Page 7 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Going to hurt like hell when we move this beam,” he said to the driver. “Ready?"

The driver nodded, jaw clenched.

"On three. One…"

He lifted on one, sparing the man the agony of anticipation. The driver cried out, but Matthew swung the beam away and dragged the man away from the debris.

He shrugged off his coat and folded it beneath the driver's head. "Lie back. I’ll check for fractures."

Matthew ran his hands along the man's limbs, pressing gently at the joints, watching his face for any flicker of pain.

"Wrist's likely broken," he said. "Legs are sound. Going to hurt for a bit, but you'll be alright."

The driver nodded, jaw tight.

Matthew looked up at Florence. "Need bandages."

She blinked. "I don't carry medical supplies."

"Got ribbons? Scarves?"

"No."

"You've got no ribbons in seven trunks full of clothes?" He nodded towards the driver's wrist, already swelling. "Need something for a splint."

She shuttered her expression. "Don't touch my belongings."

He stood slowly, squaring up to her. She didn't step back. He was taller than her and built like an oak tree, all solid muscle and coiled strength.

"Man's hurt," he said, low and hard.

"And my property is private."

"Your ribbons can be replaced."

"Everything I own is in those trunks!" The words burst out of her, ragged and fierce. She couldn’t risk revealing the contents to this man. So, she narrowed her eyes and balled her fists at her sides.

They glared at each other, the air between them crackling. His jaw was set, his eyes bright with fury.

Finally, with a sharp, jerky movement, she reached under her skirts. She grabbed the inner layer of her petticoat, the white cotton, and tore a long strip. Matthew’s eyes went to her stockinged leg, staring, until her skirts fell back into place.

He jerked up to straighten his back, his face slightly flushed.

"Here." She thrust the white cotton at him, still warm from her skin. “Will that do?”

"Aye," he said quietly. "That'll do."

He then crouched beside the driver, speaking in low tones Florence couldn't quite hear. Something about the physician. Something reassuring. She looked away before Matthew could catch her watching.

"You two." Matthew addressed the footmen. "I need you both to get to the nearest village. Bring back a wagon for the trunks and a physician for the driver." He glanced at Florence. "My lady, they'll need coin."

She blinked, then fumbled for her reticule with trembling fingers. "Yes. Yes, of course." She pressed coins into the footmen's hands. “Watch out for any suspicious carriage and do not accept help from any passersby,” he said firmly.

With a bow of acknowledgement, they went.

He was good at this. Good at crisis. Good at making people feel they were in capable hands.

It was, she admitted to herself, rather attractive.