Page 10 of A Foreign Crown
“Certainly not.” She turned back to Layton. “I’d prefer you to assist me.”
He looked from one woman to the other and then nodded. “I’d be happy to oblige.” He carried her back through the mud as quickly as he could without slipping and placed her at his carriage door. Then returned for the other woman. His heart beat in happy expectation. Could he not help a woman in her carriage without thinking so much on her appeal? On the anticipated feel of her in his arms? But he would hardly be a man if he did not anticipate further acquaintance with one so lovely.
He returned to the carriage to find it empty. “Ahoy, miss!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Where have you gone?”
A soft cry alerted him, and he looked up at the top of the carriage. She was scrambling around her belongings, trying to unlash a large trunk.
He shook his head. “Leave it.”
She shook her head more frantically. “I cannot.” She turned back to the ropes, tugging uselessly at them. “Oh, do help. This is very important. Please?” Her eyes brightened, and some of her hair that had come loose from its pins hung down, encouraging streams of water to wet her through.
He eyed the situation and then shrugged. “Very well.” Grabbing hold of the doorframe, he hefted himself up beside her. “What have we here?”
“Most everything can stay here until the roads dry, but I must have the contents of this trunk.” She placed a hand reverently on its outer surface.
“Then, we shall avail you of its contents, which must be worthy indeed to have won so strong a lady’s favor.”
Her eyes widened, and then her cheeks colored prettily. “Thank you.”
He called to the footman. “You, there. Assist us.”
Bless the man for his extreme forbearance and good training, for he didn’t utter a grumble; ne’er an expression of ill will did cross his face as he clambered over the trunks and began working at the ropes. Soon he had the one trunk loosened, the others refastened, and the precious cargo stored on the back of the other carriage. Layton climbed down and lifted his arms up to help his accomplice.
“I—I think I can manage.” She stood on the edge of the carriage as though she might jump.
“No!” He held his hands up, his tone more desperate-sounding than he would have liked. “If you could just allow me?” He hoped she’d grant him this small request. “Please. Allow me to help you down.”
Her face warmed. Her eyes softened, and then she nodded, reaching for his shoulders with both hands.
He tried not to notice how her gown was wet through, how the loose tendrils of her hair hung in long, beautiful locks down her back, or how the color of her eyes was heightened in the rain. Instead he lifted her off the carriage and pulled her down into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
She nodded, her heart racing against him, her small frame cold in his arms.
“Let’s get you warm.”
She started to shiver. “Oh dear. I didn’t realize I was c-c-old.”
Layton held her closer, trying to share warmth, but his clothes were as wet through as hers. So he focused on hurrying through the mud. The current had increased, and brown, muddy water rushed around his boots as he pushed through the space between their carriages. At last he reached his equipage and gently placed her at the door. She clambered inside. The other woman had found the blankets under the bench seats and now wrapped her companion up in one.
He nodded to them both and took his place opposite them. “The men will now work with more earnest effort to free the carriage, and I predict we shall soon be on our way.”
“Heave! Heave! Heave!” The soldiers’ shouts carried over to them, and Layton found comfort in the rhythmic military order, the efficiency that accomplished things.
For the hundredth time, he missed home. But he cleared his throat and addressed the women staring back at him in silence.
“It seems we shall have to take care of introductions on our own.”
The woman who’d made the most noise looked as though she might complain but instead nodded. “I’m Lady Mallory, and this is Lady Aribella.”
“And we thank you.” Lady Aribella’s voice was rich and full of mellow timbre—it sounded like amber.
Layton decided at once that he would attempt everything he could to get that lady speaking again. “You’re welcome.”
Their gazes connected, a comfortable warmth spreading through him. The distance between them narrowed as he studied the yellow specks in her eyes, her lovely forehead, the lift of the tip of her nose. Her mouth parted, and then she smiled.
The other woman, Lady Mallory, cleared her throat. “And you are?” Her lips twitched in tight disapproval.
He glanced at her and then faced Lady Aribella. He dipped his head to them both. “I am Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg.”
