Page 8

He made an inarticulate sound, and she speared him a questioning glance.

He was so close, she could see the midnight blue ring encircling his irises, and the gold flecks there, too. She would not—no, you will not—peek a glance at the granite thighs covered in cream-colored pantaloons, so close to her, she could see the outline of his corded thigh muscles.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Noticing a man’s thighs?

Nicolette’s stomach pitched in the weirdest fashion.

Perhaps she was hurt worse than she’d first thought.

Had she hit her head, as well?

She cautiously moved her neck slightly to test the theory.

The movement didn’t meet with so much as a single twinge.

Westfall perused the onlookers encircling them and motioned for a tall, blond man in green and gold livery to come forward. “Farrow, please collect Sampson and take him home.”

“Yes, sir.” At once, the footman sprang forward and seized the brown leather leash that, until now, Nicolette hadn’t even noticed.

But then again, when she’d seen Sampson lumbering toward her, she’d feared Bella or she were about to be attacked and mauled.

As Farrow led the docile behemoth away, Westfall’s censorious attention roved the gawkers again. A degree of marble hardened his amiable features and leeched into his voice as well. “The rest of you may go on your way. As you can see, Miss Twistleton is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Oh, well done, Your Grace.

Nicolette only just managed to check her grin of approval. She held no great admiration for the threesome, unlike the elevated opinions they had of themselves.

Lady Clutterbuck opened her mouth as if to object.

However, Lady Darumple clutched her friend’s boney elbow, fiercely whispered something in her ear, and steered her friend away. Her eyes tightening disapprovingly at the corners, with a last considering glance, Lady Crustworth elevated her nose and swept away, too.

Absently rubbing her throbbing ankle, Nicolette strove to conceive of a delicate way to rise that didn’t include rolling onto all fours and presenting her bum for viewing.

Without so much as a by your leave or a hint of what he was about to do, Westfall slipped an arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders and lifted her. His muscles flexed and bunched with the effort, but no hint of strain marred his face.

Her breath lodged in her throat, and she struggled to formulate a single word.

“My curricle is just there.” He jutted his strong, square chin in the direction of the entrance. “I shall see you home.”

Nicolette stiffened, prepared to give him a proper set down.

Of all the high-handed—

“Should I come with you, Miss Nicolette?” Jane, her eyes round as the moon, shifted her astonished gaze between them several times.

He grinned, a distinctly devilish glint in his blue eyes. “I’m afraid the conveyance only seats two, Miss…?”

“Pirdie, Your Grace. Jane Pirdie.” She bobbed a wobbly curtsy.

Nicolette snorted and almost rolled her eyes.

Now she decides to remember her manners?

Westfall sliced Nicolette a wicked grin. He’d heard her snort.

“Miss Pirdie, hurry home and make them aware there’s been an accident. Send someone for the physician, too,” Westfall suggested, adjusting his hold on Nicolette, and angling her higher in his arms.