To no avail. The curricle tipped over, pitching both occupants onto the verge. Nicole struck the ground hard and rolled over several times, coming to rest in an ice-filmed puddle, too stunned to speak.
While she struggled for breath, a piercing cry split the air. Immediately Philip shouted, “Nicole, where are you? Are you hurt?”
Another shriek came from the vicinity of Nicole’s chest. She wondered dizzily if that was her own voice and she was too numb to know what she was doing.
Then she realized she was still clutching the cat basket in her arms. Poor Merkle had been tossed and rolled as much as her mistress and was now protesting in fierce feline fashion.
As she pushed herself to a sitting position, Nicole gasped, “I’m all right. At least, I think I am. Merkle is the one carrying on.”
“Thank heaven!” Sir Philip emerged from the gloom and dropped to his knees beside Nicole, then pulled her into his arms, basket and all. She burrowed against him, grateful for his solid warmth.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked anxiously, one hand skimming over her head and back, searching for injuries.
Nicole took careful stock. “Just bruised. A moment while I check on Merkle.”
She would have been happy to stay in Philip’s embrace, but conscience made her sit up and lift the lid of the basket. Merkle darted out and swarmed up her mistress’s arm, crying piteously until she found a secure position on Nicole’s shoulder, claws digging like tiny needles.
“Merkle can’t have taken any injury either or she’d not be able to move so quickly,” Sir Philip observed as he got to his feet. He helped Nicole up. “Just a moment while I see if the curricle is damaged.”
Nicole tried to brush away mud and crushed weeds with one hand while soothing the cat with the other. The puddle had finished the job of saturating her cloak and the bitter wind threatened to freeze her into a solid block of ice.
Sir Philip muttered an oath under his breath. “The horses seem to be all right, but the curricle’s left wheel is broken.”
“Surely it can’t be much farther to the inn you mentioned,” Nicole said through numb lips. “We can walk.”
“Up one long hill and down another,” he said grimly. “That’s too far on a night like this. Luckily there’s an old cottage just a few hundred yards from here. I don’t know who lives there, but it’s always well kept so I’m sure it’s occupied. Just a moment while I get the curricle off the road and unharness the horses.”
To reduce her exposure to the wind, Nicole hunkered down beside the road and returned an indignant Merkle to the basket. The baronet undid the leather harness straps, tending the job horses as carefully as if they were his own. Nicole’s father would have approved. He always said that how a man treated his beasts was a good guide to his character.
When Philip had freed the horses from their harness, Nicole stood and joined him, the basket handle slung over one arm. “Which way, monsieur?” she said with a hint of chattering teeth.
“Just along here.” Taking the reins in his right hand, Philip put his left arm around his companion, wanting to warm her. He felt her slim body shaking under her damp cloak, but she did not complain. She really was the gamest little creature.
The lane had a surprisingly smooth .surface, which meant that it was now treacherous with sheet ice. Even with Philip’s arm to support her, Nicole was skidding with every step. After she had barely survived several near-falls, he turned and scooped her up in his arms, cat basket and all.
When Nicole gave a little squeak of surprise, he explained, “Like the curricle, you are too light for these conditions.”
She gave a gurgle of laughter, then relaxed trustingly against him. Between carrying her and leading the placid horses, progress was slow, but ten minutes of trudging through the dark brought them to the cottage, which was a small thatched building of undoubted antiquity.
Fortunately a light was visible inside. Philip set Nicole on her feet and looped the reins around the gatepost, then guided his companion to the cottage’s front door. A knock produced no results, so after a moment’s hesitation he tried the knob.
The door swung open with a creak and Philip ushered Nicole into the cottage’s large main room. A fire burned in the hearth. The air was warm and rich with the scent of simmering soup, but there was no one in sight.
As he looked around uneasily, a soft female voice with only a trace of country accent came from the chamber behind the main room. “Emmy, what kept you? I’ve been expecting you all day.”
A moment later the owner of the voice appeared. A small, elderly woman with straying white hair, she was dressed plainly, but with neat propriety. Seeing the unexpected visitors, she stopped still, her eyes widening with alarm.
Nicole said reassuringly, “Your pardon, madame, but we are travelers who had a carriage accident on the road outside. The wheel is broken, and to walk to the next village in this weather would be dangerous. I know this is a great imposition, but may we spend the night here?”
The woman went to a window and pulled the curtain aside with one gnarled hand, knitting her brows at the sight of the icy rain beating against the thick old glass. “I was napping and hadn’t noticed how beastly the storm is. That must be why Emmy didn’t come.”
She dropped the curtain and turned to her visitors. “Of course you and your husband can stay.”
Philip asked, “May I put my horses in your shed?”
“By all means. It’s no night to be traveling.” After Philip went outside, the woman turned to Nicole and smiled apologetically. “You must think me a poor hostess. I’m Mrs. Turner. Let me take your cloak, my dear.”
“I am Nicole Chambord,” Nicole said as she handed over the mantle. Even soggy, it caused Mrs. Turner to raise an eyebrow, but the older woman made no comment as she hung the garment on a peg by the door.
