Chapter 3

That was Sir Royce Pemberley and Liza, kissing one another in his phaeton as if no one could see. And they are married, which is even worse! It will raise expectations all over town, and all hell will break loose.

Lady Birlington to her nephew, Edmond Valmont, as that young man followed her into the lending library, his arms overflowing with her overstuffed reticule, a large fur muff, two pillows, a shawl with Oriental fringe, three unread books, and a very overweight pug

“Good God,” Harriet said, sinking to her heels beside the prone man, her heart thudding an uneven beat.

He lay on his back, an angry wound on his temple, blood smeared down one side of his face. The ground beneath his head was wet, a blackish halo about his head.

The brush crackled as Ophelia made her way into the clearing. “Did you find—good heavens!”

“He’s injured, and there’s a lot of blood.” Harriet swallowed when she heard her own voice trembling. She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to the wound. “Ophelia, go back to the cart and bring the bucket of water we brought for the sheep. Send Sophia to fetch help.”

“How bad is—”

“Now!”

Ophelia whirled and ran, her feet flying over the path.

Harriet had never seen so much blood; her kerchief was already soaked and useless. Blast it, but the man is going to bleed to death if I don’t do something.

She threw her useless kerchief on the ground and lifted her skirt to rip strips of linen from her shift. It was an old shift; all of her shifts were old. But it was very clean and made of good, serviceable linen.

Harriet formed a makeshift bandage out of the cloth, then held it firmly against the wound.

The bleeding slowed somewhat, but did not stop, the bandage swiftly turning red. “Hurry, Ophelia,” Harriet muttered.

With her free hand, she dusted off a fringe of dried leaves and dirt from his cheek, absently noting the intricate tie of his cravat. The horse they’d found must belong to this man. He was certainly dressed in a manner that matched the animal’s exquisite breeding. The man’s coat was of extraordinary cloth and cut, his cravat of the finest linen, his boots of the latest style. Everything about him seemed perfection itself. In fact…her gaze drifted over the man’s face, an involuntary sigh escaping her lips.

He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. His jaw and lips were the carved perfection of a Greek statue. His skin a lovely golden color. Thick black hair, sticky wet with blood on one side, curled back from his forehead.

Harriet pressed the bandage more firmly in place, willing the blood to cease. The man’s eyes fluttered, then opened, the thick lashes lifting to reveal eyes the blue of a cerulean sky.

Harriet’s chest constricted. Good God, but he had beautiful eyes. Astonishingly so. Despite the awkward hammering of her heart, she forced herself to smile calmly. “You are injured, but help is on the way.”