An Unlikely Countess (20 page)

“Some think the pains and hazards worthwhile in order to see new places.”

“What’s wrong with home?” she demanded.

“Nothing at all,” he said, “nothing at all. Those of us who’ve lost a home realize that very well.”

“You lost your home?” she asked.

It was time to tell her. “Paradise lost, paradise regained. Prudence—”

But just then the coach tilted so sharply he was almost tossed on top of her. He slammed his hand on the coach wall to prevent it, but her lips ended up too close to ignore.

So he didn’t.

Her hat had to go again so he could do the job properly, and then the coach made a sharp sway to the right, which landed her on top of him. He held her there, between his spread legs, and explored her hot, sweet mouth. And her round, firm behind.

Tonight.

No, not tonight, he remembered, breaking the kiss and trying to cool his blood.
Damnation
.

Her eyes were so bright, her cheeks so prettily flushed that it was going to be difficult to hold back here, never mind in the private chambers at Keynings.

“Cate?” she asked, color fading, looking worried.

He smiled and kissed her again, quickly. “You were ravishing me, my wife.”

Her eyes widened and she scrambled off him, but he pulled her back. “That wasn’t a complaint. You’re delightful, but we have to restrain ourselves a little. For now.”

She blushed again, looking away, but smiling.

The coach juddered again and some part of it squealed a protest. Cate took the excuse to help her back to her side of the seat so he could open the window and call a complaint to the coachman.

“I’m doing me best, sir!”

A man riding by in the opposite direction called, “Dreadful road, sir!”

“Damnable,” Cate replied before closing the window on the dust. “I’m sorry if that expression offends you, my dear.”

“I’m not so delicate a bloom. I’d trump ‘damnable’ with ‘hellish.’”

He laughed. “Heavenly woman. We’d not lose much time by walking, you know.”

“My shoes,” she reminded him, extending a foot to show green silk shoes that matched her gown and had a delicate, curved heel.

“Very fine,” he said, deliberately admiring her ankles.

She quickly tucked her foot back. “I have sturdier shoes in my luggage. And plainer clothing.”

“Then you must change at the next stop. Even if we only walk now and then, it’ll be a relief.” He grabbed the strap as the coach lurched again. “Damn that man! I apologize again, but . . .”

“But it’s entirely understandable. Is he perhaps drunk?”

“I should have thought of that. He could be slugging from a bottle up there all the time.”

At another jolt, protesting wood squealed.

“We could join him,” she said, digging in her pocket. “I have brandy.”

Right then, a loud
crack!
coincided with a violent lurch that threw her against him. He clutched her to him, trying to protect her.

Something had broken, and broken badly.

The coachman was bellowing, the horses struggling, but the tilt was getting steeper. A wheel had gone and they were too close to the ditch. The coach could go over completely.

Cate could only wrap his wife tightly in his arms and try to take the damage himself as the carriage crashed onto its side, glass shattering amid a hellish cacophony of noise.

He came to rest on a bruised back against the shattered door and window, Prudence sprawled over him. The panicked horses were rocking the torture box in which he and Prudence were trapped, sending stabbing pains in two places.

Wood or glass?

Pray God neither was of a length to do serious damage.

Then the coach jolted forward, sending new spears of pain. “Hold the horses still!” he bellowed, but they must be injured from such a disaster.

“Coachman!”

No reply, but the coach now tossed like a ship in a gale. Hades, had the man been thrown from the box, leaving the wounded horses masterless?

They had to get out of here.

“Prudence?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. Are you all right?”

“I think so. . ..” Not surprising that her voice was breathy. “Are you?” She moved and he gasped in pain. “What is it?”

“Glass, I think,” he hissed. “Stay still.”

“But we have to get out!” she said with a gasp, clinging to the strap above her.

“Hush, hush,” he soothed, trying to ignore the pain, trying to think. “All will be well, though not, I fear, your hat.”

“My hat?”

“I’ve landed on it.”

