He blinked down at her. Amber, and orange blossom? Was she describing his cologne? “It’s amber and orange blossom, with a hint of cinnamon. I have it made up for me at Truefitt and Hill.”
“Mmmm.” A dreamy smile curved her lips. “It’s lovely.”
She thought he smelled lovely? Pleasure rushed through him, and for the first time in God knew how long, he didn’t know what to say. “I—well, thank you, Miss Thorne.”
At the sound of her name her long, dark lashes parted, and she gazed up at him with a pair of unfocused eyes.
Hazeleyes. Yes, they were certainly hazel. Not green, not brown, not gray, but hazel. There’d been a time he would, if pressed, have said her eyes were an unremarkable brown, but he couldn’t recall now how he could have thought so, when they were nothing so much as a mossy chocolate color, and this close he could see the starburst around her pupils was the same honey gold as her hair.
It was only a swoon, then, and no wonder. If that was the worst that came from this misadventure, they could all consider themselves lucky. But she was dead white still, her face utterly drained of color but for that smear of blood where she’d bitten down on her lower lip. What looked to him like a thousand hairpins were caught in the mess of waves scattered about her head like a tangled halo, and her navy riding habit was streaked with dirt.
“Your Grace?” The clouds had cleared from her eyes, and a frown was tugging at her lips. “I’d be grateful, indeed, if you’d be so good as to unhand me.”
“Not just yet.” He brushed her hair back from her face and prodded gently at her temples, then trailed his hands down either side of her neck. Purely for medical purposes, of course.
“W—what are you doing?” Her eyelashes fluttered, her throat moving in a nervous swallow. “There’s no need for, er . . .that.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Thorne. Just checking for fatal head injuries, but your skull seems to be intact. Lucky, that.”
“Lucky foryou, yes. It would have been rather inconvenient if I’d died of a head injury sustained after youshotat me, wouldn’t it?”
Ah, there was that jagged tongue. “Nonsense. I never shot at you.” Hodge had, but it hadn’t been intentional, and he’d missed, in any case, so he’d just as soon keep his servant out of it.
“No? How strange, because birdshot flew so close to my head I daresay I’ll never again regain the function in my left ear.”
“Thatisa shame.” He grinned down at her, nearly giddy with relief. “Though I can’t help but just hint an injury that silenced your tongue would have been a great deal more useful.”
Her hazel eyes flashed, and she rose up onto her elbows, ready to do battle despite having nearly broken her fool neck not ten minutes ago. “As apologies go, Your Grace, that one leaves rather a lot to be desired.”
“Indeed. But perhaps you’d better lie back, Miss Thorne. You’ve had a dreadful shock.”
But Miss Thorne didn’t lie back. Miss Thorne wasn’t much inclined to do anything she was told to do, regardless of whether it was for her own good, or not. “Youareaware, are you not, Your Grace, that grouse season has not yet begun?”
“Of course, I’m aware.” What did she take him for? Every self-respecting gentleman in England knew grouse season began on August twelfth, and not a moment sooner.
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s Augusteleventh, Your Grace.”
“This may surprise you, Miss Thorne, but I’m perfectly able to read a calendar. I’ve even been known to tell time, on occasion. Shocking, but there it is.”
“I see. Then I’m left to assume you imagine the rules that govern the rest of England don’t apply to you. It’s not an uncommon assumption among dukes, I’m afraid.”
“You may assume whatever you like, but the truth of the matter is that the shotgun malfunctioned. I do apologize for the mishap. I’m very sorry I frightened you.”
She bristled at the word. “Nonsense. You never frightenedme. You frightened Sampson.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, it was your neck at risk, and I regret that most sincerely. May I help you to your feet, Miss Thorne?”
“I don’t need any help, thank you, Your Grace.”
That was not the case, as it happened. As soon as she tried to gain her feet she swayed, and would have fallen down again if he hadn’t caught her. “Steady there, Miss Thorne.”
She pushed his hands away. “I said I don’t need—”
“Yes, I heard you, but we both know that’s nonsense.” Without further ado, he swept her up into his arms and marched her toward his horse.
“Your Grace!” Predictably, she began to kick and squirm like a fish on the end of a hook. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I should think it was obvious. I’m carrying you to my horse, Miss Thorne, whereupon I will ride with you back to the house before you get yourself into any more trouble.”
