The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(21)

This was no angel. If she fainted on the spot, she would count it as a blessing. She’d not have to deal with him.

“Miss—”

“My lord.” She swallowed to clear the thickness that clogged her throat. She turned her head to glance behind her. The movement caused her to sway, but she willed herself to remain standing. “No. I’m injured. That was my brother you saw.”

The whirl of a black greatcoat swept by her. Suddenly, the Marquess of McCalpin stood before her. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the hand she held close to her body.

“Stop.” Her whispery plea sounded weak to her own ears. Her body took control at that moment, trying to rid itself of the shock by shivering uncontrollably. “Please. I’ll—I’ll faint if you come closer.”

He ignored her command and took the forbidden step forward. A response so typical of a male—always charging ahead when the most prudent action required one to analyze the situation. The vision of him swam before her eyes. Her shivers intensified, and her whole body shook.

“Will you allow me to examine your hand?” He reached for her, and she pitched forward.

Her vision grew dark, and the ringing in her ears increased. Abruptly, the world tilted sideways as she fell. When he caught her, warmth enveloped her and arms of banded steel held her close. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. The scent of pine and leather layered with something male chased away the iron scent that had invaded her nose. For a moment, all was well in the world. Unfortunately, her relief was short-lived. No doubt, her blood was staining his clothing. She tried to pull away, but his arms held her tight.

“I’ll ruin your coat,” she whispered.

“Shh.” He studied her face. “I’m going to lean you against the wall and get something from my mount.” He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment as he lowered her into a sitting position.

She sat still and observed his movements. He stepped to his horse, a big dappled gray, and opened a bag tied to the saddle. It took too much effort to watch anymore. She rested her head against the rock wall. A slight breeze caused her hair to dance about her face. She lost track of time. It was difficult to concentrate. Somehow, he’d reached her side and knelt before her. The blade of a knife caught the light with a flash of silver.

“A knife?” Her voice echoed inside her brain as if she were talking inside a barrel.

He took her injured hand in his, the gentle touch reassuring.

“I can’t look down or I’ll faint.” She closed her eyes. The effort kept her from swooning and hid the sight of her blood.

“You don’t need to watch. I’m just cutting the glove away from your hand. I can’t see how badly you’re injured unless I examine the wound.” The low rumble of words buzzed around her like a giant honeybee. “Will you allow me to do that?”

She shook her head and tried to pull her hand away. These were her last pair of work gloves, and she didn’t have any extra money to replace them.

“Please, don’t.” Her family’s humiliating circumstances caused her face to heat. Why couldn’t the flush have settled in her body instead of her face? At least she’d have some much-needed warmth. She took a deep breath to salvage some dignity. “They’re my last pair.”

The strength in his grasp kept her from successfully removing her hand from his.

“Trust me,” he whispered, “they’re ruined. May I cut it off?”

With no other choice, March reluctantly nodded her assent. A few tugs, and her fingers were free. “What do you see?”

The heat of his hand beneath hers was a startling contrast to the coolness of her palm. He must have taken his glove off. The comfort of his touch settled her shakes until they diminished into slight tremors.

“It’s a nasty cut that will require a few stitches. I need to wrap your hand until I get you to the house.”

“I didn’t know you were arriving today.” She had no idea if she was speaking aloud. The blood had robbed her of her senses.

“Our last meeting left me curious. I decided to visit sooner rather than later, and hoped you could answer my questions.” The gentleness in his voice matched the compassionate touch of his hand.

She dared to open her eyes, and he was staring at her. The blue in his eyes was deeper than any sapphire. Her David was back—not some arrogant goat who sauntered about the world as if it owed him everything. Today, he would slay any foe that threatened his world.

“Oh.” What a moronic thing to utter.

She clenched her eyes tight and tried to think of something witty. When she opened her eyes, he had untied his neckcloth and was wrapping it around her hand. She couldn’t look down so she concentrated on the sun-kissed skin of his neck, layered and corded with tendons and muscles that peeked from the opening of his shirt. Good heavens, could the man’s beauty not bother her for any length of time?

When he rested on his haunches above her, she dared not steal a glimpse of his muscled legs. Either a view of his legs or the sight of her blood would be the death of her.

“Stay here and I’ll fetch Donar.” His hand still rested under hers. He pressed her hand against her chest and caused another wave of lightheadedness. “Keep your hand elevated.”

He left her side, then brought his horse around.

“I’ll help you stand.” Without waiting for her acquiescence, he pulled her up. When she weaved unsteadily, he brought her against his chest. “I’m going to pick you up and lift you onto the saddle.”