position.
Tony had been devastated.
Yes, admiring from afar allowed one to focus on theinspiring illusion that perfect goodness existed. Heaven knows, he could use some inspiration.
Despite the sensible conclusion that he ought to keep his distance, as always, something about Jenna drew him irresistibly. Knowing no one would forestall his approach—her groom was grazing his horse at the opposite side of the park—he couldn’t help but follow her.
She was riding a different mount this morning—surely not her own, for even now that she’d reached the open expanse of Rotten Row, the placid beast seemed disinclined to exceed a trot. Wondering how long so intrepid a rider would content herself with so stodgy a pace, he had to grin when, a moment later, she gave the mare a light tap with her riding crop.
The smile faded when the horse jerked to a halt, then reared up, lunging and bucking as she attempted to unseat her rider. Before he could even shout a warning, Jenna tumbled sideways out of her saddle and landed facedown on the rocky path.
CHAPTER SIX
S PURRING P AX TO A GALLOP , Tony reached Jenna before her groom even noticed his mistress had fallen. Quickly he secured his horse and limped as fast as he could to where she lay, still ominously unmoving.
Awkwardly he lowered himself to the ground, the familiar taste of fear bitter in his mouth. “Jenna!” he called, patting her shoulder. “Jenna, can you hear me?”
There was no response. He touched her wrist, overjoyed to feel a faint pulse against his shaking fingers. Though she lay with her face in the mud, he dare not move her until he knew the extent of her injuries.
Detachment settling in, he traced down her limbs, then up from the base of her neck. Relief flooded him when he determined that, as best he could tell, the spine appeared intact and no bones had been broken.
By this time the thunder of approaching hoofs told him the groom must have finally seen his fallen mistress. A moment later, a panic-faced lad skidded to a stop beside Tony. “Cor, m’lord, be she dead?”
“She breathes still—no thanks to your diligence,” Tony said acidly. “Help me turn her—gently!”
Tony discovered, as he’d suspected, a purpling contusion on her temple. Her even breathing and steady pulse reassured him somewhat, but he knew a brain injury could be as dangerous as a fracture to the spine. She might also have suffered other, not yet apparent hurts.
Though he was tempted to wait for a carriage to convey her home more gently, his battlefield experience argued that the longer she lay on the cold ground, the greater the danger that she might never recover consciousness or that the chill might settle in her lungs.
Horseback it must be.
“You—” he gestured to the boy “—fetch my horse, over there. Once I’ve mounted, you must hand Lady Fairchild up to me as gently as you can and lead us back to Fairchild House. I don’t want to jostle her any more than necessary, but we must get her home as quickly as possible and summon a physician. Return for her mount later.”
While the lad did as he was bid, Tony thanked God he had his horse available. With his arms well-developed from wielding a saber, lifting Jenna from the groom and balancing her before him in the saddle proved easy enough a task. He knew he’d never have been able to support her weight, slight as it was, were he on foot.
For an instant Tony wondered why Jenna’s seemingly docile mount had suddenly turned so fractious. Far too worried about her condition to spare more than that moment on the thought, he hugged her limp body to his chest.
The transit home seemed to take an age. By the time Upper Brook Street came into view, he was sweating, even his well-trained muscles strained by the effort of holding her as motionless as possible.
Just as they reached the townhouse, Jenna moved at last. Eyes still shut, she murmured and nestled against Tony, as if snuggling into his warmth. Or as if,
Tony had been devastated.
Yes, admiring from afar allowed one to focus on theinspiring illusion that perfect goodness existed. Heaven knows, he could use some inspiration.
Despite the sensible conclusion that he ought to keep his distance, as always, something about Jenna drew him irresistibly. Knowing no one would forestall his approach—her groom was grazing his horse at the opposite side of the park—he couldn’t help but follow her.
She was riding a different mount this morning—surely not her own, for even now that she’d reached the open expanse of Rotten Row, the placid beast seemed disinclined to exceed a trot. Wondering how long so intrepid a rider would content herself with so stodgy a pace, he had to grin when, a moment later, she gave the mare a light tap with her riding crop.
The smile faded when the horse jerked to a halt, then reared up, lunging and bucking as she attempted to unseat her rider. Before he could even shout a warning, Jenna tumbled sideways out of her saddle and landed facedown on the rocky path.
CHAPTER SIX
S PURRING P AX TO A GALLOP , Tony reached Jenna before her groom even noticed his mistress had fallen. Quickly he secured his horse and limped as fast as he could to where she lay, still ominously unmoving.
Awkwardly he lowered himself to the ground, the familiar taste of fear bitter in his mouth. “Jenna!” he called, patting her shoulder. “Jenna, can you hear me?”
There was no response. He touched her wrist, overjoyed to feel a faint pulse against his shaking fingers. Though she lay with her face in the mud, he dare not move her until he knew the extent of her injuries.
Detachment settling in, he traced down her limbs, then up from the base of her neck. Relief flooded him when he determined that, as best he could tell, the spine appeared intact and no bones had been broken.
By this time the thunder of approaching hoofs told him the groom must have finally seen his fallen mistress. A moment later, a panic-faced lad skidded to a stop beside Tony. “Cor, m’lord, be she dead?”
“She breathes still—no thanks to your diligence,” Tony said acidly. “Help me turn her—gently!”
Tony discovered, as he’d suspected, a purpling contusion on her temple. Her even breathing and steady pulse reassured him somewhat, but he knew a brain injury could be as dangerous as a fracture to the spine. She might also have suffered other, not yet apparent hurts.
Though he was tempted to wait for a carriage to convey her home more gently, his battlefield experience argued that the longer she lay on the cold ground, the greater the danger that she might never recover consciousness or that the chill might settle in her lungs.
Horseback it must be.
“You—” he gestured to the boy “—fetch my horse, over there. Once I’ve mounted, you must hand Lady Fairchild up to me as gently as you can and lead us back to Fairchild House. I don’t want to jostle her any more than necessary, but we must get her home as quickly as possible and summon a physician. Return for her mount later.”
While the lad did as he was bid, Tony thanked God he had his horse available. With his arms well-developed from wielding a saber, lifting Jenna from the groom and balancing her before him in the saddle proved easy enough a task. He knew he’d never have been able to support her weight, slight as it was, were he on foot.
For an instant Tony wondered why Jenna’s seemingly docile mount had suddenly turned so fractious. Far too worried about her condition to spare more than that moment on the thought, he hugged her limp body to his chest.
The transit home seemed to take an age. By the time Upper Brook Street came into view, he was sweating, even his well-trained muscles strained by the effort of holding her as motionless as possible.
Just as they reached the townhouse, Jenna moved at last. Eyes still shut, she murmured and nestled against Tony, as if snuggling into his warmth. Or as if,
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