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‘I find it helps.’ Henri hated the way her voice caught in her throat and looked down. Her stomach lurched again, and she finally gave in. ‘My ankle hurts…Robert…oh, I want it to stop.’
He held out a hand. ‘You don’t have to do this on your own, Henri, simply to prove a point to me. If I apologise for not telling you about my ward, will it help? I do regret that you took the news in the wrong fashion. I made a mistake. There, now can you accept my help, rather than fighting me every inch of the way?’
She shook her head, hating the lump that formed in her throat. Why did he have to start being pleasant? ‘You will observe the stern stuff I am made of. I persevere.’
She took a third step and wished she hadn’t. More than anything she wanted to give way and accept his arm.
‘You delight in taking stubbornness to new heights. It will take you hours.’
‘I’m pleased you see the sense in what I am doing.’ Henri concentrated on taking the next step.
‘I only see nonsense.’
Her foot slipped. And, somewhere, the dog began barking again. She reached out a hand and encountered his stiff shirt front. She clawed at it.
‘Falling. Dizzy,’ she mouthed as the humiliating blackness threatened to claim her. ‘Dogs frighten me. Always have. Help me, please, I don’t want to be a weak-willed ninny. Want to be strong. Have to be.’
‘Allow me. Now, hush.’
He scooped her up, holding her against the broad expanse of his chest. Henri turned her face so that she could not hear the steady thump of his heart and took deep steadying breaths. There was something reassuringly safe about his arms and the way he walked with firm steps. She could allow herself to be carried for a little way and then, when her ankle hurt less, resume her journey.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked. ‘Mr Teasdale’s front room?’
‘To my house.’ He lifted an unyielding eyebrow. ‘It is no more than a few hundred yards. You need medical attention. I would not send a dog to die in Teasdale’s front room. The man lives in squalor not even fit for a pigsty.’
Henri struggled against the bounds of his arms. ‘Don’t you think you should ask me first?’
He stopped in mid-stride and seemed amazed that she could possibly object. ‘You will be quite safe there. The doctor has been sent for and my man Fredericks will alert your aunt to your whereabouts.’
‘You’ve thought of everything.’ Henri leant back against his arms. The wind tousled his hair slightly, highlighting his strong jaw and the way his mouth was bow-shaped. ‘But I don’t want to trouble anyone.’
‘Suffering from a dog attack is no time for missish behaviour,’ he said, covering the ground with rapid strides as if she weighed no more than a feather. ‘Miss Ravel and her mother will be pleased that you are calling, even if in an unorthodox fashion. She has heard of you and your romantic past. She was asking about you this morning at breakfast. I haven’t bothered to enlighten her that you are the least romantic person I know.’
A small shiver went down her spine as she examined his hawklike profile. She didn’t know which was worse—that Robert thought she was unromantic or that Miss Ravel had spoken of her. She needed to discover Sophie Ravel’s side of the story before she decided on her course of action. ‘My fame precedes me. How stupendous.’
‘You grow pale, Henri. Is your ankle bothering you that much?’
‘I have finished fainting for the day.’ Henri attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. ‘I simply twisted it. It will be better in a few moments. You should leave me to rest at the side of the road.’
‘Stop being a hero. You’ve gone grey with pain. But we will allow the doctor to decide.’
‘The doctor will agree with me. It is a twisted ankle and the bleeding has stopped.’ Henri held her body slightly away from his. She was intensely aware of the way his chest muscles rose and fell underneath his frock-coat, and the way his stock was a bit undone, revealing the strong column of his throat. And the way her heart had started to thump. ‘And I’ve no intention of fainting again.’
‘A lady who declines to faint. Will wonders never cease? My mother had it down to a fine art. She swore it was useful in ending arguments.’
‘The force of the argument should hold sway rather than a dramatic gesture. Any fool knows that.’
A light flared in his eyes as a half-smile tugged at his mouth. ‘You’re definitely not most women.’
Henri frowned. A compliment couched as an insult or the other way around? Her head spun as her body shifted slightly in his arms.
