Sophie thrust the reins at Thomas and was out of the carriage as Moonstone came to a shuddering, snorting halt. The man sat on the dusty grass with his back to her, the child between his knees, and did not look up as Sophie reached them.
‘That was very exciting to be sure. Did you bump anything?’ The deep voice was calm and interested.
Tousled blonde curls shook and the little girl removed her thumb from her mouth. ‘Pretty horsey.’
‘Very pretty,’ the man agreed. ‘And where is your nursemaid?’
‘Miss Lucy! Oh, Miss Lucy!’ A young woman in a plain blue gown and cloak and a straw bonnet ran across the track and snatched the child into her arms. The infant began to bawl.
‘She was perfectly fine a moment ago,’ Sophie said, relief making her sharp. ‘Do not fuss her so and she will stop crying. Come and talk to the pretty horsey, Miss Lucy.’
That worked like a charm. Moonstone submitted to having her nose patted, the sobs died away and the nursemaid was able to check that her charge was not so much as bruised. She hurried her away, scolding over the renewed cries as Miss Lucy was removed from Moonstone.
‘The maid might at least have said Thank you. If it wasn’t for you that could have been dreadful.’ Sophie turned back to the rescuer and found him still sitting on the grass. His back was hunched and there was something very wrong with the line of his shoulders. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
He looked up as she dropped to her knees in front of him. ‘You will forgive me if I do not get up for a moment. I appear to have dislocated my shoulder.’ He was pale under the tan, his dark hair ruffled, his mouth set in a hard line against what must be agonising pain, but the silver eyes smiled at her. ‘You drive a very dashing equipage, Miss Wilmott.’
‘Your Grace.’ Of course, of all the men in London to choose from, she had to run down the Lost Duke and almost achieve what seven years of perilous foreign travel had not.
Chapter Three - Where the Duke Discovers Desire
‘You are in pain.’ Oh well done, Sophie. A statement of the utterly obvious. He looks as though he’s in agony.
‘Dislocations tend to be uncomfortable. If you will give me your hand for a moment so I can get up without falling flat on my face again, I would be obliged.’
‘I’ll get my groom.’ She scrambled to her feet and ran back to the phaeton. ‘Give me the reins, Thomas. You help His Grace to his feet – carefully, minding his right arm. I’ll drive him directly to Doctor Felbrigg.’
Toby had dislocated his arm once, hunting. He’d described it as the worst pain he had ever endured. Worse than a broken leg, worse than a shoulder full of buckshot from a pigeon-shooting accident. ‘I was screaming the place down,’ he’d confessed. ‘Cast up my accounts, almost bit the doctor.’ And now it was her fault that the Duke was suffering the same. She should never have taken that blind rise at a trot.
Dealing with the guilt at least distracted her as Thomas helped him to the phaeton and, with a lot of grunting on the groom’s part and utter silence on the Duke’s, got him seated. He held his right arm to his body with his left hand.
‘Would a sling help?’
‘No. Thank you.’ He had turned a nasty shade of beige and his voice was clipped. ‘Possibly a mallet to the head would. Best take me to the Park Ranger’s cottage, although I am afraid it is somewhat out of your way.’
‘For goodness sake,’ she snapped, then got a rein on her nerves. ‘As if my convenience matters. I will go direct to our doctor’s house, it will be faster. He lives just off St James’s Street.’
‘Bossy, Miss Wilmott.’
‘Sensible, Duke.’
‘Call me Cal.’
Moonstone had settled into a steady walk. Sophie risked a sideways glance. ‘That would be most improper.’
‘And being proper is a prime consideration with you, of course, Sophie. I had noticed.’
Sarcastic beast. ‘Mama would be shocked.’ Thomas’s ears must be flapping. She could almost feel the draught.
‘Your mama, unless she is a completely unnatural parent, would be delighted to have you on terms of intimacy with a duke and we both know it.’
A suppressed snort behind them confirmed the suspicion that Thomas was following the conversation. ‘Terms, possibly,’ Sophie said repressively. ‘Intimacy, certainly not.’
‘W, W, I, G, G,’ he murmured. ‘With excellent endowments, so I have always been told.’
The gurgle of laughter escaped her before she could catch it. Brave, handsome and amusing. Oh dear. Another glance showed that his lips had relaxed into a smile, but his eyes were closed.
‘We are about to turn out of the park. There may be a lurch and a bump.’ They negotiated the turn to the accompaniment of a hiss of pain. ‘Your hat was beyond saving, I fear.’ Distraction might help.