The Proposal Read Online Free PDF Page B

Stanbrook?”
    “I am a guest at his home,” he said curtly. “Now, we can do this the hard way, ma’am. I can hoist you to one foot and support you about the waist while you hop along at my side. But I warn you it is some distance to the house. Or we can do it the easy way, and I will simply carry you.”
    “Oh, no!” she cried again, more forcefully this time and half shrank away from him. “I weigh a ton. Besides …”
    “I doubt it, ma’am,” he said. “I believe I am quite capable of carrying you without dropping you or doing permanent damage to my back.”
    He bent over her, wrapped one arm about her shoulders while he slid the other beneath her knees, and straightened up with her. She freed one arm hastily from her cloak and flung it about his neck. But it was quickly obvious that she was startled and alarmed—and then very indignant.
    He had, of course, offered her a choice but had not waited for her to make it. But really there had been no choice. Only a daft woman would have chosen to hop along at his side merely to preserve a bit of feminine dignity.
    He strode upward with her as best he could while allowing for the give of the pebbles.
    “Do you always,” she asked him, her voice breathless and coldly haughty, “do exactly as you please, Mr. Trentham, even when you appear to be offering an option to your victims?”
    Victims?
    “Besides,” she continued without giving him a chance to answer her question, “I would have chosen neither option, sir. I would prefer to make my own way home on my own two feet.”
    “That would be downright silly,” he said, not even trying to hide the scorn he was feeling. “Your ankle is in a bad way.”
    She smelled good. It was not the sort of perfume that all too many women splashed all over themselves, the sort that assaulted one’s nasal passages and throat and set one to sneezing and coughing. He suspected that it was a very expensive fragrance. It clung enticingly about her person but did not invade his own. Her dress was a pale mushroom color and appeared to be made of finest wool. Expensive wool. This was no impoverished lady.
    Just a careless and silly one.
    And were not ladies supposed to be trailed by maids and assorted chaperons wherever they went? Where was her entourage? He might have been saved from personal involvement if she had been properly accompanied.
    “That ankle is always troublesome,” she said. “I am accustomed to it. I habitually limp. I fell from a horse and broke it a number of years ago, and it was not set properly. I really must ask you to put me down and allow me to go on my way.”
    “It is badly swollen,” he said. “If you have come from the village, you have a mile to go to get back there. How long do you estimate it would take you to hop or crawl that distance?”
    “I believe,” she said, her voice cool and disdainful, “that is my concern, Mr. Trentham, not yours. But you are the type of man who must always be right, I perceive, while other people must always be wrong—at least in your estimation.”
    Well, good Lord! Did she think he was enjoying playing Sir Galahad?
    They were still on the upward slope, though they had left the pebbles behind and were on the firmer ground of coarse, scrubby grass. He stopped abruptly, set her down on her feet, and took one step away from her. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked steadily at her with an expression that had used to wither soldiers in their tracks.
    He was actually going to enjoy this.
    “Thank you,” she said with chilly hauteur—though she had the grace to look suddenly apologetic. “I thank you for coming to my assistance, sir. You could easily have avoided doing so. I had not seen you, as you must have realized. I am Lady Muir.”
    Ah, definitely a lady. She probably expected him to bow and scrape and tug on his forelock.
    She took one step back from him—and collapsed in an undignified heap on the ground.
    He stood looking down at her and