He cocked his head toward the tree.
The voices of a man and a woman carried on the breeze, though in whispered tones.
“Is someone there?” a man called out. “Who is it?”
Tristan let out a strangled groan, reached down, and took Hyacinth’s elbow. Then he turned as if he intended to lead her back toward the house.
But the moment she put weight on the foot he’d stepped on, she cried out in pain.
Tristan clasped her hand with one of his and wrapped an arm around her waist with the other.
“Can you put any weight on it at all?” he murmured, half bent, his gaze focused on her slippered foot.
Hyacinth attempted to and found that she could, but with a bit of pain. She nodded at him.
“Then let us make our way back. Lean on me however much you need to,” he told her.
He led her slowly, hesitantly, seeming to sense her pain even when she tried to keep her reactions tamped down.
“I’m tempted to carry you,” he confessed as they took another step.
“I can manage.” Her voice emerged breathy and perspiration trickled down her neck, even in the cool night air.
They managed a few more awkward steps, but when she let out a gasp as her foot hit a particularly large pebble, he led her immediately off the path and into the grass. He pointed at a bench against one of the hedgerows.
“Let’s sit.”
Hyacinth did as he bid her and let out a quiet breath of relief at being off her foot.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he told her, then he dashed off.
She knew he was too much of a gentleman to abandon her in a darkened garden, but she had a few seconds of worrying he might.
He reappeared soon after carrying one of the garden lanterns. He brought it closer to her, settling it on the ground near her feet.
To her shock, he knelt down before her in the dim light.
“May I see your foot, Miss Bridewell?”
“You want to see my foot?” It was as if her mind could not fathom the request. Either that or she was too distracted by the way his green eyes shone in the lantern light.
“Yes, I want to assess your injury, if I may.” He reached down, waiting for her consent.
When Hyacinth nodded, he wrapped his fingers around her ankle. She bit her lip to keep back her reaction. But oh how lovely his warm palm felt against her stockinged leg.
With gentleness and care, he lifted her foot and rested it on his thigh.
“I’m so sorry,” he said with a quiet earnestness that made her chest ache. “I’ve ruined your shoe.”
Hyacinth looked down and could discern that her slipper was a bit dirty where his boot had swiped across it. He had only put his weight down onto her foot for a fleeting moment, but she had felt the impact. It had shocked her more than anything, but now, sitting down, the pain was already beginning to ease.
Tristan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, swiping it gently across her foot.
“It didn’t do much good, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured, awestruck at having him kneeling before her, touching her, looking so eager to make amends.
“I would be happy to recompense you for a new pair of slippers.”