“You’re worried about my
hat
? Did you hit your head?”

“Only teasing, my dear. You’re going to have to try to get out first.”

Then a voice from outside called, “Is anyone alive in there?” A young man’s voice with a local accent.

“Thank God,” Cate said, and called, “Aye! Myself and my wife. Can you cut free the horses?”

“The coachman’s doing it, sir. I’ll climb up.”

The coach rocked in a different direction. Cate could only grit his teeth.

Then the storm-tossing stopped.

“Thank God,” he said. “Though I fear the poor nags must be in a bad way.”

“Thank God indeed,” she said, relaxing. “I’m sorry for falling into a panic.”

“You had reason. Have you any hurt at all?”

“Only some bruises. You protected me.” It was as if she’d seen a miracle.

“It’s a husband’s honor. You haven’t been adequately cherished, my wife. That has all now changed.”

She kissed him then, a gentle kiss, but fervent. And, thank God, without pressing down on him.

Perhaps he flinched anyway, for she drew back. “Where are you hurt?”

“My back and hip, but there’s nothing to it.”

“All the same, we won’t be able to reach Keynings today, will we?”

“Does the thought distress you so much?”

“I suppose I must face your grand family sometime, but I’d rather it were later, when we’ve had time to settle into our own home.”

What a damnable mess.

“Almost there, sir!” the young man called, amid scrabblings on the door of the carriage, which was now a sloping ceiling.

“Can you stand up without standing on me?” Cate asked.

She shifted carefully. “I think so.”

He admired the way she managed it, bracing herself on one seat and the coach wall. At one point, she was propped over him in a very odd position, but it presented her generous breasts to his view, veiled only by a fichu that was coming interestingly loose. In the peculiar way of such things, desire suddenly stirred. . . .

“You are remarkable, you know,” he said.

“I am?”

“Three tests of courage you’ve endured so far, and kept a steady head and a bold heart.” But then he hissed as the coach shook again.

“Take care up there!” Prudence shouted, with all the sternness of a drill sergeant. “My husband’s wounded.”

Their rescuer went still. “Beg pardon, ma’am. Badly?” “No,” Cate called. “Do what you must.”

The coach shifted and swayed again; then the door was wrenched open.

A square, amiable face looked down at them. “You’re bleeding, sir.”

“Very likely. Can you assist my wife to climb out?”

She shifted her legs and hands until she could stand with her head slightly outside. The young man was there to help, but getting any farther wouldn’t be easy, especially for a woman.

Cate flexed his arms and tested his back. He seemed to have full use of both, but many places were going to hate this. He sat up, ignoring new stabs of pain. “Put a foot into my hands and I’ll boost you.”

She twisted her head to frown down in concern.

“Do it.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

“One, two, three, up!”

Their rescuer must have done his part, for she ended up with only her legs still inside. Despite pain, Cate enjoyed the view of shapely calves and fine ankles, covered in silk stockings clocked with roses.

“I’ve got you, ma’am!” called the young man, and she kicked with her effort to get out completely.

Cate hastily guarded his head with his arm, but the view was even more interesting. Then, with one wild, painful jolting she was gone and the torture box went still again.

Cate took a moment to mentally check his hurts. He heard noises and quickly called, “Don’t come up to help me. I’ll manage.”

“Right you are, sir!”

The worst pain was from something, probably a shard of glass, that had pierced high on his right thigh. It could be worse. A lot worse. His leather breeches would have protected him, and if it had cut lower, he could be dead. There was a place in the thigh that gushed blood if slashed, and killed in moments. All the same, his hand found sticky blood enough. There was a wound in his side too, but less worrisome.

He got his feet under himself, seeking solid places around the shattered doorframe, then pushed up straight, ignoring the protest from his thigh. His head rose completely out of the carriage and he saw Prudence on the road, looking up anxiously, clothes awry, hair tumbling down. She looked magnificent.

