“That is precisely what Emma would say.” Gaze on her again, he added, “I can see why you’re friends.”
As he glanced down at her foot again, Hyacinth bit her lip, considering a bold question.
“Were you hoping to court her?”
Tristan snapped his gaze to hers at that. “I hardly know her, but yes. Her cousin thinks we might suit and asked me to dance with her.”
“Ah, I see.” She saw too well, and she tried not to feel downhearted at the revelation.
“Perhaps it was a lesson I needed to learn. Never assume too much from a lady’s glance across a crowded room.”
They both chuckled at that.
“You're too kind, Miss Bridewell.”
“Am I?”
“To be sitting here commiserating with me when I trounced on your poor toes.” He looked up at the moon, then frowned. “What were you doing out in the garden?” he asked, turning to face her again.
Hyacinth’s cheeks flamed and she trusted the darkness to conceal her blush. “Just getting a bit of fresh air.”
“You were quite far down the path and had veered off onto another,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you heard them.”
“Yes.” She seized on the explanation. “I heard a lady’s laughter and was curious. My curiosity is persistent, and I give into it more often than not.”
He assessed her a moment, and the smile that lifted his lips came slowly. “You do seem a curious sort.”
“May I take that as a compliment, Sir Tristan?”
“You should. You must. It is a compliment.”
The heat is Hyacinth’s cheeks spread to her chest, warming her heart.
“Forgiving and curious.” He stared up at the night sky again. “Perhaps I should have remained in the ballroom and asked you to dance again.”
“You still could.” The words were out before she could take them back.
He shot her an arched brow look. “I'm not sure your injured foot would agree.”
Without another word, he scooted off the stone bench and knelt again. He glanced up, as if seeking permission once more, then clasped her ankle in his palm again. A spiral of heat wound up her leg from the spot where his fingers lingered before he placed her foot on the plane of his thigh again.
Pulling the lantern closer, he took a long look.
“It’s swollen.” He let out a sound of irritation. “Good God, Miss Bridewell, I hope I have not truly done you harm. If anything's broken, I shall never forgive myself.”
“Nothing’s broken.”
“How can you be certain?”
“My father was a doctor. I’m familiar with breaks.”
He studied her a moment, then gently lowered her foot to the ground and murmured. “Then I shall trust your judgement.”
In one elegant movement, he rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “Let’s see how your foot fairs now.”
Hyacinth slid her palm against his and he tightened his hold on her as she stood, wobbling a bit. “It’s better,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Shall I carry you?”
