Startled, Vanessa looked up just before her foot hit the muddy street. As the fates would have it, her foot failed to find the mark she’d chosen and squelched sickeningly in the cold mud up past the top of her low boots.
“Ah-h-h!” Vanessa shrieked. She pulled her skirts up around her knees, teetering precariously.
A babble of voices crescendoed around Vanessa, echoed by the flutter of hands too far away to help. Jonas held his lantern higher, its light shining on her slender white legs liberally splattered with mud. Firmly clasping her skirts, she regally straightened. “I’m all right. No, Mama, don’t try to help. Father, please see that the others make the sidewalk first.” She nodded toward her mother, sister, and Paulette, forestalling his coming to her aid.
The sound of deep-throated laughter drew her attention to the sidewalk. Belatedly she remembered Mr. Danielson’s presence and his role in her current dilemma. But he wasn’t laughing. Embarrassed, with harried glances in Vanessa’s direction, he was trying to halt the amusement of a tall, exquisitely-attired gentleman standing next to him.
“But, Trevor,” the gentleman protested with patently false meekness, “you said society here was different from England, and I, in my arrogance, failed to appreciate your meaning. Such long-legged delights are certainly not what I had envisioned.”
Vanessa dropped her skirt indignantly while everyone, including her humorless father, laughed.
“Oh, no, Vanessa, now you’ve muddied your gown, too,” Adeline said.
“Aupauvre!Your beautiful gown!” wailed Paulette.
Vanessa looked down to see the hem trailing in the deep muck. Her shoulders stiffened, and a hiss of annoyance escaped her lips.
“Jonas, your arm, please,” she said tightly, looking up to glare at the large, dark silhouette of her tormentor.
The old butler shuffled awkwardly to her side, sending small droplets of mud splashing up her skirt. Vanessa ground her teeth in frustration as she again raised her skirts a few inches and firmly clasped Jonas’s arm.
“I-I be very sorry, Miss Vanessa.”
The stricken tone of the old man drew her attention to him. The lines in his dark face looked deeper, and his eyes fairly bulged, their whites showing clearly in the lantern light.
Vanessa’s expression softened, and she squeezed the old man’s arm reassuringly. “Do not concern yourself, Jonas, they balance out the design,” she said wryly, leaning heavily on him as she struggled to extricate her foot from the mud.
Suddenly she felt strong arms around her back and legs lifting her free, and she found herself cradled in the arms of the stranger. “Wh-what?” she stammered, whipping her head around to look up at him. Her breath went out of her in a hiss, and a deep red stained her cheeks.
The lantern light caught the tawny gaze that gleamed down at her from slightly hooded, wide-set eyes. A heretofore unknown piquant feeling swept through her, sending her pulse racing. Astounded and embarrassed by the feelings he evoked, she writhed in his arms.
“Put me down! How dare you! Put me down, I say!” The words came without strength as Vanessa found herself gasping for breath.
His deep laugh rang out in the rain-washed night air. “Impossible. You are a damsel in distress, and I could no more fail to come to your aid than I could fail to draw a breath.”
His light tone did little to calm Vanessa’s tumultuous pulse, for his voice was like silk over drawn steel. “It is you who are impossible! Father!” she cried, kicking her feet and pushing on the stranger’s broad chest as he strode unperturbed to the wooden sidewalk and set her gently down.
Once on her feet, she whirled around, glaring at him. A thoroughly masculine, self-satisfied smile curved his aristocratic thin lips, capping her rage. How dare he make a May-game of her! Her right hand came up swiftly, inflicting a resounding slap to his smiling countenance.
A collective gasp was heard in the wake of her action, but the man’s eyes never left hers. Slowly he raised a hand to nurse his cheek. Then he cocked a sandy brow in mute inquiry, and she knew a fleeting moment of regret.
“Vanessa!” roared Richard Mannion.
Guiltily she tore her gaze away from the man and turned toward her father.
“Such behavior is highly unbecoming,” he said coldly. “You will apologize immediately.”
Her father had placed her in an untenable position, and all eyes were upon her. She clenched her fists, her arms rigid at her sides. Tears of frustration glistened in her eyes. “I apologize,” she said tightly.
The man nodded curtly and stepped up on the weathered boards to stand beside her. “It is I who should apologize,” he murmured.
Vanessa found herself tilting her head back to look up at him. She was not a petite woman, yet the man seemed to dwarf her. A renewed flush of irritation rekindled her boldness.
“And well you might! Though I recognize the value of your assistance, your method was scandalous. And it would have been so even if we were acquainted, which, I may thankfully say, we are not.”
“Enough, I say!” boomed Mr. Mannion.
The man turned toward Mr. Mannion and held up his hand, halting further reproof. “No, sir, your daughter has the right of it. It was badly done.” His conciliatory tone grated on Vanessa’s raw nerves. “I may only say, in my defense, since my great friend Trevor Danielson is of your acquaintance, I borrowed upon his favors.”
