Wildfire Kiss (Sir Edward 1)

The innkeeper and his chubby wife knew her at once and came forward to greet her. She hurriedly explained the situation, requested a room be readied for Sir Frederick, and asked where she might find a doctor.

“Oi’d send young Tom out there for the doctor, but oi can’t spare him today, as that blasted Figley didn’t come in …”

“That is fine. I will go for the doctor,” Babs assured him.

“Right then, if ye cut through the west woods, it be only a few minutes to his cottage. Ye can’t miss it … ye take the west woods … here across the road … follow the bridle path, and ye’ll see a narrow paved road called Halie Lane to the left. Take it, and there is his cottage just down a bit from there …”

“Thank you, Mr. Tibbs.” She smiled at both Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs and hurried back towards the stable, where she found her horse taking a long drink of water.

“Sorry, sweet boy,” she said softly, “we have another short trip to make, and then you can rest.” Up on his back and taking the innkeeper’s direction, she started out.

However, Babs found the bridle paths had not been groomed in some time. Fallen trees and overgrown brush hindered her progress as she was forced to weave her way through the thick of it, jumping logs and sideswiping bushes, before she finally had the neatly paved lane in sight.

She glanced through the trees and could just make out a very fine cottage just down the road. She breathed a sigh of relief as she urged her horse forward.

Her horse clambered quickly out of the dark woods, as neither her horse nor Babs saw that a high-perched phaeton had just rounded the bend in the road.

Babs’ horse spooked sharply to the left and nearly into the ditch, bending far forward and then hopping back up. Babs, not quite as secure in a sidesaddle, found herself holding on with all her strength to keep from landing in the ditch. With little dignity, she scrambled back into place in her saddle and saw herself reseated. She blew the stray hair from her eyes, pushed at the tangle that had come undone, and tried adjusting her top hat as she attempted to compose herself.

With her heart beating w

ildly, Babs watched the driver of the high-perched phaeton as he cursed softly before he pulled his spirited pair of grays to a halt. He handed the reins to his small tiger at the back of his vehicle with a clipped order to, “Hold them steady, lad.” So saying, he jumped nimbly down from his driving seat and strode towards her.

“What you need, minx, is a spanking!” said the well-dressed, tall, and rakishly good-looking Duke of Barrington. “You could have been hurt! What the devil do you mean riding your horse out of the woods without care?” He seemed to get control of his temper and said more quietly, “You should know better.”

Babs was dumbfounded to find her Wildfire on the spot, but his rudeness and his insult transformed her embarrassment into ire. Still, her cheeks burned. “I? I should know better? What about you, rounding a curve at that speed? And besides, what the deuce are you doing here?”

“What I am doing here is not the issue,” he returned sharply. “What are you doing here … charging around the woods unescorted when you should be on your way to Brighton with your family?”

“What I do need not concern you, your grace.” Her chin was up with her temper. She knew she must look a sight. Her green riding jacket was torn at the sleeve, her hair was a mess, her matching top hat was askew, and when she brushed her hair away from her face her tan glove came away dirty … was her face smudged as well? Oh no. What a way for him to see her!

He moved to her horse’s flanks. He took her waist in his large hands, lifted her off her saddle, and set her on her booted feet. She did not object. It would have proven useless. Nor did she object when he smoothed away her black hair from her eyes and wiped the dirt from her face with his handkerchief. However, when he attempted to place her top hat correctly on her head, she swiped his hand away, as it made her feel even more childish. “Stop that,” she admonished and realized she sounded even more childish than she felt.

His blue eyes caught her attention. They glittered with amusement. He said with something of a crooked grin, “Having told one another off in famous style, perhaps we may now discover what you are doing barreling through the woods alone.”

Inwardly she was thinking that she could look into his eyes forever, listen to his deep masculine soothing voice—forever. Outwardly she straightened up and complained, “Why is that all that matters? You could have landed me in that ditch, and I could now be quite dead.”

He laughed, right out loud, and flicked her nose. “Thankfully, you seem to be quite a little horsewoman and are very much alive.”

She recalled her mission. “Oh, what am I doing wasting time. I have to find the doctor—”

“Doctor? What is amiss?”

“Sir Frederick—he was hurt when his carriage wheel went flying off and his coach toppled, and he was unconscious when I left him …” She started for her horse.

He took her by the hand, led her to the phaeton, unfolded and lowered the steps, and told her firmly, “Up with you …”

“But I have to fetch the doctor …”

“So we shall, immediately,” he answered authoritatively. “We shall call on him right now.”

“But … what if he is not at home?” She suddenly realized he might not be.

“He is … I passed him just awhile ago, and that is where he was headed,” he answered as he took up the reins of her horse and tethered him behind the phaeton.

“Oh, Nick,” she said breathlessly as she situated herself on the seat and sighed with great relief. “But … what are you doing here?”

“Why, coming to the rescue, of course,” he answered and sat beside her to grin widely.