Lady In Waiting (43 page)

der Lamont's eyes as she careened toward him.
Heaven help me!
She squeezed her eyes shut.

******************

Bloody hell.

His ribs were cracked. Maybe his spine too.

At the very least his new cutaway coat was ruined. He was lying in the dirt after all.

What in Hades had happened?

Alexander La
m
ont lifted his head from a clod of grass and focused his eyes on a most intriguing sigh
t
— a pair of bare female thighs traversing his middle.

Damn it all.
No sooner had he vowed to remain celibate, to remain the veriest picture of decorum until marriag
e
—or his father's passin
g
—
w
hen women bloody well started dropping from the sky.

Lying flat on his back, Alexander Lamont shoved a heavy branch from his shoulder and blew at the dew dampened leaves sticking to his cheek. Every muscle smarted.

Slowly, he raised himself a bit on one elbow to marvel at the shapely woman laying in a crumpled mass of dark blue silk across his body.

She wasn't moving, and for a clutch of seconds, Alexander was quite certain that she had died right there atop him. But then he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and was able to breathe easier himself.

"Miss?" He gave his hip a bit of a buck. Still she didn't budge. "Darling, you've cut off the blood to my legs. I say, can you move?"

No answer. This was looking worse by the moment.

He raised his right hand, and found it caught in a fine web of copper ringlets. Unable to disentangle himself,

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he wrenched his fingers through the hair, but his golden signet ring caught and snagged a long tendril.

He heard a groan, and suddenly he was looking into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Glaring blue eyes, the color and hardness of polished sapphires.

"Sir, do you intend to rip every strand from my head, or might you leave me a few?"

He didn't reply. He knew better, for there was no correct answer. Women were shrewd that way.

Besides, already her delicate hands, the color of sweet cream, were working to free her hair. Finally succeeding, she pushed up from his chest, with what Alexander decided was unnecessary force, for unbelievable shards of pain knifed through his ribs.

Leaning back on her boot heels, she stared down at him, biting her full, pink lower lip. Framed by her vibrant flaming hair and startling blue eyes, her oval face seemed unnaturally pale, save a scarlet scrape traversing her left cheek.

"Can you stand?" Her voice was soft with concern now and she lifted a hand to him. But there was anger in her eyes. Indeed, as well as something more palpable. Loathing?

How curious.

Planting his freed palm in the soft earth, Alexander bent at his waist and raised himself to a sitting position, willing himself not to wince.

A look of relief eased across the young woman's delicate features. "
I
... I thank you for ... cushioning my fall." At the snap of a twig, she raised her eyes to a point behind him and he heard his new French acquaintance's lilting voice.

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"You are lucky to have been spared, mademoiselle. Look at the balloon."

Alexander glanced up into the guts of the oak, where he saw a large wicker basket skewered by a thick limb.

There was a sudden thrash of leaves, and a weatherworn man dropped down from a wide branch and thudded down on a patch of damp earth behind him.

"I told ye we were too low," the pilot snarled at the fiery haired lass, then shook a wild finger at the basket and the deflated balloon blanketing the tree's soaring canopy. "And look at my Betsy now! Ye owe me, miss, owe me quite a lot!"

The young lady turned her frantic blue eyes from the pilot to Alexander.

"
I
...
I
—
O
h, dear." She brought a hand to her head, then crumpled back down atop him.

Forgetting his own pain, Alexander lunged forward and cradled her limp body in his arms. He looked from her wan features up to the pilot. "Do you know her name? Where she lives?"

"
'Er name's Miss Merriweather," the pilot offered. "Hails from Hanover Square or somewhere thereabouts."

"
M
o
n Dieu,
is she going to die?"

Alexander looked up at the French woman as she collected, then handed over, what he took to be the miss's belongings. "No, my dear. But I fear she requires assistance without delay." Digging into his coat pocket, he fingered a cool coin and flipped it to his lovely new acquaintance. "This should see you home. I am sorry that I cannot help you with the stone in your boot, as you requested."

"
Merci,
 
monsieur
.
"
The dark-eyed mademoiselle

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caught the coin and, with a grin, stuffed it into her bounteous cleavage. "And do not worry yourself about my boot. The stone will dislodge itself." She flashed a coquettish smile his way. "But then, perhaps it won't. Maybe you will be so kind as to come to Ten Russell Square later this eve and check for me,
o
u
i
?”

Alexander grinned, but kept to task and lifted the pale young lady into his arms. Stepping over the clutter of broken limbs and leaf-sprigged branches, he started down the footpath.

"
Monsieur,
where are you taking her?" the French woman called out, a tinge of worry licking her thickly accented words.

"Home," Alexander shouted back over his shoulder. "I'm taking her home."

******************

Home,
he'd said.

Sweet heavens, Meredith only hoped he meant
hers
and not his own beastly lair. Lud, what a pickle she'd be in then.

