Page 7 of Lady Controversial
Ellery Haigh, the man whom she had heard constant talk about, was everything that Jane had warned her to expect. For once her sister had not exaggerated a gentleman’s attributes. Tight-fitting buckskin displayed strong thighs. Aware that her gaze ought not to be drawn to that part of his anatomy she hastily averted it to his face, upon which a faintly amused half-smile had displaced his annoyance, highlighting those disgustingly rugged features. A lock of thick hair fell across his forehead and he pushed it aside impatiently, watching her with idle amusement as she attempted to gather her scattered wits.
Then Brutus came gambolling up to them, breaking the spell. The earl claimed that the dog was his and Isolda was obliged to concede it was likely the truth. Even so, had her head not continued to spin she would likely have rung a peal over him, earl or no, for his neglect of the poor little chap.
‘If he is yours then you should take better care of him,’ she made do with saying in an indignant tone. She lowered herself gingerly onto the boulder that the earl conducted her to, but only because she was unsure if her legs were capable of supporting her. She didn’t ordinarily do as she was told. She was proud of her contrary nature and valued her independence. ‘When I found him he was half-starved and looked pathetic.’
Brutus transferred his attention away from Isolda and bestowed it upon the earl, jumping up at his doubtless expensive boots and scratching at the leather with his claws. If the earl noticed, it didn’t seem to concern him, but then Isolda supposed that he wasn’t responsible for cleaning them.
‘He escaped from his keeper while I was away from home,’ the earl said, continuing to watch her with an expression of amused forbearance. The expression made his dark eyes twinkle and caused Isolda’s insides to curdle in a most peculiar yet not unpleasant manner. Another consequence of her tumble, she assumed. She would soon be her normal, level-headed self again, just as soon as she had persuaded the earl to right the gig for her. Then he could legitimately leave her be, gallantry concluded, and she could be on her way. ‘I was concerned. Enquiries were made at the village, but no one had seen him and I feared the worst.’
‘I have kept him at Rose Cottage. I didn’t realise that he’d followed me when I left just now. I should have considered that possibility,’ she conceded, nibbling absently at the tip of her index finger.
‘You did not think to enquire after his owner in the village?’ he asked in a non-judgmental tone.
‘Certainly not! His owner,’ she added emphatically, fondling the dog’s ears, ‘should have made better provisions for his wellbeing. Since he did not, I concluded that he didn’t deserve him.’
‘Well, that’s me told,’ the earl remarked with a deep, throaty chuckle.
‘I presume that you want him back.’ Isolda was furious when a single tear trickled down her cheek. She made a point of never crying. It was not becoming and seldom achieved anything. Jane could turn on the tears at the drop of a hat, if only to get her own way, and Isolda found her behaviour intensely annoying.
The earl watched her for a long time without speaking. Brutus, meanwhile, stayed beside her. That, Isolda knew, was partly because she continued to make a fuss of him, but even so she was ridiculously pleased that he had taken her side in a dispute that she would never win. If he insisted upon the return of his dog then she would have no choice but to comply.
‘He seems to have taken a liking to you. I was worried about his wellbeing, but I can see that I need not have been.’ He paused and continued to watch as Isolda fussed over the dog. ‘Keep him. He is a gift.’
Isolda offered him her first smile, an uncontrived expression that appeared to take him aback. ‘Thank you!’ she said with heartfelt sincerity. ‘That is the nicest thing that anyone has done for me in many a long year.’
The earl shook his head. ‘What a terribly sad admission to make.’
‘Why?’ She lifted one shoulder and winced.
‘You are in pain.’
Was she? She felt nothing, and yet she felt everything; every nuance, every word that he did not speak. She felt attracted to him, which was vexing. Every female below the age of fifty would no doubt feel the same way, and she disliked being so predictable. She smiled as she considered Jane’s reaction,ifshe decided to tell her about the encounter. She would be green with envy and would plague Isolda with questions about the earl’s person, his manner, his style of dress…everything about him.
Best to keep quiet, she decided.
The earl knelt beside her and gently manipulated her shoulder with one large hand. She yelped but otherwise withstood the torture wordlessly.
‘It’s not dislocated,’ he told her. ‘You wouldn’t be able to move it at all if it was. You fell on it and you have doubtless bruised it. Can you stand?’
‘Of course.’ She stood up quickly, and almost toppled over. Shewouldhave toppled, had not a strong arm shot out to steady her.
‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘By the way, you do know that you were trespassing.’
‘Trespassing?’ She shook her head. ‘No, that isn’t possible. I always come this way when I need to go to the village, and no one has ever questioned my right.’
‘That’s because Rose Cottage stands alone at the end of this track, and the track forms part of my estate.’
Isolda sent him a look of mild rebuke. ‘In that case you can be sure that I shall not trespass again and will take the long way round,’ she said stiffly.
He chuckled. ‘There is no need. You are perfectly welcome to use this track, just so long as you keep Henry in line.’
‘Henry is normally the most obliging of creatures.’ She failed to trap a capricious smile, enjoying this exchange a little too much. ‘It’s just that a rabbit ran across his path and startled him. Then your horse came thundering towards us and…well, it’s all a bit of a blur after that.’
‘I see.’
The earl regarded her with undisguised amusement—and unless her vision had been affected in the accident, a degree of interest too. No, that was impossible. She must look the most terrible sight. Then she realised what must have amused him and her cheeks flooded with mortification. Her divided skirt was quite shockingly unconventional, a bit like the rest of her, she supposed. Her blouse was ripped and her bonnet had disappeared, leaving her hair falling in tangled disarray to below her waist. Whatever must he think of her? His elegant sisters would have a fit of the vapours if they could see her.
But obviously it didn’t signify what he thought.
