Page 10 of To Break the Rules

Looking up, she was horrified, and yet somehow unsurprised, to discover the cool, impassive gaze of the Marquess of Montagu.

“Oh, really,” she said, wincing as she righted herself. “It just had to be you, didn’t it?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Miss Hunt,” the marquess drawled, the slightest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “A delight, as always.”

“Speak for yourself,” Matilda returned acidly. “My morning seems to have gone to the devil. Oh!” she cried, as she tried to walk away.

“You’re hurt.”

To her surprise there was something like concern in his voice as he reached out to steady her.

“If I am,” she snapped, wrenching her arm from his grasp, “it’s entirely your fault.”

“Miss Hunt, you walked into me,” Montagu replied, irritating her further by stating the obvious.

“Yes, I know,” she muttered, glaring at him. “But if you were anything resembling a gentleman, you’d refrain from pointing that out.”

To her astonishment, Montagu laughed. Matilda had often observed that the marquess never showed a reaction of any kind. He was impossible to rouse to anger—and she’d tried a time or two—and he expressed none of the softer emotions. In all the time she’d known him, she had never once seen him so much as smile. Now, however, his obvious amusement, and its effect on his austerely beautiful face, was devastating.

Matilda caught her breath.

“I apologise for allowing you to walk into me, Miss Hunt,” he said, his silver-grey eyes alight with humour. “I will endeavour to fling myself from your path in the future. How is that?”

Matilda swallowed and gave a taut nod. “Better.”

Eager to be out of the man’s sight with as much haste as possible, she tried to walk away but found the marquess beside her once more. His hand grasped her upper arm to support her as she cursed and stumbled again.

“What are you doing, you little fool?” he asked, his normal autocratic tone evident now. “You’ll make it worse. I’ll have my carriage brought around to take you home.”

“No, I thank you,” Matilda snapped. “The last thing I need is to be seen in your company.”

“Matilda?”

Matilda looked around and sighed with relief as she saw Lucia hurrying towards her.

Thank Heavens.

“What on earth has happened?” Lucia asked, glaring at Montagu. “Unhand my friend, my lord,” she said, sliding her own arm about Matilda’s waist.

“Nothing,” Matilda said in a rush. “I simply turned my ankle. It’s nothing serious, I assure you. Lord Montagu offered to order his carriage to take me home, but I have refused for obvious reasons.”

“Quite,” Lucia said, giving the marquess a look of disgust. “There is no need to trouble yourself further, my lord. I will see Miss Hunt safely home.”

“She cannot walk on that ankle,” Montagu replied, the implacable expression he habitually wore sliding into place. “So, how do you propose to do that?”

Lucia held his gaze for a moment and then looked about her.

“Oh, Mr Richards!”

Matilda followed Lucia’s gaze as she hurried to the edge of the street and waved at a young man driving a rather smart curricle. The fellow beamed with delight at seeing Lucia, and drew his carriage to the side of the busy thoroughfare.

“Why, Señorita de Feria,” he exclaimed. “What a pleasure to see you. How may I be of service?”

“Oh, Mr Richards,” Lucia said, holding her hand to her heart and turning pleading eyes on the besotted young man. “Could you please help us? My friend, Miss Hunt, has turned her ankle, and I must escort her home.”

“Why of course, of course!” Mr Richards exclaimed, all solicitousness as he threw the reins to his tiger and climbed down from his perch. “I’d be honoured to help.”

At this point the young man spotted the marquess, and the hectic colour in his cheeks that Lucia’s presence had wrought drained away in dramatic fashion.