Leorah admired Lord Withinghall’s makeshift splint, marveling that he would take the time to try to make her more comfortable. Was he bothered by her look of pain? Or only afraid she might cry or faint or some other womanly vice? No doubt the latter. He also didn’t want to risk his precious reputation, and perhaps he feared she might faint and claim that while she was in a state of incapacitation, he had done something odious, as others had done before her. Many girls would gladly take the risk of ruining their own reputations if they thought they might trap a viscount into marrying them. Truly, his situation was rather precarious. No doubt he’d had the same thoughts himself. She could almost pity him for having to always be on his guard against such schemes.
If the thought of seeing him so compromised weren’t so diverting.
Not that she couldn’t laugh at his anger toward her as well. He was an irritable old man at the age of twenty-nine, and if there was one thing Leorah was capable of laughing at, it was absurdity.
But she didn’t feel much like laughing at the moment. Her wrist was broken—she was sure of it—and though it felt better with the splint on it, she still wanted only to send someone for her horse and to be home again with Bucky.
In spite of her feelings toward Lord Withinghall, it would be unjust not to thank him for his trouble, so, after the carriage was well on its way down the road, and she and Lord Withinghall were once again seated facing each other in the bouncing carriage, she said, “I want to thank you for splinting my arm. It feels much better.”
Her words sounded rather grudging, but she didn’t want to sound more grateful than she was.
Instead of replying, he simply nodded.
So, they still weren’t to be friends. All the better.
Leorah watched out of the carriage window as the sun became obscured behind thick clouds and it began to grow dark earlier than usual. Perhaps they were in for some rain.
They started down a hill, and the carriage picked up speed. She instinctively drew her arm close to her body. She thought she heard the coachman yell something at the horses. Lord Withinghall seemed to hear it too, for he sat up straighter and slid closer to the window to look out.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched violently, as if one of the wheels had hit something quite large. The jolt sent the carriage careening on two wheels, and Leorah flew out of her seat toward the side of the carriage. Lord Withinghall sprang toward her. His arms wrapped around her middle, one large hand over her injured arm. Her back slammed against his chest as the carriage flipped over.
CHAPTER SIX
She felt as if she were in a dream as the carriage tossed her around like a doll.
They came to a halt, dust and dirt raining down on her, as the floor of the carriage was above her and she found herself lying on top of Lord Withinghall.
She scrambled off the viscount. He was not moving, his eyes were closed, and his face was ashen. A trickle of blood oozed from just above his hairline.
“Oh! Lord Withinghall!” She crouched over him. “Lord Withinghall?”
He made no movement or sound.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “You know I said and thought some terrible things about this man, but I don’t want him to die!” Please let him not be dying.
She scrambled to her feet and opened the door, which was now upside down but still reachable. She managed to climb out, and her heart gave a lurch at the sudden fear of what had become of their coachman. What had Lord Withinghall called him? Pugh.
“Pugh! Pugh, where are you?” She ran around to the front of the carriage. The horses were gone, and so was Pugh.
How could the horses be gone?
The carriage was dented and dusty, and her stomach lurched again at seeing it wrong side up, but they couldn’t go anywhere unless she found the horses. She turned all the way around and finally spotted them, still harnessed together, at the top of the next hill, grazing placidly. Behind them, they seemed to be dragging their traces. Apparently they had come loose from the crossbar of the carriage, causing the carriage to careen down the hill by itself.
But what had happened to their poor driver?
Leorah looked back down the road in the direction from which they had come. The light from the sun was getting dim, but she could see a large bump lying across the road some way beyond them. Was that Pugh?
“Oh dear.” For the first time in her life, Leorah felt light-headed with horror, and her stomach churned precariously. Lord Withinghall’s coachman must have been that huge bump the carriage wheel had gone over just before it went out of control and rolled over in the ditch.
Leorah swallowed. She had no choice but to go and check on the poor man. But first she walked to the carriage and peered in. “Lord Withinghall? My lord, are you awake?”
His hand moved slowly up to his forehead to the site of the bleeding. “Did you think I was sleeping?” he answered gruffly.
“Thank God you’re alive.”
“Where is Pugh?”
“Shall I go check on him?”
“Of course.”
Leorah raced off and up the hill, holding her skirt so her legs didn’t get tangled. She’d almost forgotten about her broken wrist and noticed it was throbbing a bit. It would have been hurting much worse, however, if Lord Withinghall had not shielded her with his own body, placing his hand over her injured wrist and taking the brunt of the fall.
Amazingly chivalrous of him. And something else for which she would now be indebted to him.
Pugh remained unmoving as she reached him. She knelt beside him in the dirt. “Mr. Pugh? Can you hear me?” He was lying facedown, so she used her right hand to try to push him over. She had to use her shoulder, but she finally shoved him onto his back. She placed her hand over his mouth, hoping to feel his breath. She held it there a long time, but she didn’t feel anything. She leaned down and placed her ear against his chest. Please let me hear his heart beating, God. But she heard nothing. She touched his neck, wondering if she would be able to feel his heart beating there, as she had heard was possible.
She felt nothing.
Leorah stood up, her knees suddenly weak. Her vision started spinning. She had just touched the dead body of a coachman who had been alive and well only a few moments before. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to think. There was nothing she could do for the poor man, but she needed to form a plan. They were still several miles from Glyncove Abbey, and she didn’t know the extent of Lord Withinghall’s injuries.
She walked quickly back to the overturned carriage and opened the door, climbing back in.
“Where is Pugh? Is he . . . ?” Lord Withinghall was still lying where she had left him.
“He is not conscious. I . . . I don’t know if he’s alive.”
Lord Withinghall said nothing, but there was a twitch in his jaw.
Then Leorah noticed how pale the viscount was and the amount of blood oozing from his head wound. “You’re bleeding like a . . .” She almost said “like a butchered hog,” but she didn’t think he would appreciate that expression. “Do you have a handkerchief?”
“In my coat pocket.”
Leorah found his coat lying in a heap at the other end of the overturned carriage.
“What are you doing?”
Leorah ignored his disapproving look. She found his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. She scooted on her knees until she was by his shoulder and pressed the clean white handkerchief to his forehead.
“Ow.”
“I’m only trying to stop the bleeding.”
“It isn’t bleeding that much.”