Hastily he yanked his coat from the stall door and settled it over her, masking the damage and the dirt. Then he slid one arm beneath her knees, one behind her shoulders, and lifted. She weighed little. Her hair grazed his jaw. Her perfume was subtle, carrying citrus and a hint of rose. Not French, at least not the vulgar kind of French that seemed popular now that the war was over.
He looked down at her. In sleep her features were peaceful and she seemed to glow. Tranquility made her radiant now as fierceness had made her ferociously beautiful just a few moments before. Her lips were full and ached to be kissed. Her nose was petite and her figure slender but with a woman’s alluring curves. When he realized that he was standing and staring, he shook himself.
Get a hold of yourself Lieutenant! She is in need of a physician, not a fiancée.
He set his mouth and carried her out. The straightest path to the guest rooms ran through the ballroom. So, obeying the pragmatism of the Service, he took it.
I will not delay getting her to safety and comfort simply to avoid prying eyes. And I will not hide away in my own house!
He regretted his decision as he stepped through the French doors and the musicians of the orchestra became the first to register his presence. They faltered as their maestro gaped, his arms slowing. Then the guests became aware as Edward strode through them. Conversation snapped and curled like a cut rope. Faces turned. Mouths opened, whether to gape or whisper.
He kept a sailor’s pace across the parquet, the lady in his arms and London’s curiosity in his wake. A man, brave or foolish, stepped forward with a question and stepped back without one when Edward’s look reached him. Then a young man with bronze hair and a face storm-dark with fury blocked his way.
“Your Grace,” he said, low and dangerous. “You will give me that lady.”
“No,” Edward said, and did not slow.
“I am Alistair Drummond, Duke of Strathmore. That is my sister.”
Strathmore reached out but Edward brushed past him. The coat draped over her knees fell away, revealing the tear, the stocking and the thigh.
“Then follow. She needs a physician, not a crowd,” Edward rumbled.
“What has happened?” Strathmore barked.
“She struck her head,” Edward said. “She breathes. She will be seen at once. Stand clear.”
A woman’s voice, cool as glass, cut the air. “Edward.”
The Dowager Duchess, Eleanor Ravenscroft, Edward’s mother, with a gaze that arranged people as neatly as porcelain, detached herself from a knot of watchers. She took in the scene, the fallen coat, the straw, the exposed flesh, and turned to the room with a crisp announcement that was also a command.
“You seem to be carrying, Lady Isla Drummond, sister to His Grace of Strathmore.”
“So he has just told me,” Edward said.
Away from the urgency of action his reason took over.
My mother would never bait me with a Caledonian native. She is far too hateful of anyone from north of Carlisle. All Scots are reavers to her. All are murderers of husbands.
She put a hand to his arm which stopped him, momentarily. An army could not have achieved the same as the hand of a fifty year old widow with the eyes of a raven.
“I will have a physician sent for. And then try to silence the gossip. We will speak.”
“We will!” Strathmore said, hotly.
“Now is not the time, Your Grace,” Lady Eleanor said. “Let us try and revive the discretion my son has tried to sink, shall we?”
Edward left the ballroom and crossed the gallery into the corridor where portraits glowered in gilt. He took the stairs two at a time to the floor on which the guest rooms lay. He laid Isla on the bed, taking a blanket from the chest at the bed’s foot and carefully laying it over her.
Strathmore entered the room on his heels. Then Lady Eleanor who motioned a maid to go to Isla’s side and beckoned her son and Strathmore to the other side of the room.
“Explain,” she said.
“She came to the stable,” Edward answered. “We spoke. She turned to go, caught a rope, and hit the beam. Her gown tore on a nail. I covered it and brought her here. Send for Doctor Hargreaves.”
“He is coming,” the Dowager said, as if physicians were footmen.
“I still have not heard an explanation as to why you were in a stable of all places with my sister. My unmarried sister!” Strathmore hissed, putting himself in front of Edward.
