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“You’re not bleeding, but I imagine you’ll be sore for a few days. I am truly sorry, but I was desperate to prevent you from drowning.”

“I also almost drowned when I was six.”

Why she thought to volunteer that at this moment, she couldn’t say.

His lordship hugged her tighter, those marvelous strong arms making her feel safe.

“Poor darling. This must’ve been all the more terrifying.”

A high-pitched cry and a hard nudge from a wet doggy nose announced Mr. Wiggle’s arrival. His muddy front paws on Lord Sterling’s wet, marble-like thigh, he anxiously sniffed her face, then licked her cheek, whining the whole while.

“I’m fine, Mr. Wiggles.”

Well, perhaps not fine. She hurt all over and probably would be bruised worse than an apple used to play conkers. Her throat burned as if she’d swallowed hot coals, and her lungs ached something fierce, as if fiery little needles were poking non-stop. But, thanks to Lord Sterling still embracing her and soaked to the skin as well, she was alive.

Somehow, he managed to awkwardly stand while drawing her upward. Weak and exhausted, her knees soft as flummery, she leaned heavily against him.

Sturdy as a tree trunk, he didn’t waver under her weight.

“We need to get you warm before you catch lung fever. Perygrim is just there.”

He dipped his dripping head toward the mansion’s austere silhouette.

“Impossible, my lord.” Eden shook her head, cloying strands of hair clinging to her neck and face. “I’m not allowed—”

“I’ll hear no more about that nonsense.” A harshness she’d never heard before made his tone flint-like. “You wouldn’t have almost drowned if you hadn’t been doing me a kindness. The least I can do is see you safely bathed, tucked into a warm bed, and fed hot soup and perhaps a toddy as well.”

After scooping her into his arms, he effortlessly strode to the cart, now safely standing on the other side of the bridge.

She tried a different tack. One Lord Sterling couldn’t argue against.

“But my mother—”

“I shall send a note explaining what’s happened and tell her that if you are fully recovered, I’ll escort you home tomorrow.”

So much for not trespassing upon propriety.

He bundled Eden onto the seat, resting his broad hand upon her shoulder.

“Are you able to sit up on your own, or should I put you in the wagon bed?”

“I . . . can . . . manage,” she stuttered between her chattering teeth.

Even her marrow throbbed from the cold tunneling through her. Truly, the idea of waiting until she reached Briar Knoll to finally remove her saturated clothing convinced her he was right. She’d have to prepare her own bath and doubted she had the strength to do so.

The sun’s remnants had disappeared below the horizon, and the breeze had developed into a full-on wind. Their branches swaying in the murky twilight, the trees swished and groaned. Any hope of making Perygrim before the clouds spilled their contents vanished as the first few heavy drops splattered from above a moment before the flood poured forth.

The striking lines and planes of his face, which bespoke generations of nobility, grew stern as Lord Sterling retrieved his greatcoat from beside the wagon. After settling Mr. Wiggles in the wagon bed, he leaped onto the cart, then wrapped his overcoat around Eden’s shoulders before pulling her to his side and draping one arm around her shoulders.

Such an intimate thing to do, and she didn’t mind this infringement one iota.

“My coat should stay the wind a bit.”

“Thank you, but you’ll be cold now. It’s very gallant of you.”

Peculiar shyness blanketed her, and she fought the impulse to turn her gaze away.

Humor softened his mouth as he assumed a courtier’s pose, one hand pressed to his chest and chiseled chin elevated.