The woman froze in stunned shock, her ice falling from her hand in an unnoticed splat. In a work of fiction, it would be the stuff of comedy. But here, on the street, it was a decided tragedy.
Meanwhile, Lady Mischief kept tossing her head and letting her displeasure with the situation be known. Lucas stroked her mane and leaned forward to give her a soothing shush. He met the woman’s gaze. She remained utterly frozen, except her eyebrows had drawn together. Clearly, what had happened to her was beginning to sink in. Any second now, she would give him the tongue lashing he so richly deserved.
He braced himself for it when her mouth opened and she…laughed.
Not a laugh of disbelief or bemusement or even a great expulsion of fury, but a hearty chuckle that sprang from the pit of her belly. So infectious was her laugh that he was almost tempted to join in with her. Then Lady Mischief lifted her front right hoof and tossed her head again. Something was wrong.
He quickly dismounted and grabbed her fetlock. She’d lost a shoe. In the kerfuffle, her back hoof must’ve knocked her front shoe off in the mud.
Blast.
Now he was stuck in Matlock Bath for the rest of the day, and likely night, while Lady Mischief was reshod. He shook his head in bemusement and flicked a glance toward the woman, perhaps to commiserate in their separate, but linked, misfortunes.
But the patch of cobblestones where she’d stood only moments ago was now empty. She’d vanished.
A pang stole through him. Not of loss—for not even a single word had been exchanged between them—but of something else… of what could have been? Or was it a sense of connection provoked by their shared moment of misfortune?
The fact was she interested him. He didn’t know the woman from Eve, but he thought he might already like her. At the very least, he owed her an apology and some coin, too, for her ruined dress and pelisse.
But truly, what woman laughed after getting soaked by a great wallop of mud?
No woman he knew.
He found it intriguing and strangely refreshing.
Now…
Who was she?
2
Next day
Her step quiet and unsure, Nell made her way down the dimly-lit, narrow corridor, clutching the bathing dress and cap she’d borrowed from Tilly to her chest, and wondered just what the blazes she was doing here.
Actually, she knew.
And it had everything to do with The Mud Incident from yesterday.
“Lawks, you would think this was London!” Tilly had exclaimed at the sight of Nell, thoroughly outraged on her behalf.
Still reeling in disbelief, Nell had remained sanguine about it all through the bath Tilly had ordered for her in their room. Yet she hadn’t been able to get the face of the man who had caused the debacle out of her mind. A handsome face, but one expressing the same reaction as she—particularly when she’d laughed.
Sometimes life delivered mud directly into one’s face. It was how one handled the awfulness that mattered, and there were only a few options: laugh, cry, or get angry. The latter two weren’t for her. So, she’d laughed and taken herself off to her room and got a good, long look at herself in the mirror.
A complete bedraggled mess of a woman had stared back at her.
And her dress?
It was unsalvageable.
And the man who had been the cause of it?
He’d ridden off unsullied.
Wasn’t that just the way of it?
Men.