Meredith held her eyes tightly closed and continued feigning unconsciousness.

Yes, it was deceitful, but there was no help for it. Only, she wished she had thought to fall backward, instead of straight onto Alexander La
m
ont.

But the balloon pilot was about to expose her experiment, wasn't he? She had to do something to stop him, and unfortunately, fainting was the first method that came to her mind. Her great aunt Viola, a kindred spirit if ever there was one, used the method whenever necessary and with great success.

Of course, Meredith hadn't taken the time to think

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what other events her fainting episode might set into motion. And now here she was in the arms of the most dangerous man in London
—
oh, no.
She sniffed the air, and now sure of what she sensed, cringed inwardly.

Horses.
She s
m
elled horses. Heard the grunts and scuffle of the beasts. Her heart began to pound a terrified tattoo inside her chest.

He'd taken her to a stable, of all places! Well, this little folly of hers had gone on long enough. She must end it this very instant!

In a most calculated manner, she allowed her head to loll lazily forward, until it struck a heavy button.
Time for a murmur.

Add a little sigh. Lovely, lovely.

Eyelids flicker an
d
... open.

Oh, hellf
i
re.

As she lifted her lids, Meredith found herself staring into dark mossy green eyes, ringed with a tea-hued band. The combination was not unique. Meredith had seen it before, she was sure she had. But somehow the welcoming warmth of these particular eyes made her want to plunge into their depths and wade there a while longer.

"I see you've come back to me." Alexander Lamont's lips lifted and he leveled her with an equally moving smile that made her blood fizz in her veins and her body go all wobbly.

A jolt of nervous realization skated through her limbs. Heavens! It was happening. She was being taken in by a rak
e
—
a
gain!

Well, she wasn't about to give herself over so easily this time. She glared up at him through narrowed eyes. "Sir, I implore you. Return me to my feet at once,

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please." She snapped her fingers twice, as she'd seen her great aunt do when the servants were dawdling, but this only earned her an amused grin.

" 'Ere ye are, my lord. Brushed him down for ye, just how ye like."

Meredith turned her head to see a stable hand leading forth the most gargantuan horse she'd ever seen. Its black hide gleamed almost blue, and even Meredith, who possessed an unnatural warines
s
—
a
ll right, a horrible
f
e
a
r
—
o
f the beasts, had to admit this one was . .. well, rather spectacular.

In the next instant, Alexander La
m
ont raised her up as if she weighed no more than a feathe
r
—
w
hich with her heavy thighs and plump bottom, was far from the trut
h
—
a
nd settled her upon the great equine's back.

"N-no!" Her hands shot outward and her fingers frantically clawed Lamont's sleeves before he could lower his arms.
Oh, blast.
Her lips were quivering now.

"There, there, miss. You shan't ride alone." With that he cuffed his foot in the stirrup, swung a leg over the horse's back and came down on the saddle behind her. Then the rake scooted close and pulled her tightly against him.

Against
him.
Yes,
that
part of him. Why she could feel every . . .
curve
through those tight deerskin breeches men favored these days.

Heat washed across Meredith's face, and given the milky whiteness of her countenance, she knew her cheeks glowed like hot embers in a hearth.

Instantly sh
e
clung to him, lest she fall. Her body was shaking. La, how she wished horses did not petrify her
s
o.

He smiled down at her and sat up straighter in the

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saddle. At that moment she noticed, beneath his hat, that his hair was every bit as black as the horse's swishing tail.

"Hanover Square, is that correct?"

The deep tone of his voice rumbled inside Meredith's chest, sending a vibration clear through to he
r
... well, never mind.

"I am quite capable of walking, sir. So if you'll just let me—"

"Wouldn't think of it, Miss Merriweather. I've made it a practice: whenever a woman tumbles out of the sky into my lap, I always see her home to the safety of her family." He turned his mesmerizing gaze upon her. "And the name is Lord Lansing."

"I know who you are." Meredith cocked her head and met his gaze straight on. "All of London, those of the gentler sex anyway, knows of you. You, my lord, are London's most notorious rogue."

He laughed at that. "I fear you have me confused with another."

"I daresay, I do not."

"Ah, but you do. The Lord Lansing you refer to no longer exists. For you see, Miss Merriweather, I have reformed."

Meredith snickered at his gall. "Well, nevertheless, my aunts would think it imprudent to allow you to escort me home. So if you will just stop and let me dow
n
—"

"I do apologize, Miss Merriweather, but I
will
see you to your home. Remember, women falling from the sky?" He poked a single finger into the air. "It is a rule with me. I cannot divert."

There was laughter in his voice, and in any other

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rom A LADY'S GUIDE TO RAKES
      
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circumstanc
e
—
a
nd were he any other ma
n
—
s
he might have smiled. But not now. She was intimately pressed against London's worst rake, riding toward Mayfair, and there was nothing she could do about it!