Page 7 of The Earl’s Hoyden

He extended his free hand. “Allow me to help you up.”

She did not accept his help and instead pulled at the fabric of her skirt to cover her naked legs. “Look away,” she gasped. “Please.”

He spun about quickly, putting his back to her, the cat still cupped in his hand. “Forgive me, Miss Bexley. I merely wanted to assist you to your feet. I didn’t mean to be untoward.”

“No, of course you didn’t, my lord,” she replied hurriedly. There was a slight rustle of fabric, and when she spoke again, she was directly behind him. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I…I was quite taken aback by your sudden arrival before I could put myself to rights.”

He turned to find her standing upright. The knot holding her hair up was so loose, tendrils streamed down her flushed face in a most enticing manner. Her legs were covered once more with a white muslin dress ruined by streaks of green from her tumble. A spot of red had begun to show near her knee.

“You’re hurt.” He frowned. “And you haven’t a coat.” Immediately, he shrugged out of his. Or he began to, that is. The feat was not easily managed when he had only one hand to work with, as the other still held the cat.

She shook her head even as he wrestled out of the garment. “Please, I assure you, I’m quite warm from having chased the cat.”

“This cat?” Lucien asked as he continued to struggle with his coat, refusing to allow a lady to stand in a day dress in the middle of a frigid field without a coat. Finally, he freed it from his person and awkwardly draped it over her shoulders with her help.

A peppery sensation prickled deep in his nose. Soon there would be sneezing, followed by the inability to breathe properly. No doubt his eyes would well up, becoming an itchy red a moment after that.

Oh misery, what had inspired him to pick up the animal?

But then, it hadn’t given him much of a choice, had it?

At that moment, however, with the euphoric gleam in Miss Bexley’s eyes as she gazed at him as one did an unquestioning hero, he was glad to have helped the animal. Sinus misery and all.

“I see you found him.” She approached Lucien and reached up for the kitten, stroking its small face.

The creature lifted its head to present its small chin as a delicate rumble began in its chest.

Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle. “He found me.”

Miss Bexley looked at him with a winning laugh, her striking eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky.

Everything about her was bold and vibrant, from the brilliance of her hair to the glow of her personality.

“I thought I would never catch him.” She glanced back at the fence, and her cheeks flushed deep red as she put her palm to her brow in a display of forgetfulness. “What a mess I am. First breaking your fence, then appearing in such an inappropriate fashion.” She shook her head. “My mother would be terribly disappointed in me.”

The lightness of her tone suggested her mother would not be happy, of course, but likely wouldn’t truly be disappointed in her. Not like Lucien’s mother so often was with him.

“It truly is no trouble at all on my part,” he said. The tickling in his nose left his eyes tingling.

His mother had much to say about Miss Bexley—namely that she was loud and impertinent, a true hoyden if ever Lady Brightstone had seen one. And while the circumstances of his reunion with Miss Bexley did suggest a certain undeniable impulsivity on her part, there was something radiant about her that appealed greatly to him.

He handed her the cat. “Your pet is safe.”

She accepted the puff of gray fur with a demure nod. “I will ensure my father’s man has your fence mended.”

“I worry more after your injury,” he admitted, indicating the growing stain of blood on her dress.

“It’s nothing.” She gave a laugh and waved away his worry.

There was a light carelessness about her that made him want to know more about her. She wasn’t as stiff and formal and difficult to read as other women of the ton. He tried to recall her personality as a child and could not, remembering only a smattering of freckles and messy hair.

Hoyden or not, she seemed kind, and she was friendly. Both were recommendations he could not make of most women in society.

“I believe you lost your hat,” he said. “Perhaps it is with your coat?”

“Oh.” Her hand clapped onto her mussed hair.

“I can help you locate them,” he said, suddenly anxious to keep their conversation going, no matter how stilted it might be.