Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme and Reason Page 2

  Then she saw the sheer terror etched into every line of Lizzie’s face. The girl must be petrified of heights. Or maybe it was the water that scared her. Either way, she had remained quite a good distance behind. Mattie immediately regretted her jest.

  Lizzie blanched further, her already pale face turning such a stark shade of white it was a wonder she could have any blood in her body, her fingers so tight around the parasol’s handle she was liable to break it in two.

  It wasn’t like Mattie to make light of another’s concerns. Gracious, but all this business with Percy had started to change her, and not in a good way. “I’m so sorry, Lizzie.” She turned around fully so she could return to the frightened maid, leaving the ocean at her back.

  “Damnation, Danby!”

  The curse that ripped through the air startled Mattie so much she jumped. Her half-boot slipped against the limestone. She felt herself falling before her mind caught up and recognized what was happening, and a scream which might have been her own cut through the subdued sounds of water crashing into rock.

  “Milady!”

  Mattie’s nose and forehead slapped against the rock beneath her even as the weight of her body pulled her backward.

  The lady—whose maid was too distraught to do anything but stand in place and scream—was drifting backward along the limestone. The force of gravity threatened to pull her down the massive drop to the ocean. By the time Thomas reached her, her feet and legs (all the way to her knees) had slipped past the edge of the cliff.

  Thank heaven her torso remained solidly on the rock.

  He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms lest she slide further down. The maid blessedly stopped screaming, watching his every movement in abject horror. The lady in his arms moaned slightly—a good sign—but her eyes were closed tight and a small stream of blood trickled from her right temple, staining the blonde ringlets of her hair.

  Once the maid’s eyes fell upon the blood, her screams began anew in earnest.

  Thomas spared the maid a brief glare and then checked her mistress for other injuries which might not be so readily apparent. He’d done no more than run his hands over the lady’s arms before the maid struck him on the shoulder with her parasol.

  “I’ll call the watch, I will, you cur! You’ll not ravish milady on my watch.” Thwack, thwack, thump. “I swear to you, I’ll not lose my position on account of you or any other man.”

  Without ceasing his examination, he used one hand to wrench the parasol from her hands and toss it over the edge of the cliff just as he’d done with Danby’s letter and that blasted marriage license. “I have no intention whatsoever of ravishing her. I’m checking for broken bones. You could assist me, you know.”

  If she was so worried about her position, one would think she would do anything in her power to aid her mistress.

  The maid let out a little huff of indignation, but at least she had the sense to cease screaming and attempting to beat him about the head with various implements. He couldn’t help but notice she didn’t lift a finger to help him.

  There was little wonder she needed to worry for her future.

  After a cursory examination, it seemed the blow to the lady’s head was likely the worst of her injuries. That was good, but head injuries oughtn’t to be overlooked. He’d seen strong, healthy men die after something as seemingly benign as being kicked in the head by a horse. Concussion, at the very least, seemed likely given her faint.

  She needed a doctor.

  Thomas stood, lifting the blonde lady in his arms in a single motion. “I don’t believe she has any broken bones, but she needs her bed immediately, and a doctor. Where should I take her?” If she lived very far from the cliffs, he would need to first return her to the stables so the lads could ready a carriage.

  The mousy-haired maid blinked dumbly at him, not saying a word.

  Had she not heard him, or could she possibly be so simple-minded as to not have understood what he’d said? What sort of servant didn’t jump to do as they were told when their employer had been harmed? Father would have given the girl her notice right then and there, were she part of his staff.

  “Where should I take her?” he nearly roared. Usually, he was a very patient man. It seemed Danby had stolen his patience from him today, and the lady could not afford for him to dawdle.

  “Lady Matilda is a guest of Lord Teasdale, sir,” the maid finally said, her voice coming out as timid as a half-asleep kitten’s mewl. That was quite a drastic change from the shrew who’d been assaulting him with her lady’s parasol. “He’s rented a house on the Grand Avenue.”

