A Mother For His Family. Susanne Dietze

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ pulse battered her rib cage. No, the man was definitely not Tavin.

      The man stepped out of Helena’s sight. “You gave me a fright, Mrs. Knox, down on the ground. Are you unwell?” He said down like doon, and his yous were clipped and soft.

      Helena’s throat pinched shut. The man was a gentleman in appearance, manner and speech. And he’d been riding to the Knox house. That could mean only one thing.

      Gemma’s face reappeared at the edge of the ha-ha. “I’m in robust health. But I fear we’ve had a small accident.”

      “Ah. Which of the boys made mischief this dreich day?” He peered down, allowing Helena her first good look at him. He was a full head taller than Gemma, broad but slender. Dark blond brows scrunched in concern over light-colored eyes that widened when he saw her. He rushed down into the ha-ha, splattering mud all over his boots and buckskin breeches. “Are you injured?”

      “No.” Her cheeks heated. Surely she blushed so fiercely her wet clothes would steam.

      “Yes,” Gemma contradicted.

      His well-formed lips twitched. “Either way, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

      The last man to touch her was Frederick. But this man was not Frederick. She had no choice but to allow his help. “Thank you.”

      There was nothing lurid in his gaze as he assessed her one-footed stance and extended his arm. “Lean on me.”

      She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and dropped her right foot. Pain shot up her bones. “Oh!”

      “Forgive me.” His arm fell.

      “No. It is me.”

      He rubbed his square jaw with his leather-gloved hand. “I intend to carry you.” It sounded like a warning.

      “Say yes, please.” Gemma brushed rain from the epaulettes of her spencer.

      Helena sighed and nodded. The gentleman’s arms went underneath her, swooping her from the ground. He’d carried her out of the ha-ha before she realized her face pressed against his spice-and-starch-scented lapels. A rather nice smell.

      She jerked her head back. How improper to notice such a thing.

      The gentleman peeked at her. “How did you fall down there?” There it was again. Doon. Would Helena speak like that soon, too?

      “Clumsiness, I fear.”

      “No doubt the boys were with you.” With steady steps, he marched to a black, white-socked gelding grazing a few yards distant. She might have been a sack of corn seed for all the intimacy of the act. “I’ll put you on the horse, if you dinnae mind.”

      What she minded was encountering him in this sorry state, but ah well. She’d left her pride back in London. “Thank you for your assistance.”

      With no noticeable difficulty, he adjusted her in his arms and hoisted her into the saddle. She landed square on the horse’s back, although it was an uncomfortable fit, sitting sideways on the standard saddle. It was far more suitable, however, than being carried in his arms all the way back to the house.

      Although he had been everything proper. Even now, he looked away when she adjusted her sullied gown and cloak over her legs. It proved no easy task, for the drenched muslin of her gown clung to her damp undergarments, which stuck to her limbs, revealing the curves of her legs. And her cloak did not reach her ankles.

      Mama would swoon at the sight.

      Her rescuer removed his blue coat and held it up to her. It was on her tongue to refuse, but his expression brooked no argument. His eyes were soft, though. And such a nice shade of green, like the underside of a new leaf.

      She unclasped her cloak and draped it over her legs like a blanket. Then she pulled his wool coat over her shoulders, at once enveloped in welcome warmth and his spicy smell.

      “Thank you.” Did he realize she meant it for more than his coat?

      He nodded, then turned to Gemma. “Are you able to walk back, Mrs. Knox?”

      “Oh, yes.” She tucked her hand into his elbow. “What an exciting day.”

      Did Helena imagine it, or did the gentleman glance at her and smile? The evidence vanished as if washed by the raindrops pelting from the leaden sky. With a click of his tongue, he urged the horse to a walk.

      “In my haste, I did not wait for a proper introduction.” He tilted his head to Gemma. “Perhaps you would be so kind, ma’am?”

      Gemma’s hand flew to her face. “I beg your pardon. In all the activity, I forgot.”

      She then spoke his name, but Helena had guessed it the moment he appeared. How many landed neighbors of a certain age did Tavin and Gemma possess? His name was familiar to her. She had spent the past two weeks clinging to it like the rail of a rotting bridge over a turbulent river. Clutching it because, while she didn’t quite trust its safety, it was the one hope she had to get to the other side.

      He was John Gordon, the Lord Ardoch. The stranger she had come here to marry.

      * * *

      In less than an hour John Gordon, Lord Ardoch, had returned home, changed into dry clothes and ridden back to his neighbor Knox’s house, and been shown with all haste into the blue-papered drawing room. Not one of his London cohorts in Parliament would dare call him inefficient, and if ever a matter demanded expediency, this was it. The task ahead was critical.

      Unfortunately, it was also distasteful. Not the marriage, exactly, but the other part. Coming to terms with Lady Helena Stanhope’s father.

      “And the deed can be accomplished by when?” The powerful Duke of Kelworth stopped pacing a trail into the thick Aubusson rug and leveled John with a glare. Other men quaked under such a stare during parliamentary discussions at Westminster. But not John, which perhaps accounted for Kelworth’s bristling manner toward him.

      His future father-in-law. He stifled a grin. His peers in Parliament would drop a collective jaw when they found out John had married Kelworth’s daughter. Romeo and Juliet made a less surprising match.

      “I must post the Banns first, Your Grace.” John sipped his coffee. Bitter, as he liked it.

      “That will take too long.” Kelworth shoved thinning blond hair from his broad brow in an impatient gesture. “This is Scotland. Marriages are performed by blacksmiths and butchers. Can’t the deed be done today?”

      The deed, as if his daughter’s marriage to him was naught but a transaction. Most dukes expected a better match for their eldest daughter than John, true. No doubt Kelworth would have preferred a Tory, too.

      “It could, but your daughter deserves better, and I’ve my own bairns to consider. A wedding in the kirk is best for everyone. I’ll make special arrangements for all the Banns to be read at once during divine services this Sunday, and we can be married Monday.” He set his coffee on the filigreed table. “By this time next week, it will be over.”

      For better СКАЧАТЬ