The path curved ahead, winding through a copse of oak trees whose leaves were just beginning to turn gold at the edges. It was a pretty stretch of the park, quiet and secluded, and Martin found himself wishing they could ride on forever suspended in this moment where nothing had been spoken and nothing had been ruined.
But peace, in his experience, was always temporary.
It happened quickly. A rabbit bolted across the path, a flash of brown fur directly beneath Vanessa's horse. The mare startled, rearing with a frightened whinny, and Vanessa caught off guard lost her seat.
Martin was moving before he consciously decided to act. He threw himself from his own horse, reaching for her as she fell, but he was too far away and his fingers closed on empty air as she tumbled from the saddle and hit the ground with a cry of pain.
"Vanessa!" He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees beside her prone form. "Are you hurt? Can you move?"
She was sitting up already, her face pale but composed. "I am well. Merely startled."
"You are not well. You cried out."
"It was surprise, not pain." But when she attempted to rise, her face contorted and she sank back down. "Or perhaps... perhaps a little pain."
"Where?"
"My ankle. I think I landed on it badly." She gestured toward her left foot, which was twisted at an awkward angle beneath her skirts. "It is nothing. I simply need a moment."
"Let me see."
The words were out before he considered their impropriety. A gentleman did not examine a lady's ankle. The very suggestion was scandalous, the sort of intimacy reserved for husbands and physicians, not acquaintances in a public park.
Vanessa's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your ankle. I need to see if it is broken." Martin kept his voice calm, professional as if this were a perfectly reasonable request, as if he asked to inspect ladies' ankles every day. "I have some experience with such injuries. If it is merely sprained, you may be able to ride. If it is broken, we shall need to send for a carriage."
"I cannot…you cannot…" A flush crept up her cheeks. "This is highly improper."
"So is leaving you sitting in the dirt while your injury worsens." He met her gaze steadily. "Your groom is twenty yardsaway and riding closer. Nothing untoward will occur. I simply wish to ensure you are not seriously harmed."
She stared at him for a long moment. Something flickered in her eyes, uncertainty, perhaps, or fear, or something else entirely.
"Very well," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "But quickly."
Martin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a ridiculous reaction to a practical necessity, and yet he could not seem to control it. The groom had reached them now and dismounted, hovering uncertainly a few feet away.
"See to the horses," Martin instructed without looking at him. "Her ladyship has injured her ankle. I am going to examine it."
The groom, a young man with a worried expression nodded and moved to collect the reins of both horses. The mare that had thrown Vanessa was still skittish, dancing sideways and tossing her head, but the groom handled her with practiced ease.
Martin turned his attention back to Vanessa. She was watching him with an expression he could not quite read, something between apprehension and anticipation. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming a little faster than normal.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the hem of her habit.
She nodded, her teeth catching her lower lip.
Martin lifted the fabric carefully, revealing the polished leather of her riding boot. The boot itself appeared intact, but the ankle above it was already beginning to swell, visible even through her stocking.
"I am going to remove your boot," he said. "It may hurt."
"I understand."
He worked as gently as he could, easing the boot off with careful fingers. It was a delicate operation, the leather was fittedclose, and the swelling had already made the ankle tender. Vanessa inhaled sharply at one point, her gloved hand clutching at the grass beside her, but she made no sound of complaint.
He found himself admiring her fortitude. Most ladies of his acquaintance would have been in hysterics by now, calling for smelling salts and carriages and perhaps a physician from Harley Street. Vanessa merely sat with her jaw set and her eyes fixed on some middle distance, enduring.
She had always been thus. Even as a girl, she had possessed a core of steel beneath the feminine exterior. He remembered a house party years ago when she had fallen from a tree she had been climbing, an activity entirely unsuitable for a young lady and had picked herself up, brushed off her skirts, and walked back to the house with a sprained wrist she had not mentioned to anyone until the next morning.