  The Grand Avenue wasn’t far at all, thank heavens. It would be faster by half to just carry her there. “Lead the way,” he grumbled.

  The maid hesitated for a moment, but then she started walking. Thomas fell into step behind her.

  They’d hardly gone ten steps before she whirled around and pointed a finger at his chest. “You’ll be explaining to Lord Teasdale what happened to the parasol, you will. And about why milady took a tumble in the first place.”

  Thomas had no qualms about telling this Lord Teasdale or anyone else who wished to know that he’d tossed the parasol into the ocean. He’d gladly purchase a replacement if need be, but he had no intention of ever allowing a maid or anyone else to bludgeon him with one. But the reason the lady fell? How should he know that? The maid was the one who was responsible for her lady’s wellbeing, and a poor job of it she’d done, too.

  But none of that mattered now. What mattered was getting this Lady Matilda to a bed and a doctor’s care as soon as possible.

  “I’ll tell his lordship whatever needs telling. Now kindly show me to his home.”

  The maid gave him a curt nod and spun around again, mincing along at a more hurried pace than she had previously.

  Saying a silent prayer for patience, Thomas readjusted the lady in his arms while he followed along behind the frustrating maid. Lady Matilda shifted when he did, nestling herself more comfortably in his grip. Her head moved up to rest against his shoulder so that her forehead brushed against his jaw. She hardly weighed a thing. True, he did a great deal of physical labor in the stables and so he was stronger than the average man, but she felt almost as small as a child in his arms.

  Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Children did not have curves like the ones this Lady Matilda had.

  With her head nestled against his neck, the soft cushion of one full breast pushed against his chest so close he could feel the peak of a nipple through their clothing. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, his hand gripping her securely at the flare of her hip, while the other hand was hooked beneath her knees. It was precisely as a man might carry his bride into the bedchamber on their wedding night.

  Good God.

  He bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping to redirect his thoughts. He had no business—none at all—thinking about a lady’s curves, and particularly not thinking about carrying this lady into his bedchamber.

  Mattie’s head throbbed, and her whole body was bumping and jerking along, like she was in a poorly-sprung carriage. But she couldn’t be in a carriage, could she? No, that didn’t seem right. She opened her eyes but immediately forced them closed again. The sun was blinding and made her head hurt to the point she wished it would split in two. That would probably hurt less.

  But she was absolutely, unequivocally not a carriage.

  She snuggled herself closer to the warmth along her side, burrowing her nose in the scent of the outdoors and a hint of musk.

  Then her eyes shot straight open, despite the pain from the sun. That wasn’t just warmth. It was a man.

  A man who was carrying her.

  She blinked again, then stared more intently. It wasn’t Sir Lester. This man was easily a few years older than the baronet. And handsomer, but she had no business thinking such a thing. She didn’t even know his name! How could she think about how handsome he was? Not to mention it wasn’t fair to Sir Lester.


  Who was he, and why was she being carried? And where? Good heavens.

  Her head shot back so she could look up at him. A jolt of pain shot through her head from the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to see him so she could discover who he was and what was going on. He had rich, brown hair, a little long on the sides, the ends curling under. His blue eyes were the same color as the ocean, and he had a sharp, angular jaw…a jaw covered in blood.

  Mattie gasped and reached up her hand to touch him there, the red blood staining her white glove on contact. “You’re bleeding, sir.”

  The last thing she would have expected was for him to laugh, but that was precisely what he did—a gentle chuckle, but a laugh, nonetheless.

  “That’s your blood, not mine, my lady. Your head…” He tilted his chin, using it to point toward the very spot at her temple which felt like it had exploded at some point in the not-too-distant past.

  Oh. Well, that would explain the monstrous headache, at least.

  It did not explain why she hurt so much, however. “What…happened?” she asked cautiously, as every word seemed to reveal a new place that she ached. Her nose was quite sore, pronounced by the movement of her mouth as it tugged her skin. Her arms and hands, too, felt as though they’d been battered.

