Page 7 of Mistress of Misfortune

Thorne fell silent as an image of Meredith Starling's face just before she had fallen over in the grass flashed through his mind. Such violent accidents often inflicted multiple injuries, particularly when a body was hurled through the air to the ground.

He had checked her arm thoroughly, but he hadn't once considered that she might have struck her head as well. “Damn me.”

Thorne ran for the stairs.

* * *

Meredith lay on the matted,faded green rug that she guessed had once resembled grass. Its aged fibers crunched beneath her slight weight with every move, but it had cushioned her landing, and spared her hurt arm more damage. What stung was the fact that her skirts had tangled around her legs like swaddling, constricting their movement entirely. With only one arm functioning she then discovered she could not rise under her own power.

“I will simply be content to wait here,” she told the old rug with as much cheer as she could summon. “Someone should come along eventually.”

Behind her the door to the room flung open, and a familiar voice uttered a scalding oath.

“Colonel Thorne.” She turned her head and lifted her chin to smile at him. “Might I ask for your help again?”

He knelt beside her. “Did you faint?”

“No, sir. I slipped.” As he eased her over onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of how she might distract him from this new evidence of her ungainliness. “I had not noticed the lovely painting up there. Such pretty clouds. Oh, forgive me, I think those are water marks.”

“I will take your word for it.” Thorne worked his hand beneath her shoulders and carefully raised her to a sitting position. “I should not have left you alone.”

“The fault is mine, Colonel,” she assured him. “I should not have been traipsing about in my condition.”

The colonel’s eyes looked bluer now. Tiny streaks of white in the irises made them seem lighter than they were. It made Meredith wonder if they changed color, as her own sometimes seemed to do. She found herself breathing in his enthralling scent, which made her head spin as wildly as a weather vane in high wind. This was why the young ladies in the village giggled so madly whenever young men came near. No gentleman of her acquaintance had ever come so close to Meredith, but with her reputation doubtless they regarded proximity to her as more of a personal hazard.

“Are you hurt, Miss Starling?”

His sharp inquiry made her realize how shamelessly she had been gawking at him.

“I’m clumsy but unharmed, sir.” She felt the coils of her hair slipping down her nape and grimaced. “Although my hair pins seem to have abandoned me.”

“I should examine your head,” he said, waiting for her nod before he ran his fingers over her head. “When you were thrown from the rig, did you strike it?”

“No, I landed on my side.” She winced as his fingers touched a sore spot at the very back of her skull. “Ouch. Perhaps I am mistaken.”

“Be still.” He moved around her and parted her hair.

As Thorne went about inspecting her head the lamp illuminated his face, revealing the faint shadows beneath his eyes. She’d assumed the set of his features reflected a natural sternness, but now she saw the signs of true weariness. He’d shown no sign of injury or illness, which made her wonder why he looked so tired.

“You have a small lump here,” he said, his breath stirring the fine hairs on her nape.

She suppressed a shiver of reaction. “I did lose my balance fall back against the bed frame, and then pitched forward. I am prone to such inelegant– Oh.”

Thorne ignored her gasp as he picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. “I’ll have the damned rug ripped out and burned.”

His language did not shock Meredith as much as his anger. As he lowered her atop the coverlet, she thought of how she sometimes teased her father out of a dour mood.

“Do you mean to do the same with my shoes and stockings? For then I would have to return barefoot, which would give my mother the hysterics. If the rest does not,” she added as he bent over her.

His expression remained bleak. “I will never tell your mother.” He took off her shoes and dropped them on the floor before he scowled. “What happened here?”

“An unhappy gift from my seventh birthday.” Meredith couldn’t quite straighten that foot, and saw that the old scars showed through a tear in her worn stocking. “I’ve always been somewhat scatter-brained, and stepped into a poacher's trap. I could not free myself, so there I stayed for the afternoon.”

Thorne stroked his thumb over the section of stocking covering the raised marks. “You must have been terrified.”

The way he touched her made Meredith’s toes curl. “At the time I was playing hound and fox with my cousin in the woods. I was the fox. He assumed I’d found an excellent hiding place, but happily in time he found me.”

Thorne straightened. “I will prepare a poultice for your head, and fetch a tray for you. While I am gone you are not to move from this bed, is that understood?”