Morgan was reviewing a letter when the carriage suddenly slowed. He glanced up, frowning. They were still a good distance from Kirkhammer Hall, there was no reason to stop.
“Your Grace?” his driver called from above. “There’s a young woman on the road. Looks like she’s in some trouble.”
Morgan leaned toward the window. Sure enough, a figure stood beside a horse at the side of the road. It was a woman in a plain brown traveling dress and dark cloak, her posture tense.
“We stop,” Morgan said, and the carriage rolled to a halt.
Morgan stepped out, his boots crunching on the gravel as he approached.
“Good afternoon,” he said, keeping his tone light and unthreatening. “Is everything all right, Miss?”
The woman turned, and Morgan’s first thought was that she was far too young to be traveling alone. His second thought was that she was remarkably composed for someone stranded on acountry road. His third, and most powerful, thought was that she was the most attractive woman he had seen in a long time. Perhaps ever. She was slightly petite and lean with subtle curves that swayed as she walked. She had dark blonde hair that curled, even when pulled back, and bright hazel eyes that glittered in the sunlight.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she replied, her voice polite but shy. “I apologize for the inconvenience. My horse has lost a shoe. I’m afraid we’re rather stuck.”
He was struck by her accent then, refined, sweet, soft and educated. Not at all what he’d expected from a lone traveler on a rural road with a small mare. Morgan’s interest sharpened as he looked her up and down once more, his eyes settling on the generous curve of her backside as she turned back to look at the horse. She brought a finger to her mouth and bit on it, clearly distressed. The sight made his mouth water.
“May I take a look?” he asked, turning his attention away from her body and back to the horse. “I might be able to help.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”
Morgan did not correct her address as he approached the horse, a gentle mare, and crouched to examine the hoof. The problem was exactly as she’d described. The shoe was gone, and the hoof would need protection before the horse could walk any significant distance.
“You’re right, Miss,” he said, straightening. “She’s lost the shoe entirely. Where are you headed?”
The woman paused, just long enough for Morgan to notice.
“Kirkhammer Hall,” she said finally. “I’m answering an advertisement for a position as a maid.”
Morgan kept his expression neutral.
“Kirkhammer Hall? Well, that is on my way,” he said smoothly. “I can offer you and your horse passage. My driver can pad the hoof so she can walk, and we’ll tie her behind the carriage. You won’t reach the estate on foot before dark, and it would be unwise to try.”
He presented it as fact, not charity. A sensible solution to a practical problem.
She studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Morgan could see the debate playing out behind her hazel eyes, her lashes long and black as night. She had to realize the risk of accepting help from a stranger versus the risk of being stranded alone as night approached.
Finally, she nodded. “Thank you sir. That’s very kind of you.”
She’s sensible enough, then.
“Not at all.” Morgan turned to his driver. “Pad the mare’s hoof and secure her to the back of the carriage, please.”
“Yes, Your G?—”
“That will do, thank you,” Morgan interrupted smoothly.
The driver caught himself and nodded, climbing down to tend to the horse.
Morgan turned back to the woman. “Pardon my manners. May I have your name, Miss?”
Another pause.
“Ellie… Ellie Graham,” she answered slowly.
“A pleasure, Miss Graham. I’m Mr. Sedgewick,” he introduced himself with a bow.
“Mr. Sedgewick.” She inclined her head back politely. “Thank you again for your assistance.”
