Their palms met; long fingers curled about her wrist. Lucinda brought her other hand up and clasped it about his—and she was airborne.
She drew in a swift breath—an arm of steel wrapped about her waist; her diaphragm seized. She blinked—and found herself on her knees, held fast in his embrace, locked breast to chest with her unnerving rescuer.
Her eyes were on a level with his lips. They were as severe as his clothes, chiselled and firm. His jaw was distinctly squared, the patrician line of his nose a testimony to his antecedents. The planes of his face were hard, as hard as the body steadying hers, holding her balanced on the edge of the carriage doorframe. He had released her hands; they had fallen to lie against his chest. One of her hips was pressed against his, the other against his muscled thigh. Lucinda forgot about breathing.
Cautiously, she lifted her eyes to his—and saw the sea, calm and clear, a cool, crystalline pale green.
Their gazes locked.
Mesmerised, Lucinda drowned in the green sea, her skin lapped by waves of warmth, her mind suborned to sensation. She felt her lips soften, felt herself lean into him—and blinked wildly.
A tremor shook her. The muscles surrounding her twitched, then stilled.
She felt him draw breath.
“Careful,” was all he said as he slowly rose, drawing her up with him, holding her steady until her feet could find purchase on the carriage.
Lucinda wondered just what danger he was warning her against.
Forcing his arms from her, Harry struggled to shackle his impulses, straining at their leash. “I’ll have to lower you to the ground.”
Peering over the carriage side, Lucinda could only nod. The drop was six feet and more. She felt him shift behind her; she jumped as his hands slipped beneath her arms.
“Don’t wriggle or try to jump. I’ll let go when your coachman has hold of you.”
Joshua was waiting below. Lucinda nodded; speech was beyond her.
Harry gripped her firmly and swung her over the edge. The coachman quickly grasped her legs; Harry let go—but could not prevent his fingers from brushing the soft sides of her breasts. He clenched his jaw and tried to eradicate the memory but his fingertips burned.
Once on terra firma, Lucinda was pleased to discover her wits once more at her command. Whatever curious influence had befuddled her faculties was, thank Heaven, purely transitory.
A quick glance upwards confirmed that her rescuer had turned back to render a like service to her stepdaughter. Reflecting that at barely
seventeen Heather’s susceptibility to his particular brand of wizardry was probably a good deal less than her own, Lucinda left him to it.
After one comprehensive glance about the scene, she marched across to the ditch, leaned over and dealt Amy, the tweeny, a sharp slap. “Enough,” she declared, as if she was speaking of nothing more than kneading dough. “Now come and help with Agatha.”
Amy’s tear-drenched eyes opened wide, then blinked. “Yes, mum.” She sniffed—then shot a watery smile at Sim, the groom, and struggled up out of the thankfully dry ditch.
Lucinda was already on her way to Agatha, prone in the road. “Sim—help with the horses. Oh—and do get these stones out of the road.” She pointed a toe at the collection of large, jagged rocks littering the highway. “I dare say it was one of these that caused our wheel to break. And I expect you’d better start unloading the carriage.”
“Aye, mum.”
Halting by Agatha’s side, Lucinda bent to look down at her. “What is it and how bad?”
Lips compressed, Agatha opened iron-grey eyes and squinted up at her. “It’s just my ankle—it’ll be better directly.”
“Indeed,” Lucinda remarked, getting down on her knees to examine the injured limb. “That’s no doubt why you’re white as a sheet.”
“Nonsense—oooh!” Agatha sucked in a quick breath and closed her eyes.
“Stop fussing and let me bind it.”
Lucinda bade Amy tear strips from her petticoat, then proceeded to bind Agatha’s ankle, ignoring the maid’s grumbles. All the while, Agatha shot suspicious glances past her.
“You’d best stay by me, mistress. And keep the young miss by you. That gentleman may be a gentleman, but he’s a one to watch, I don’t doubt.”
Lucinda didn’t doubt either but she refused to hide behind her maid’s skirts. “Nonsense. He rescued us in a positively gentlemanly manner—I’ll thank him appropriately. Stop fussing.”