“Oh, my dear! Are you hurt?” Sara called out, already pulling free of her husband’s playful embrace. “Here, Bentley. I must see to her.”

There was a rush of movement, the sense of a much larger entity cleaving through the group. Before Celia could form an answer, Gabriel was at her side. Kneeling in the gravel of the dusty road, his hands reached under her skirts while Celia struggled to comprehend his speed in dismounting his horse and reaching her.

“Be still, now.” His voice rumbled through her like a thunderstorm. “Is it your knee or ankle?”

“My ankle, I think,” Celia whispered as Gabriel’s fingers brushed over her stocking-covered upper leg before moving downward in a feather-soft caress of exploration.

“Then we must unravel these laces and relieve the pressure. Otherwise, you will suffer even more as time passes.”

Celia stared at Gabriel’s bowed head in dumbfounded amazement as he began untying the laces of her walking boots. His boldness was unheard of. His actions were completely inappropriate.

And utterly scandalous. Was he intentionally trying to ruin them both? No gentleman would dare thrust his hand beneath a lady’s skirt in such a manner and certainly not within full view of others. Even if he only meant to ease her discomfort, it simply wasn’t done.

But there was no ignoring the thrill of his gloved hand holding her foot steady against his thigh as he worked on the strings. A dangerous flash of pleasure overrode the pain, leaving her gasping in surprise. Gabriel glanced up at the slight sound, his jaw morphing into a block of steel as implications of this spontaneous rescue began sinking in.

And yet, he did not stop.

Gathering around, the other ladies pressed closer so they would have a better view of Gabriel’s hand beneath Celia’s skirts. Scandalized murmurs, like the darkening rain clouds overhead, swirled around them.

“Blast, why didn’t I think of doing that?” With a huff of indignation, Lady Lydia popped open a blue sprigged parasol. She held it high so there would be no interference with the grandeur of the matching hat.

Raindrops plunked onto the graveled road. Fat, cold raindrops that would soon send everyone scattering in search of drier environs. Although they provided flimsy protection at most during a rainstorm, parasols sprung open like garden blooms.

Gabriel’s shirt was becoming splotched by the drops, the cambric clinging to his skin in various areas. Celia swallowed hard. A smattering of curling dark hair peeped from the open vee of the garment. He was so close she could see the pulse of his heart beating in the vein running alongside his neck.

Good Lord.

“Come away now, butterfly, before you receive a soaking,” Sebastian instructed his wife while sharing a nod with Gabriel.

That tore Celia’s attention away from Gabriel’s neck. A shiver of apprehension chased her nerves. Odd, but Sebastian’s slight gesture toward his friend seemed as though it might be one of permission.

Throwing Sebastian an exasperated glare, Ivy ignored the directive and knelt beside her friend. “I shall send carriages back immediately for—”