways half-buried by overhanging branches thick with leaves. In the gathering shade the trees were wreathed in vapor and mystery, like sentinels for a world of druids and warlocks and unicorns. A brown owl glided over the lane, mothlike in the darkening sky.

The lane was quiet except for the rattle of cart wheels and the clop-clop of Hubert’s iron-shod hooves. Daisy kept a firm grip on the ribbons as the pony quickened his pace. Hubert seemed nervous, his head tossing from side to side.

“Easy, boy,” Daisy soothed, forcibly slowing his pace as the cart’s axle rattled over a rough patch. “You don’t like the forest, do you? No need to worry—we’ll reach open ground soon.”

The pony’s fidgeting continued until the vegetation had thinned and the overhead foliage had disappeared. They passed into a dry sunken lane that was girdled by a forest on one side and a meadow on the other. “There, nervous Nellie,” Daisy said brightly. “Nothing to worry about, you see?”

As it turned out, her confidence was premature.

She heard a few heavy cracks coming from the forest, twigs and branches snapped underfoot. Hubert nickered apprehensively, swinging his head toward the noise. A loud animal grunt caused the hairs to rise on the back of Daisy’s neck.

Good Lord, what was that?

With startling suddenness a huge, bulky shape charged toward the cart from the forest cover.

Everything happened too fast for Daisy to comprehend. She gripped the ribbons as Hubert jerked forward with a panicked whinny, the cart rattling and bouncing as if it were a child’s toy.

Daisy tried in vain to keep her seat, but as the cart hit a deep rut she was thrown clear of the vehicle. Hubert continued racing pell-mell down the lane while Daisy landed on the hard-packed earth with stunning force.

The breath was knocked from her, and she choked and wheezed. She had the impression of a massive creature, a monster rushing toward her, but the sound of a gunshot rent the air and caused her ears to ring.

A bone-chilling animal squeal…then nothing.

Daisy tried to sit up, then flopped weakly on her stomach as her lungs spasmed. Her chest felt as if it had been caught in a vise. There was a good chance she was going to cast up her crumpets, but the thought of how much that would hurt was enough to keep her gorge down.

In a moment the thundering of hooves—several sets—vibrated the ground beneath Daisy’s cheek. Finally able to draw a shallow breath, she pushed up on her elbows and lifted her chin.

Three riders—no, four—were galloping toward her, hooves thrasing up clouds of dust in the lane. One of the men swung off his horse before it had even stopped and rushed to her in a few ground-eating strides.

Daisy blinked in surprise as he dropped to his knees and gathered her up in the same motion. Her head fell back on his arm, and she found herself staring hazily up into Matthew Swift’s dark face.

“Daisy.” It was a tone she had never heard from him before, rough and urgent. Cradling her in one arm, he ran his free hand over her body in a rapid search for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

Daisy tried to explain that she’d just gotten the wind knocked out of her, and he seemed to understand her incoherent sounds. “All right,” he said. “Don’t try to talk. Breathe slowly.” Feeling her stir against him, he resettled her in his arms. “Rest against me.” His hand passed over her hair, smoothing it back from her face. Tiny shivers of reaction ran through her limbs, and he gathered her closer. “Slowly, sweetheart. Easy. You’re safe now.”

Daisy closed her eyes to hide her astonishment. Matthew Swift was murmuring endearments and holding her in hard, strong arms, and her bones seemed to have melted like boiling sugar.

Years of uncivilized rough-and-tumble with her siblings had taught Daisy to recover quickly from a fall. In any other circumstances she would have sprung up and dusted herself off by now. But every pleasure-saturated cell in her body sought to preserve the moment for as long as possible.

Matthew’s gentle fingers stroked the side of her face. “Look at me, sweetheart. Tell me where it hurts.”

Her lashes swept upward. His face was right over hers. As she was held in the compass of his extraordinary blue eyes, she felt as if she were floating in layers of color. “You have nice teeth,” she told him groggily, “but you know, your eyes are even nicer…”

Swift frowned, the pad of his thumb passing over the crest of her cheek. His touch brought a wash of pink to the surface of her skin. “Can you tell me your name?”