Chapter Six
The first thing Lissy was aware of was a thumping headache. The second thing, far more importantly, was that she was still alive—although feeling decidedly battered and bruised. As the memory of her narrow escape returned, she began to tremble.
Immediately, she felt a comforting presence, hands helping her to her feet, strong arms wrapped around her, a sturdy chest to rest her cheek against. It felt good, and she closed her eyes for just a moment.
Then the memories came flooding back. This was Roland Chetwynd. This was most improper! She pushed away from him, only to encounter something rough and firm at her back, trapping her, and she could barely put a few inches between her body and his.
She still felt weak and giddy, and it was so dark that she wondered if her sight had been affected by her fall, but Roland’s outline gradually became clear, etched by gray light.
“Have I been in a faint?” Her voice was reedy, uncertain.
“Steady now, Miss Ashby. You were unconscious for only fifteen minutes or so, I think, but after that you fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake you until I felt sure you’d be well-recovered.”
She ran her fingers over the hard surface that surrounded her—rough and wet with slime. The smell of moss and damp earth filled her nostrils, and she noticed a few places in the cramped space where gray light filtered in, mostly through small holes. They must be inside an old hollow tree!
“We’re quite safe. How do you feel?”
She sucked in a series of shuddering breaths. “What a perilous, madcap thing to do, to leap from a moving carriage, even one that was going slowly!” She felt like hitting him for frightening her so badly.
“But my ploy worked, didn’t it?”
It had worked for now. But this was no time for congratulations. Groaning, she raised her hand to investigate her head and touched something sticky. “I appear to be injured.”
Roland caught her wrist and brought her hand down again.
“Leave it alone until we can get it seen to properly. A cut on your head has bled freely, as head wounds tend to do. Don’t worry—in my experience, they usually look far worse than they are, and you’ll be fine as soon as we can get you bandaged up. ”
“How did I get here?” She had no recollection of walking or of climbing inside a lightning-blasted oak tree. And how had she managed to fall asleep at a moment of such dire peril?
“I carried you.” There was a significant pause. “You see, some of those supposedly pointless sports we gentlemen waste our time on are useful in building strength. Enough to carry a young female in a water-logged gown half a mile or so.”
He must have continued to hold her—there wasn’t enough room to stretch out. How decidedly unnerving! “Then I suppose I must thank you, Mr. Chetwynd.” She kept her voice as formal as she could.
He cleared his throat, then said, “Roland, please. We’re well enough acquainted to be on first-name terms now.”
She couldn’t allow him the liberty of calling her Lissy. He might be clad in hero’s garb at this precise moment, but she knew gentlemen such as he were not to be trusted, and the illusion of heroism would not last.
“You may call me Felicity. But preferably not in public.” In public?
That suggested they might meet again once their unwelcome adventure was over.
Her cheeks flushed. She’d prefer to avoid him and forget any of it had ever happened.
She’d been an absolute fool, and Mama would be totally justified in ringing a peal over her.
“What do we do now? Do you think they’ll find us?”
A sharp breeze thrust its way through the hollow tree, and Roland turned, peering out into the growing dusk. A sliver of fear crawled down Lissy’s neck.
“I haven’t heard a sound since we got here, so I’m assuming we’re safe. But we must move—you need warmth, dry clothes, and a roof over your head. There should be a farmhouse nearby—somebody manages that pond full of thatching reeds. And I spied a field of cows in the distance.”
“We’d better go soon, then.” The idea of leaving this haven, where she was protected by the solid wall of his body, was distressing. But he was right—they couldn’t stay here.
He stepped out of the crack in the tree, then turned and helped her out. But when he moved to scoop her up into his arms, she backed away. It was one thing to be unconscious in the grasp of an attractive gentleman, quite another to be wide awake and aware of every step.
“We’ll go faster if I walk. But how will we find the farmhouse?”
“If we skirt along the hedgerows and head for the cow pasture, we ought to be able to find some kind of track that the cows use when they go to be milked—assuming we haven’t already seen the farmhouse by the time we get to the field.”
“Wait a moment.”
She sniffed at the air. Wood smoke! Even though the light was beginning to fade, she could just make out a chimney in the distance, with a faint light emanating from beneath it. Excited, she pointed. “Over there! We can make directly for it!”
“I am pleasantly surprised to discover what a worthy companion you are in a crisis, Miss Ashby. Felicity. But there is one thing I would ask of you before we go.”
He shuffled his feet awkwardly, which puzzled her. He was normally so self-assured.
“I think it best we present ourselves henceforth as husband and wife, under an assumed name. I have no concern for my reputation, obviously, but yours has already had a knock and is in jeopardy now that your former sweetheart is in league with a scoundrel. I’m traveling under the assumed name of Mr. Cowley, so you shall be Mrs. Cowley. ”
“Is that absolutely necessary?” Her reluctance was tempered with the tiniest hint of anticipation, and she glanced at him covertly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush on her cheeks.
The corners of his mouth were tilted, almost as if he were enjoying their adventure.
Well—she wasn’t, not one little bit. All the same, she’d rather have a savior who expected a positive outcome than one who always anticipated the worst. Someone like Oscar, for example.
Just occasionally, she’d wondered if Oscar’s “tortured artist” characteristics were just an act, part of a ploy to draw her in, to wind himself around her heart and make her his willing captive.
Now, she’d seen a completely different side to him, one she could never have imagined.
It all proved that she was a terrible judge of character and would be wise never to trust a gentleman again. Not even the charming, resourceful, devastatingly handsome Mr. Roland Chetwynd.