  In a fall… Yes, now she remembered. A man had shouted a curse, and it had startled her, and she’d fallen on the cliffs.

  She could have fallen backward. Oh my. She’d been so very close to the edge.

  But she hadn’t fallen. Or perhaps this man had caught her? Mattie couldn’t really be certain. Everything was floating around in her head, none of it settling down to form sensible and coherent thoughts.

  This man, whose wondrously strong arms were wrapped so intimately around her, was carrying her up a series of steps—the steps to the house Lord Teasdale had let for the summer. Mattie recognized the columns along the steps just outside the front door.

  He didn’t answer her question before they were surrounded by a bevy of servants trying to assist.

  “Good heavens! Lady Matilda?”

  “Lizzie, you stupid, stupid girl, what on earth did you allow to happen?”

  “It’ll be a wonder if Lord Teasdale doesn’t toss you out this very night.”

  “In here, sir. Lay her on the settee if you would please.”

  The cacophony of voices and activity around her was all too much. Mattie closed her eyes again and pressed a hand to her temple. More blood seeped through her glove, warm and sticky against her fingertips. She would do anything—anything at all—to make the pounding stop.

  “No.” The man carrying her tightened his hold on her. His strength left her feeling safe. Well, not safe precisely. Perhaps protected was more correct, though it still didn’t feel quite right to Mattie’s mind. Nonetheless, safe and protected were two sensations she hadn’t experienced in a very long time—not since Papa died leaving Percy to care for them all—not even with Sir Lester. Yet he was making her feel those things, whoever this man with his arms surrounding her might be.

  She opened her eyes to look up at him. He was staring down at her, his gaze boring into her very soul, it would seem.

  “Her chamber,” he rumbled. “She needs her bed, a doctor’s care, and some quiet. Send for a doctor at once and direct me to her room.”

  The chatter of the servants continued until finally the butler cleared his throat for order. “Mrs. Benson, Lizzie, show him the way to Lady Matilda’s room and get her settled into her bed. Arthur, fetch Dr. Evans as quickly as you can. Olivia, fetch any supplies they’ll need to tend her ladyship. I’ll inform his lordship and the rest of the family.”

  Once the butler had organized the servants, the gentleman carrying Mattie was moving again. Moments later, he lay her down upon her bed, careful of precisely how she was adjusted against the pillows.

  How could a man so large and strong be so very gentle? Mattie blinked up at him in confusion.

  “I don’t believe she has any broken bones, ma’am.” The gruffness of his tone seemed out of place, causing Mattie’s attention to focus squarely on him. “But be sure the doctor checks her anyway. With all the excitement, she might not feel all the places she’s hurt yet.”

  Mrs. Benson shooed him out of the way. “Let us tend her, sir. Back down the stairs with you, now. Mr. Sadler will be wanting to speak with you about all of this, I can assure you, and Lord Teasdale, too.”

  The housekeeper bent over Mattie on the bed, dabbing a cool cloth against her temple. The gentle pressure she applied stung.

  Mattie sucked in a breath, her eyes trained upon the unknown gentleman who’d carried her all the way from the cliffs. He looked so troubled that she smiled for his benefit, hoping to reassure him of her wellbeing for whatever reason.

  His lips twitched in response, but then he inclined his head toward her and backed out of the room.

  Lizzie flitted anxiously about the room, pacing with her hands moving animatedly about her. Her lips were moving, but no sound came from them. She looked like a madwoman.

  Mrs. Benson kept pressing the cloth against Mattie’s forehead. “If you can’t do something useful for her ladyship, Lizzie, then kindly take your frayed nerves and remove them somewhere else. I’m sure there are floors that need cleaning or beds that need making.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Benson.” The maid bobbed a quick curtsey and scurried out the door, while a parade of other servants passed her on their way inside, quickly followed by Bea and Lady Teasdale.

