Hands on her hips, Rosanna stared at the wheel. Gingerly stepping over the rocks, she got behind the vehicle and placed her hands on the back, but her footing was too precarious to allow her to push properly. And the gig was monstrously heavy.
A wave of despair swept over her, threatening to snuff out the fire burning in her heart, but Rosanna refused to give in to the impulse. Weeping would do no good. Neither would cursing the odious gig, but at least that was more appealing than tears. Even if luck now seemed set against her.
“Move, you loathsome creature!” she said, pushing against the gig as well as she could. But Bess merely turned her head to gaze at her mistress before reaching for a clump of grass beside the riverbed. Shoulders dropping, Rosanna straightened and stared up at the sky. At least it wasn’t raining. That might be tempting fate, but the thought slipped free before she could think better of it.
There were some troubling clouds on the horizon after all.
“Hello, there!”
Rosanna spun about, her ankle nearly twisting as she tried to keep her feet on the uneven rocks.
“Steady there, Miss Leigh.” Mr. Malcolm grinned like the mischievous imp he was and came around to stand before her. “We wouldn’t want you taking another tumble.”
“I wouldn’t ever do so if men didn’t insist on sneaking up on me,” said Rosanna with a narrowed look.
Mr. Malcolm chuckled and shook his head, his gaze drifting to the gig. “Fancy meeting you here. It seems you require rescue. Again.”
“Are you going to stand there congratulating yourself on having found me in a difficult position, or are you going to show a shred of human decency and aid me?” asked Rosanna with just a touch too much tartness in her tone, though she couldn’t say she was sorry for it.
But then she finally noticed just how much Mr. Malcolm’s lungs were heaving—far too much for someone pretending to have simply stumbled upon her whilst out strolling through the woods.
“You are awfully smug for someone who clearly rushed to find me,” said Rosanna with a challenging raise of her brows.
Mr. Malcolm gave a playful grimace and tried to speak evenly, though his words were broken by his breaths. “I see you are too wise for my good.”
“And you are breathing as though you’ve just run here all the way from town.”
Dropping his head, Mr. Malcolm chuckled, though he gave himself a moment to fill his lungs a time or two before responding. “I may have been in a hurry to catch the young lady who called on me.”
Despite her determination to remain aloof at that moment, Rosanna’s cheeks betrayed her. She was able to turn away, but not before they flushed. Mr. Malcolm clearly saw it, but then, he had clearly wanted to needle her about the impropriety, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.
“I—”
“Take your horse’s lead,” he said, guiding her to the road. Rosanna hazarded a look at him, and the fellow winked at her. And her cheeks heated all the more, though she couldn’t say if it was embarrassment or anger that drove the emotion. Unfortunately, she was afraid it was pleasure.
When he had her placed at Bess’s head, Mr. Malcolm returned to her previous position. “Guide the beast up, and I’ll push from behind.”
“It is quite heavy—” But her words died when he peeked from behind the gig and gave her a silent sigh of impatience.
Holding up her hands in surrender, Rosanna took Bess’s bridle and stepped to the side, ready to guide her up the gentle embankment. Before she knew what he was about, the gig rocked, and Mr. Malcolm grunted. Rocks slid around the wheel, and Rosanna tugged at Bess, spurring the beast ahead. A moment later, the gig was free, and Rosanna’s heart followed suit, wrenching free of the grim mood that had seized her moments ago.
“My thanks, Mr. Malcolm,” she said, coming around the horse. Reaching beneath the seat, she retrieved a bit of cake wrapped in linen. “I had dropped by the stables to give you a little token of my gratitude for your aid the other day, but now it seems I owe you more.”
The fellow eyed the bundle and then turned that wicked gleam in her direction. “As lovely as a bit of cake sounds, I would much rather have a kiss.”
Rosanna stiffened. “Pardon?”
“This is my second rescue, and isn’t a kiss the preferred token of gratitude from a damsel in distress?” Mr. Malcolm smirked, his rascally brows waggling with the insinuation.
Mouth falling open into a gape, Rosanna shoved the cake at him and turned to climb into the gig. “I do not care what other damsels have given you, sirrah, but I assure you I am not so easily won over—even by pompous, self-important men who entertain themselves by tormenting young ladies. A kind deed ought not to require payment, Mr. Malcolm, and certainly ought not to be used to extort tokens that ought to be freely given.”
And here she had thought him a charming man, but he was naught but another fool like all the others she’d known in her life. For once, Rosanna did not guard her tongue, allowing it free rein to tell him precisely what she thought of his “gallantry.” Her heart burned with pride as she did so, and the whole thing sounded rather well put together if she said so herself.
However, just when she was to make an elegant step up into the gig and set off, leaving him behind, Rosanna’s shoe slipped on the step, and she stumbled. Mr. Malcolm steadied her, and she jerked away with a scowl.
“Do not think that is yet another ‘rescue’ you can use to force my hand—”
But Mr. Malcolm held his hands aloft, warding off her words. “I apologize if you were offended by my words, Miss Leigh. I meant no disrespect.”
