“Charm her,” Damien had said.
“Romance her,” had been Edgeworth’s suggestion.
“Impress her.” Advice from Eloise.
But instead, he’d nearly taken her tumbling down the side of a cliff. Excellent work, Hunt, you bumbling blighter.
He cleared his throat. “My apologies,” he murmured, planting his hands beside him, intent on standing. If he could get himself back to the top of the cliffs, he could perhaps restore some of his dignity.
But when Hunt set his left foot on the ground, pain shot up his leg. Shifting most of his weight to his other leg, he contemplated his options.
He was unable to prevent the slow hiss from releasing between his teeth.
“You are injured.” She was at his side again, and this time he couldn’t dodge her proximity even if he’d wanted to.
Because if that rock had worked its way loose, any of those surrounding them could do the same. And the worst possible thing would be for her to step on one of them and suffer the same fate as he had—or worse.
“Have a care.” He slid his arm around her to keep her from going anywhere but also allowing himself the slightest support.
Their difference in size became even more apparent when his hand curved all the way around to her front to rest on her ribcage, just below her breasts.
“I suppose,” he said in a level tone, “I ought to have taken Geoffrey’s warnings more seriously.”
“You can’t have known.” Miss Meadowbrook’s gaze searched around the ground, looking more critical than fearful. “It looked the same as the other rocks.”
Hunt was grateful that she stood on the safer side of the path.
Even so, any young woman would be perfectly justified to panic on the heels of his fall.
“I twisted my ankle once,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “My horse decided to take a walk just as I was dismounting. By the time I made it back to the manor, my foot had doubled in size.” She grimaced at the memory, clutching his arm still.
However, her somber expression showed that she was fully aware of the challenges posed by their situation.
He wasn’t so heroic today, dash it all.
“Should I go for help? This was all my fault. I ought not to have insisted we come down. I should have realized.” She slid one arm under his waist but sliced the other through the air while she spoke. “It was selfish of me. Stupid, stupid, stupid—”
“Miss Meadowbrook. Allison,” Hunt stopped her. Her taking the blame for his ungainliness was utterly ridiculous. “This is not your fault.”
He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself for discomfort and deciding the best way to stand. “Perhaps, I can walk it off.”
“Wishful thinking, my lord.” Was she teasing him?
The overwhelming urge to kiss the smirk off her mouth nearly erased his pain and mortification.
And that somehow boosted his confidence.
He was a man in his prime, fit, healthy, and, without being prideful, somewhat athletic even. He wiggled his toes and slowly bent his knee. Indeed, his only problematic joint was the ankle.
And yet he shook his head. “I ought to have been more careful.”
So much for impressing her. Hunt didn’t want to see her expression. Would it be mocking? Even worse if it held pity.
“Accidents happen.” She sounded matter-of-fact, causing him to glance up.
She was pinching her mouth together now, looking as determined as he felt. “Let’s have a try then, shall we? Take my hand and then lean on me. I’m stronger than I look.”
Which wasn’t all that strong, but this young woman had already surprised him more than once.
