Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(36)

She blinked at him. “You’ve forgotten it?”

“No, I want to know if you’ve forgotten it.”

“I would never be so silly as to forget my own name,” she said. “I’m Daisy Bowman.”

“What is your birthday?”

She couldn’t repress a crooked smile. “You wouldn’t know if I told you the wrong one.”

“Your birthday,” he insisted.

“March the fifth.”

His mouth curved wryly. “Don’t play games, imp.”

“All right. It’s September the twelfth. How did you know my birthday?”

Instead of replying, Swift looked up and spoke to his companions, who had gathered around them. “Her pupils are the same size,” he said. “And she’s alert. No broken bones, either.”

“Thank God.” Westcliff’s voice.

Looking over Matthew Swift’s broad shoulder, Daisy saw her brother-in-law standing over them. Mr. Mardling and Lord Llandrindon were also there, wearing sympathetic expressions.

Westcliff held a rifle in his hand. He lowered to his haunches beside her. “We were just returning from an afternoon shoot,” the earl said. “It was pure chance that we came upon you just as you were charged.”

“I could have sworn it was a wild boar,” Daisy said in wonder.

“But that can’t be,” Lord Landrindon remarked with a patronizing chuckle. “Your imagination has gotten the better of you, Miss Bowman. There have been no wild boars in England for hundreds of years.”

“But I saw—” Daisy began defensively.

“It’s all right,” Swift murmured, tightening his hold. “I saw it too.”

Westcliff’s expression was rueful. “Miss Bowman is not entirely mistaken,” he told Llandrindon. “We’ve had a local problem with some escaped livestock that have farrowed a generation or two of feral litters. Only last month a horse-woman was charged by one of them.”

“You mean I was just attacked by an angry pig?” Daisy asked, struggling to a sitting position. Swift kept a supportive arm at her back and tucked her against his warm side.

A last ray of sunlight flashed over the horizon, temporarily blinding her. Turning her face away from it, Daisy felt Swift’s chin brush against her hair.

“Not angry,” Westcliff said in reference to the pig. “Feral, and therefore dangerous. Domestic pigs set free in the wild can easily become aggressive and quite large. I would estimate the one we just saw to be at least twenty stone.” Seeing Swift’s perplexity, the earl clarified, “Approximately three hundred pounds.”

Swift helped Daisy to her feet, bracing her against his sturdy form. “Slowly,” he murmured. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

Daisy felt absolutely fine. But it was so delicious to stand there with him that she said breathlessly, “Perhaps a little.”

His hand came up to her head, gently cradling it against his shoulder. Her temperature escalated as she felt the protectiveness of his embrace, the wonderful solidity of his body. All this from Matthew Swift, the most unromantic man she had ever known.

So far this visit was producing one surprise after another.

“I’ll take you back,” Swift said near her ear. Her skin prickled in delighted response. “Do you think you could ride in front of me?”

How topsy-turvy everything had become, Daisy thought, that she should feel a shameless thrill of anticipation at the prospect. She could lean back in his arms as he carried her away on his horse, and she could secretly indulge in a fantasy or two. She would pretend she was an adventuress being abducted by a dashing villain—

“I fear that would not be wise,” Lord Llandrindon interrupted with a laugh. “Considering the state of affairs between the two of you…”

Daisy blanched, thinking at first that he was referring to those torrid moments in the library. But there was no way Llandrindon could know about that. She hadn’t told a soul, and Swift was as closemouthed as a clam about his private life. No, Llandrindon had to be talking about their rivalry at lawn-bowling.

“I think I had better be the one to escort Miss Bowman home,” Llandrindon said, “to prevent any chance of violence.”

Daisy slitted a glance at the viscount’s smiling face and wished he had kept his mouth shut. She parted her lips to protest, but Swift had already replied.

“Perhaps you’re right, my lord.”

Oh, drat. Daisy felt cold and disgruntled as Swift eased her away from the warm shelter of his body.

Westcliff viewed the ground with a grim expression. “I’ll have to find the animal and cull it.”

“Not on my account, I hope,” Daisy said anxiously.

“There is blood on the ground,” the earl replied. “The animal is wounded. It’s kinder to put it down rather than let it suffer.”

Mr. Mardling went to fetch his own gun, saying eagerly, “I’ll go with you, my lord!”

In the meanwhile Lord Llandrindon had mounted his horse. “Hand her up to me,” he said to Swift, “and I’ll return her safely to the manor.”

Swift tilted Daisy’s face upward and extracted a white handkerchief from his pocket. “If you still feel dizzy by the time we arrive home,” he said, carefully wiping the dirt smudges from her face, “I’m going to send for the doctor. Understand?”