Page 9 of Saving Miss Pratt

“My other foot. Leverage.”

The man was insufferable. She tugged again, the boot against her bottom pushing then propelling her forward, this time with the offending piece of footwear grasped firmly in her hands.

“Ah ha!” She held the blasted boot up in the air like a flag of victory.

He merely grinned, and she wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose you want the other removed as well?”

“If you would be so kind.” He held his booted foot out, that lopsided smile playing across his face.

She threw the boot at his head.

CHAPTER 3—CONFINED IN A COTTAGE

Timothy ducked the flying piece of footwear.

The hellion!She completely shattered his first impression of a spoiled society miss—and nearly his skull in the process. The boot hit the floorboard behind him with a resoundingthud.

“Good thing your aim is terrible,” he grumbled, then tugged at his other boot. At least his left foot remained unswollen, allowing the leather to slip more easily from his leg. He tossed it behind him to join its brother.

The hellion continued to glare at him. He supposed he would have to ask her name. Referring to her ashellionto her face wasn’t likely to win him any favors, and he needed her to tend to the horse and fetch his bag.

“I suppose I should introduce myself since I’ve placed my foot so intimately upon your person.”

Red blossomed on her cheeks, the effect most attractive.

He pushed that from his mind. Being attracted to the wildcat was the last thing he needed. Regardless of their circumstances, he would remain a gentleman. Which speaking of, introductions were in order.

“I’m Timothy Marbry.”

He waited for her to respond in kind, but she did not. Instead, something flashed across her face. Fear? Nervousness?

“I do apologize for the . . . familiarity, but as you can clearly see, my ankle is quite swollen.”

Her eyes darted to his right foot which, freed from the constraints of the leather, had ballooned up.

“I need to wrap it and keep it elevated. If you would be so kind to fetch my bag from my horse, I have some bandages inside. And if there’s a sheltered area around, perhaps settle my horse in and find him some hay.”

She perched her fists on her hips. “Do it yourself. I’m not your servant.”

Perhaps flattery would work. He needed her defenses down. “Of course you’re not. It’s clear you’re a gently bred lady, and this is an untenable situation. I assure you, if I could do it myself, like any honorable gentleman, I would.”

She huffed, sending him a dubious look.

“Do you question my ability to go outside and hobble around in my stockinged feet?”

“No. I question that you’re a gentleman.”

He drew a hand down his face. So much for flattery. “Would you like me to build a fire in the hearth, Miss . . .?”

“Since you provided your Christian name, you may call me . . . Emma.”

Excellent.They were getting somewhere. “Please, Emma? If you fetch my bag so I may wrap my foot and ankle, I’ll find some suitable dry wood here and start a fire. And please don’t transfer your anger at me to my poor horse. After all, he did carry you here. Wouldn’t finding him shelter and a bit of hay be the least you could do to repay the poor beast?”

She demonstrated a perfect eye roll, tugged her gloves on, pulled her cloak more firmly around her, then traipsed out, slamming the door behind her.

God help the man who winds up with that termagant.

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