His eyes warmed. “Thank you for sharing that pertinent piece of information, Miss Lyndon. It isn't every day I allow a strange woman to saw off my boots.”

“It isn't every day I nearly get knocked to the ground by men falling from trees. Strange men,” she added for emphasis.

“Ah yes, I should introduce myself, I s'pose.” He cocked his head in a manner that reminded Ellie that he was still more than a touch inebriated. “Charles Wycombe at your service, Miss Lyndon. Earl of Billington.” Then he muttered, “Much as that's worth.”

Ellie stared at him unblinkingly. Billington? He was one of the county's most eligible bachelors. So eligible that even she'd heard of him, and she wasn't on anybody's list of eligible young ladies. Rumor had it that he was the worst sort of rake. Ellie had heard him whispered about at village gatherings, although as an unmarried lady she'd never been privy to the juiciest gossip. She tended to think that his reputation must be very black if he did things that couldn't even be mentioned in her presence.

Ellie had also heard that he was fantastically wealthy, even more so than her sister Victoria's new husband, who was Earl of Macclesfield. Ellie couldn't personally vouch for that, as she hadn't seen his personal finance ledgers, and she made it a point never to speculate on financial matters without hard evidence. But she did know that the Billington estate was vast and ancient.

And it was a good twenty miles away. “What are you doing here in Bellfield?” she blurted out.

“Just visiting my old childhood haunts.”

Ellie motioned toward the branches above them with her head. “Your favorite tree?”

“Used to climb it all the time with Macclesfield.”

Ellie finished her work on the boot and put the knife down. “Robert?” she asked.

Charles looked suspicious and a bit protective. “You're on a first-name basis with him? He's recently married.”

“Yes. To my sister.”

“The world grows smaller by the second,” he murmured. “I'm honored to make your acquaintance.”

“You might rethink that sentiment in a moment,” Ellie remarked. With a gentle touch, she slid his swollen foot from his boot.

Charles looked down at his mangled boot with a pained expression. “I suppose my ankle is more important,” he said wistfully, but he didn't sound as if he meant it.

Ellie expertly prodded his ankle. “I don't think you've broken any bones, but you've a nasty sprain.”

“You sound experienced at this sort of thing.”

“I come to the rescue of any wounded animal,” she said, arching her brows. “Dogs, cats birds—”

“Men,” he finished for her.

“No,” she said pertly. “You're the first. But I cannot imagine that you'd be that much different from a dog.”

“Your fangs are showing, Miss Lyndon.”

“Are they?” she asked, reaching up to touch her face.“I shall have to remember to retract them.”

Charles burst out laughing. “You, Miss Lyndon, are a treasure.”

“That's what I keep telling everyone,” she said with a shrug and a wicked smile, “but no one seems to believe me. Now then, I fear you will require a cane for several days. Possibly a week. Have you one at your disposal?”