  Eyes as wide as teacups, Bea sat on the edge of the bed and took Mattie’s hand gingerly in her own while everyone else bustled about in trying to care for her. “What on earth happened? You really ought to have waited for me and Rose to join you.”

  “I must have slipped,” Mattie said, wincing against the pain of each word to issue from her lips. “I just needed some air.”

  Yes. Air. She’d gone on ahead of Bea and her younger sister Rose because of the note from Sir Lester. She had needed to walk and breathe so she would stop worrying herself over whether word had reached his ears finally about any of Percy’s many scandalous exploits. It was all starting to come back to her, leaving her head pounding harder than before. Her chest tightened again, the same sensation which had caused her to race out on her own initially.

  Now that her rescuer was no longer holding her, she felt cold. There was no fire in the hearth, and while the servants tending her were trying to help, the cool cloths Mrs. Benson was using to daub against Mattie’s forehead were only making her colder. She shivered.

  Lady Teasdale barely disguised her harrumph. She kept her distance, as she was wont to do of late when forced to be in Mattie’s presence, standing to watch over the proceedings from near the open window. “Dr. Evans has been summoned to see to your injuries, Lady Matilda.” The baroness’s voice was cool and detached.

  Perhaps the doctor would order a fire built in her room. She hoped he would.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” But as much pain as she was experiencing, and as baffled by the turn of events as she may be, Mattie had only one thing really on her mind. “Might I ask who the gentleman was who carried me home?”

  She’d finally discovered the proper word for how she’d felt in his arms: cherished.

  That thought melted her heart until it dripped all the way to her toes, and at the same time left her more confused about her feelings than ever before. Wasn’t it terribly disloyal to Sir Lester to feel such a thing with a strange man?

  Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, hating that he felt so defensive all of a sudden. “I couldn’t very well assist Lady Matilda if her maid was beating me senseless with a parasol.”

  He’d done nothing wrong. No matter how hard Lord Teasdale tried, he wasn’t going to succeed in making Thomas feel guilty for protecting himself.

  He was seated in the baron’s study while Teasdale and his butler, Sadler, jointly interrogated him about the afternoon’s proceedings. It was becoming inc
reasingly more difficult to decide which of the older men was more intimidating. Teasdale’s eyes were narrowed into steely lines as he sat behind his massive mahogany desk, but the butler stood over Thomas’s wingback chair like a surly sentinel.

  Teasdale somehow narrowed his gaze further, which drew the graying line of his eyebrows together until they were almost a single line across his forehead. He lifted his cheroot to his mouth and took a draw from it, his lips turning downward. “You couldn’t have simply taken the parasol from her and set it aside?”

  “What would have stopped her from picking it up and assaulting me all over again? I’ll purchase a new parasol, my lord, but I won’t apologize for protecting myself from a rabid maid by whatever means lent themselves to me at the time. Particularly not since it allowed me to bring Lady Matilda here faster than I could have if I was being struck repeatedly. I’d think such a fact would be appreciated instead of scorned.”

  Silence met his words. It wasn’t exactly the brightest thing he’d ever done, telling a peer of the realm what he should and shouldn’t do. Thomas knew Danby would never have allowed such a thing, and he couldn’t imagine Lord Pritchard would have either.

  “The maid is unharmed, I presume?” Thomas said then, hoping to move the conversation away from his presumptive behavior before Teasdale or his butler took further exception to his behavior. “I never lifted a finger against her. I only defended myself from her assault.”

  Sadler let out a sneering sort of grunting sound.

  Thomas lifted a brow. “Shall we see how long you might last while being struck with a stick, Mr. Sadler? I’m certain we can find something similar nearby.” For that matter, he doubted it would be very difficult to find a maid or two within the household who’d be willing to strike the butler, if given the opportunity. He oughtn’t to have said anything at all, but the words had already left his mouth. “I’ll purchase a new one. I’ve already said as much.”