Upright, but not all that stable, Hunt took a step with his good foot, swallowing the pain. He did his best not to lean too heavily on her. No doubt he weighed twice what she did.
He didn’t relish sending her up alone. But if he proved to ungainly, they wouldn’t. have much choice.
Black edged his vision with each small, excruciating step, and he had to pause to allow the throbbing to ease.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt less like a man.
Colorful words darted through his head as they began walking again. He’d have to deal with the pain. He really couldn’t send her up alone.
What if the path gave out beneath her?
“You’re white as a sheet.” She sounded breathless beside him. “Do you need to rest?”
If they stopped, Hunt doubted his ability to get moving again.
When he didn’t answer, rather than protest, she tightened her arm around him to offer greater support.
“I’m too heavy for you,” Hunt said, feeling torn. Odds were this capable young woman could make the climb safely without him. But if she were to take a wrong step or have a run-in with one of the drunkards who occasionally made their way onto his property, he’d never forgive himself.
“I’m not all that keen on leaving you alone,” she announced from beside him. “And it’s not because I don’t think you could take care of yourself. But, to be perfectly honest, I don’t trust you not to attempt the climb without assistance. I’d imagine all sorts of tragedies because of me.”
“Not because of you.” But Hunt frowned. Because attempting the climb without her having to watch him was precisely what he’d had in mind. At least that way, he wouldn’t have had to suffer the indignity of her witnessing it.
She tightened her arm around him. “We’ll stop when you need a rest. Or when I do. But we’ll take this one step at a time, and we’ll go up together.”
Good Lord, she was a regular bastion of strength. “You aren’t Allison Meadowbrook at all, are you? I ought to have known you were an imposter.”
A Setback
Priscilla’s heart leaped into her throat, and she jerked her head around to stare up at him. “What do you mean?” She dared not breathe. How had he found out? What had she said?
“Only that your fortitude runs more along the lines of a Wellington. As in the duke….”
As in…
The blasted Duke of Wellington?
She nearly fainted in relief. He was joking!
“I know who Wellington is.” She began moving them forward again. “Is this another of your compliments?”
They managed a few steps before he answered, “Why, yes, I believe it is.”
“Foolishness.” Priscilla was still waiting for her heart to return to its normal pace. Or whatever pace might be considered normal while half carrying an impressively sized earl up the side of a cliff. Her shoulders ached, and the muscles in her legs burned.
But she would never complain about either to him. Nor would she express any more pity than she already had. She was keenly aware of these sorts of issues because she’d grown up with brothers—three proud and stubborn brothers.
If she had her druthers, she’d have made Hardwood comfortable where he’d fallen on the path and dashed up for help. She’d have returned with at least three strapping men to carry him out.
But, from experience with having only male siblings—most specifically Gabriel, who was now the Earl of Kingsley—she knew he’d rather be shot dead than suffer such an indignity.
Not while he was conscious anyhow.
Idiotic, insufferable male pride.
She would do what she could to lessen his injury—the one to his ankle as well as the one to his pride. Perhaps he’d remember this when he failed to win Allison’s massive dowry.
“For the record,” he said. “I was just as likely to come hiking down here alone this morning. If you’d refused my invitation, that is.”
