“No!” she shouted. The voice was distinctly ladylike again. He knew if it was Lady Theodora, she’d be much more worried about a doctor than the constable. The doctor might ask her to take off her breeches.
“Who are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on her.
She clenched her jaw and didn’t reply.
“Very well, you leave me no choice,” Ewan said. “I’m carrying you to the house and summoning the doctor.”
“What? No!” She tried to stand again and promptly fell back to the ground.
“You don’t have a knife on you, do you?” he asked, certain she didn’t, but cautious just the same.
“No,” she nearly shouted.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite take your word for it?” he asked as he began patting down her sides.
She squealed before nearly shouting, “Unhand me, you rogue.”
Oh, yes. This was definitely Lady Theodora.
Certain of his prey, Ewan broke off his search of her pockets. “Very well, let’s go.” He brooked no argument. Instead, he left the lantern sitting on the dirt floor and scooped her up into his arms, doing his best not to hurt her leg, which he cradled. Despite his best efforts, she winced and whimpered, but he could tell she was doing her best to be brave. Grown men with broken legs would have carried on more than she was doing at the moment. It was somewhat surprising.
The moment he had her in his arms, Ewan was even more certain it was Lady Theodora herself and no young lad. First, she smelled like a woman, a hint of perfume hit his nostrils. No boy smelled anything close to that good. Second, the softness of her body gave her away along with the fact that when he pressed her to him—which, of course he did on purpose—he felt the distinctive outline of a breast through her shirt.
He cursed under his breath again. What had this chit been thinking? A broken leg was the least of her worries. Mr. Hereford might well have shot her.
Ewan stalked toward the house with her in his arms. He was silent and so was she other than the occasional futile attempt to squirm out of his arms. She was obviously not happy with his decision to take her to the house, but what alternative had she left him? And what did she possibly think she would do if she made it out of his arms? She couldn’t even limp away if her leg was broken as badly as he suspected.
She was brave. He would give her that. Her jaw was tightly clenched against the ungodly amount of pain she had to be in, and her arms were locked tightly around his neck, another indication that she was a woman. No lad would be gripping him for dear life. Every once in a while, the moon hit her face in an angle where Ewan could see the sweat beaded on her brow. She might be pretending otherwise, but she was frightened.
Ewan had to handle this carefully. He knew it was her, but it could possibly cause a scandal if the servants found out who the intruder was. Loose lips in the ranks of servants certainly weren’t unheard of. As he stalked toward the house, he made the decision that he would only summon a trusted few. Otherwise, he would keep the entire affair quiet until the doctor arrived and treated her leg. That was the right thing to do. Then he would send her discreetly back to her father’s estate, where she would hopefully stay and stop plaguing him and his horses.
Ewan carried her into a side door of the house, through several corridors and into his study. They’d have privacy here. He set her on a large leather sofa that sat in front of a wall of windows before summoning Humbolt. Humbolt was the soul of discretion. He would ensure only a few trusted servants were aware of this incident.
When Humbolt arrived at the door to the study minutes later, Ewan saw the butler glance at the intruder before Ewan motioned for him to speak to him in the corridor. He closed the door behind him.
Humbolt’s eyes were wide. “You caught the horse thief, my lord?”
“Yes, and I’ve reason to suspect he’s broken his leg. Please send a footman to fetch Dr. Blanchard from town. Choose a footman who will not gossip about this. Ask him to tell the doctor to come immediately.”
“Of course, my lord.” Humbolt bowed and disappeared into the corridor to carry out his orders.
Ewan took a deep breath and re-entered the study. Lady Theodora was sitting up, her arms braced behind her on the sofa, wincing and staring at her broken right leg as if it had betrayed her.
Ewan grabbed a pillow from the far end of the sofa and carefully propped it under her sore leg. She winced and let out a barely audible whimper.
“I broke my leg once when I was a boy,” Ewan offered. “Godawful pain. You’re being quite brave.”
His comment was met with stony silence.
“The doctor is on the way,” Ewan offered next. But before she could deliver a pert reply, he said, “Would you care for a drink?” He moved over to the sideboard and poured some brandy into a glass.
“No,” she shot back.
Ewan cocked his head to the side. “You may want to reconsider. You’re sure to be in even more pain when the shock wears off. A drink might well help.”
She must have seen the reason in that because she quickly replied. “Fine. I’ll take it. Thank ye.”
Ewan poured another glass for her and walked over and handed it to her. She took it silently and lifting the glass to her lips, took a sip. She winced again. “This tastes like poison.”
