"Oh! Yes, just a sprain."
"I'm Stephen Winfield. May I have the name of my distressed damsel?"
She did laugh then. He had no idea. "Sir, you can't imagine distressed when it applies to me. This, I assure you, is but a hiccup."
"Ah, so the name of my damsel?..."
Oh, he is too charming. She felt fluttery, as if her body were melting inside, which wasn't helping her remember how small talk was done, especially small talk with a man one found remarkably attractive. "I'm Camellia Scott."
He took her grubby hands, brushed them off against his coat, and kissed one. "My pleasure."
They stared at each other for what seemed a very long moment until she heard a high-pitched nicker. "M-My horse! Thank goodness."
Cammy rose, intending to hobble over and mount. She could do it, despite her pulled muscle and hurting backside, but she'd look like a buffoon in the process. She turned to Winfield. "Thank you for your help, but you can see I have everything I need."
He gave her an amused look. "I will be seeing you home."
"I won't be needing an escort." He raised his eyebrows at her. Cammy, as a stubborn person, recognized his stubbornness immediately. She wasn't going to win this one. "Fine!"
He mounted, reining his horse around to her. Before she could even form a protest, he'd lifted her and placed her gently in his lap.
"Th-This isn't proper. I thought you were escorting me, not carrying me."
"This seemed appropriate, considering the circumstances."
She blew out a frustrated breath and turned her head. "Then to Belmont Court!"
"I know where you live. I saw you the other day, remember?"
Of course she did! But how had he remembered her?
"Are you a relative of Belmont's granddaughter?" he asked.
"No, I was her governess when she was young."
He inhaled sharply. "You're one of the castaways?"
She stiffened and up went her chin.
"You are. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Scott."
She turned in his lap to face him better. "You don't think I'm odd?"
He shook his head. "I think you were right. A spill from a horse must be a day's play for you. I also think you must be one hell of a woman."
She was flustered. The way he said those last words, so low and intense, nearly made her shiver. How could she respond to him? What to say?
She inwardly shook herself. He made her want to say even more silly things, so she pressed her lips together, determined to be silent the entire way home. When they were just beside the entrance, he helped her down, but not to the ground. He scooped her into his arms, leaving her no choice but to hold him around the neck.
"You can't carry me in!" Oh, he was so strong. She could feel his muscles working. "You can't come in the house!" My God, he smelled incredible. "Please, put me down!"
He kicked at the door with his boot. She groaned. She'd just wanted to go for a simple ride. Huckabee opened the door, and his dropped jaw made her face flame again.
"If you'll direct me to a settee?"
"Of course, my lord."
Winfield shifted her in his arms. She thought he was just finding a more comfortable position, but he'd actually pulled her closer. Could this situation become more unbearable?
Apparently. Tori strolled in, saw she was injured, and ran for them, looking like she'd do Winfield harm. "Are you hurt? What happened? Why is he holding you?"
He answered in a patient voice, "Miss Scott's a little banged up. She fell from her horse. I'm holding her because I don't want her to walk."
He placed her lightly on the settee in the parlor and called for ice, pillows, and tea. Tori hesitated, eyeing the baron, but when she saw Huckabee starting in the direction of the icehouse, she glowered at Winfield in warning and went for pillows.
He propped up Cammy's pitifully unswollen ankle with the small cushions available. She swished her skirts over it as though modest.
"May I call on you and check on your recovery?"
He'd already helped her so much. "That really won't be necessary."
"I insist."
She shook her head. She didn't want him obligated to come see her and certainly didn't want him to know she'd lied about her ankle. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
For the first time, his face fell. "Of course." Almost to himself he said, "I tend to forget how old I am."
"Old," she scoffed, rubbing a smudge from her hand. "You're in your late thirties, if that, and most virile." She glanced up just as she gasped at herself. The earth would swallow her now, if it did as bidden.
His eyes were merry, his expression pleased. "Early forties. But I fear you're too young for me."
"I am not too young for you."
His smile widened.
"I meant, should two people of our ages..." She trailed off with a frown. "I'm simply saying that should circumstances..." Her face was on fire. "I'm quite near thirty!" Maybe he wasn't just amused at her. It could be argued that he was delighted with her. Or both. She just didn't know.
"I don't see how that could be possible, but as it works to my favor--"
Tori returned then with blankets, pillows, and Mrs. Huckabee bearing Cammy's favorite tea. Tori scrutinized Winfield looking at Cammy and didn't seem too pleased with the situation. He must have sensed Tori's animosity because, with a last lingering kiss on Cammy's hand, he turned to show himself out. But not before he said over his shoulder, "Friday, Miss Scott."
Both she and Tori stared at the doorway for some time after he left.
"Tell me everything," Tori finally said.
Cammy explained her fall and detailed his kindness. And she didn't omit the inane things she'd said. By the end, she and Tori were laughing.
"Oh, Cammy, I was so rude to him. Again. I was just worried about you. And the way he was holding you. Possessive."
"Really?"
Tori nodded. "Absolutely."
"I can't believe I called him virile. And that's only one of the dim-witted things I said to him. I was rattled to find that I can't converse."
"I think you're brilliant at conversing if the way he was looking at you is any indication. So what shall you wear Friday?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Cammy scoffed. "You make it sound like he's coming to court me."
"That's exactly what he's doing. Mrs. Huckabee said he's been a widower for over ten years."
Cammy hardly knew him and yet she felt so sad for his loss. "He's just being polite. Handsome, powerful men like that don't court emaciated, pale, formerly out-of-their-mind redheads."
"None of that is true but for the red hair," Tori insisted. "But I have a feeling that even if all of it were, this man would."
Winfield returned on Wednesday.
After rushing up to her room and trying on as many different dresses as she owned, Cammy chose a royal-blue walking dress, smoothed her hair, and then calmly descended the stairs. The pain in her legs and backside that she'd complained of only that morning had vanished.
He sucked in a breath when he saw her and seemed so admiring that she concluded the poor boy was losing his eyesight.
"I had an excuse ready about how I didn't think you could get around easily and it was such a fine day I'd hate for you to be inside. But the truth is, I didn't want to wait till Friday. And I liked the idea of carrying you again."
"Oh," was her rejoinder. She barely left off the breathy my.
"So, I've a blanket, some wine, a bit of food, and an early-blooming cherry tree to enjoy them under."
She nearly sighed, it sounded so wonderful. "I'll go with you, but I must insist I walk. My injuries feel better after moving around."
"But your ankle..."
"Hardly a twinge. Like I said, just a hiccup."
She saw him hesitate and knew he was suspicious, but she poked out her chin and defied him to say something. Surely, as a stubborn person, he recognized her stubbornness.
"As you wish."
They strolled, slower than she would have liked, up in the hills to a spot overlooking the valley and set out their luncheon. Though she struggled to limit herself to only a few grapes, he plied her with wine and delicacies, candied apricots and roasted apples, cheeses so good she wanted to roll her eyes in delight, and brown and white breads wrapped in cloth and still warm.
The more wine she drank, the more loquacious she became. The wretch took advantage of her state to ask her questions about the island. How to tell him she was previously addled in the head, could never eat fish--a main staple of the English diet--and didn't remember a great deal of the last several years? How could she confide that there were things she wished she couldn't recall? She put him off by describing the flora and fauna.