Instinct had Dev jumping from his horse, who hadn’t yet come to a complete halt, and shouting, “What are you thinking, woman?”
The instant they flew from his mouth, he knew them for the wrong words—and unfair.
She could ask the same question of him—fairly.
From there, it only got worse.
When he made to assist her to her feet, she flinched back, as if he were attempting to assault her.
In Hyde Park.
In broad daylight.
At last, however, she gathered a modicum of sense and allowed him to assist her to her feet.
With the rain pelting every available surface, she was as soaked as he, and yet sopping wet, the woman weighed near to nothing. He’d encountered kittens composed of more solid substance.
And Dev had another observation to make about this
Woman—one that should’ve been apparent the instant she’d begun lashing him with her tongue.
She was a lady.
One he’d never encountered.
But then he wouldn’t have.
This lady, came a quick third observation, was the sort who would fade into the background at a society gathering. The showier sort tended to catch his attention, in the general scheme.
The instant she was upright on her two feet, she shook off his hand and exclaimed, “You’re a bloody menace, is what you are.”
He owed her an apology—it was even possible she was correct about the menace part, too—and he was opening his mouth to say exactly that when her eyes went wide and—yet another—cry of distress issued from her mouth. He followed the direction of her gaze and found her satchel had sprung open. Neat white squares of paper fluttered haphazardly across the grass all around them.
“Blimey!” came another exclamation.
Blimey?
Wasn’t this woman a lady?
But he had no time to contemplate the conundrum when she fell to her knees and began frantically gathering every square within reach—the seals identifying them as missives.
Dev’s brow creased. She was only using one hand, rather awkwardly. “Are you injured?”
Without meeting his eyes, she gave her head a tight shake and continued about her business.
She must’ve tried to break her fall with the hand she was coddling. The wrist might be sprained or, worse, broken. Again, he began speaking words that were long overdue. “I must apolo?—”
Her head whipped around. Gray eyes, fringed with thick, wet lashes, blazed up at him. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Right.
Like a newly released coil, he sprang into motion, gathering sopping wet missives and passing them over to her, which she accepted without a single thank you. She might’ve been a lady, but no one had taught her manners.
He straightened and glanced around, squinting against the lashing rain for evidence of more escaped missives, but found none. “I think that’s all of them.”
It was only after she’d clamped her satchel shut that Dev noticed one more item. Not a letter, but a journal. He’d just lifted it off the grass when another yelp sounded at his back. He swung around to find the woman struggling to her feet again.
“Would you please accept my help?”