At sight of him, her face cleared into a joyous smile. He reflected it and meant it. Damned stupid time to feel joyful, but then, perhaps not. They’d survived.

He still had to get out and down, and it was going to hurt. He reached back and found the edge of the shard of glass. It was a couple of inches wide, so it must be short or it’d have done worse damage. There was the chance that removing it would cause a gush of blood, but be damned if he’d climb out with it in situ.

It was slippery with blood, but he got a grip and yanked, choking back the pain. He felt new, hot blood, but no great spurt of it.

He’d do.

Prudence wasn’t smiling now. “What’s the matter?” she called.

“Nothing of importance.”

He felt for the glass in his side, but the layers of coat, waistcoat, and shirt muffled it. He couldn’t get at it to pull it out. So be it.

He grabbed the upper doorjamb and muscled himself up and onto the top, cursing as quietly as he could. From there it was easy enough to slide down the coach to the ground. Once there, however, he swayed and found he had to lean against an undamaged wheel to let the world settle around him.

P
rudence ran over to him, touching him, patting him. “How badly are you hurt? Your breeches are dark with blood.”

He suddenly felt a great deal better. He looked over at their young rescuer, who was mounting his cob. “I can’t stay, sir. I’m on an errand for my master.”

“I understand. Thank you for your assistance. Can you leave word at the next place that we need transportation?”

“I’ll do that, sir,” he said, and rode off back the way they’d come.

“It’s been a while since we passed anywhere likely to have decent horses, never mind a carriage,” Cate said.

“And it’s going to rain. Look at those clouds. I think we’re cursed!”

Cate pulled her into his arms. “Never. Merely challenged, and we always triumph. We’ve just survived an accident that could have proved fatal.”

She pushed back to frown at him. “Are you an eternal optimist?”

“Why not? I have you.”

It clearly perplexed and pleased her at the same time. “You must have banged your head,” she protested. “I’ve been nothing but trouble. Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve scraped your hand. . . .”

She rattled on, still patting him, seeking damage, or simply caring. Being fussed over was remarkably pleasant.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is all my fault.”

“Nonsense, but I tell you the honest truth, my dear. I’ve enjoyed today a great deal more than most recent ones. And your legs are delightful.”

“My
legs
?”

“As you scrambled out of the coach.”

Her jaw dropped, and then she swatted his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have looked!”

That made him laugh, perhaps a little wildly, which caused new concern.

“No, no,” he assured her. “No head wound. I’m not mad. Merely insanely happy. I was speared by some glass, but I pulled it out.”

“Where? Oh . . .” Her anxious hands hovered, but she couldn’t quite find the courage to touch him there.

Time to take charge and see what needed to be done. He straightened and limped toward the horses.

“You’re dripping blood!” she exclaimed. “Stay still. That wound must be bandaged before you move another step.”

“Truly, it’s nothing, and I promised to help the coachman if he needed it.”

The man had the two horses calm, but blood ran from the side of one, and another held a leg off the ground. Even so, they’d come off better than could be hoped.

“Broken legs?” he called to the man.

“No, thank the Lord, but nasty, the poor beasts. They need care.”

“Where’s the next place ahead?”

“I don’t rightly know, sir, and me maps are who knows where in that mess.”

“Can the horses walk?”

“I think so, sir.” The man took the reins and urged the animals forward. They went reluctantly, but even the one favoring a leg could use it.

“Then you’d best walk them slowly on to the next place and get them attention. Send some sort of transportation back if you can. If we end up with two extra coaches, so be it.”

“Right you are, sir. Come on, come on, me beauties. Oats and rest just a little way away.”

Cate watched as the horses limped off down the road, hoping their injuries were slight. He then turned to survey the wreck. The broken wheel was in pieces, and that side of the coach shattered. The pole had twisted in some way, which would have spared the horses a bit, but the coachman must have been thrown off.

“We could have died,” Prudence said.

He turned to find her hugging herself as if chilly. He felt the same.