Devil take it.
Dorset turned back to the path. How had he arrived here? Right, left, right? Left, right, left?
“Damn,” he muttered.
And that was when he heard it.
The screaming.
Apparently, there was a shred of him remaining within that was gentlemanly and gallant. Because he started running in the direction of the ungodly sounds. And he didn’t stop until he arrived at the source.
Lady Clementine Hammond stood in the midst of the path in a froth. Her hat was askew, and she was wailing while clutching handfuls of yellow silk. Aside from her dudgeon, nothing appeared to be wrong. He stopped just short of her.
“What the devil is the matter?” he demanded as she shook her skirts and danced about.
“Bee!” she cried.
Irritation surged. All this caterwauling because she had seen a damned bee?
“We are out of doors, madam,” he informed her drily as she continued her odd display. “Insects are to be expected.”
Her blue eyes were wild as they met his, and she continued flouncing her skirts. “It has flown up my dress. It shall sting me!”
It would serve her right.
He bit his lip to keep from laughing at her antics. The horror on her countenance was, he could not lie, a small source of pleasure.
“Help me,” she implored.
“Double damn,” he said under his breath.
There was no help for it. He was going to have to toss up Lady Clementine’s skirts.
Or I could allow her to get stung.
With great effort, Dorset silenced the evil voice within, summoning instead his pitiful sense of chivalry.
He started forward. “Calm yourself, my lady. The more you thrash, the greater the harm your bee shall believe himself in, and the more likely he thinks you are to crush him, the more determined he shall be to defend himself.”
“It is buzzing!” she cried, whipping her skirts about with a violence that was guaranteed to get her stung. “Get out, you villain!”
He seized her hands with his, forcing her to still. Her horror was evident. Her breathing was harsh, as if she had run all the way to York Minster and back to Fangfoss Manor.
“Hold still,” he ordered her. “I am going to raise your skirts and hopefully the bee shall fly off, the both of you unscathed.”
“No!” Her denial was swift. “You must not do that.”
He ignored her. One of them had to be rational. That person clearly was not going to be the shrieking woman dressed like a garden which had vomited upon itself. He caught twin handfuls of silk and lifted.
But she would not remain immobile. The instant her hem lifted to reveal her pretty calves, lovingly encased in silk stockings, she twisted away from him. And then howled in pain.
“It stung me! The little devil stung me!”
Bloody hell.If it had been a honeybee beneath her skirts, the devil in question could have only stung her once. But if it was a wasp…
“Cease moving before it stings you again,” he barked out, his patience for her—already nil, thanks to her involvement in Anna’s marriage—growing smaller by the moment.
He lifted her skirts to her knees, and shook out the voluminous layers.
