Page 11 of Lady Controversial
‘Are you sure you wish to come inside?’ she asked. ‘If there was a specific reason for your call… I mean, you did say you were on your way here when we encountered one another, and if that is the case then it is me whom you will need to discuss it with and we can do that here…’ Isolda’s words trailed off as she realised that embarrassment had made her garrulous. They could have done it at the scene of the accident but that was beside the point, Isolda decided. ‘Believe me, it’s likely to be more comfortable.’And save my blushes at our reduced circumstances.
‘I am not afraid to be seen in your kitchen.’ He sent her a rakish smile. ‘Nor do I fear your sister’s machinations.’
‘Then you are either exceedingly brave or very foolhardy.’ Isolda’s head reeled when he released his hold on her waist and she thought her legs might not support her.
‘Careful!’ An arm shot out to steady her. ‘I really must insist upon calling a doctor.’
‘You are not in a position to do any insisting when it comes to my wellbeing, sir.’ Isolda gave an indignant sniff. ‘As to your purpose in coming here today, if it was to complain about the state of the place then I fear you have had a wasted journey.’ She looked away from him, imagining just what a sight she must be, a perfect match for the run-down property. ‘Thank you for your help with Henry. If you don’t mind turning him out to pasture, I should be much obliged.’
He glanced around as though expecting a groom to materialise, then grunted something unintelligible and did as she had asked with remarkable speed. Isolda could have taken the opportunity to escape inside, giving him a legitimate excuse to ride away, but her feet seemed determined to remain rooted to the spot as she watched this elegant sophisticate handling Henry as though he attended to the needs of lowly cobs rather than highly strung stallions every day of the week.
She was still standing where he had left her when he closed the gate to the paddock and returned to her side, Brutus dancing at his heels.
‘Shall we?’ He proffered his arm.
‘You are determined to do this, aren’t you?’ she asked impatiently. ‘In which case I must conclude that you are a man who enjoys discomfort.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he replied.
‘Because ordinarily you are not discouraged when making calls.’
He shrugged. ‘I do not make a habit out of making calls on young ladies, so I really have no idea.’
‘Foolish man! I think you know very well that you would be universally accepted wherever you go.’
‘Not everywhere, it seems,’ he replied with a wry smile.
‘Is that you, love?’ Mrs Compton asked when Isolda pushed the warped kitchen door open with difficulty and it scraped in protest against the worn flagstones. ‘Well, who else would it be?’ Mrs Compton glanced over her shoulder from whatever she was stirring on the range and gasped. ‘God in heaven, whatever happened to you? And who is…’
‘Mrs Compton, may I present the Earl of Finchdean, who kindly rescued me following an accident with the gig.’
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ Mrs Compton replied, bobbing a curtsey and taking the presence of a belted earl in her kitchen in her stride, just as Isolda had known that she would. ‘But I’m more concerned about you, lamb. Sit yourself down and let me attend to your injuries.’
‘The only abiding injury is to my pride. Do stop fussing so.’
Mrs Compton didn’t take a blind bit of notice. Instead, she ladled cold water into a bowl, squeezed a cloth out in it and gently dabbed at the swelling on the side of Isolda’s head.
‘Ouch!’
‘Sorry, pet, but it has to be done.’
Isolda was aware of the earl, leaning his backside casually against a counter as though he had done it a thousand times before, looking perfectly at home in the dilapidated room, his gaze focused upon her in a disturbingly speculative manner. Isolda doubted whether he had ever set foot in a kitchen, much less one as shabby as this. Shabby, she conceded, but spotlessly clean and full of enticing smells.
‘There now,’ Mrs Compton said, having bathed Isolda’s head and wiped the blood away from her arm. ‘You’re flinching each time you move that shoulder. ‘You sure it isn’t dislocated?’
‘It isn’t.’ The earl answered for her. ‘But it will be bruised, as will her leg, I expect.’
‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ Isolda snapped, tired of being discussed as though she wasn’t actually in the room.
‘Isolda!’ Mrs Compton sounded highly shocked. ‘She’s not herself,’ she said to the earl. ‘Knocks on the head are unpredictable.’
The earl’s laughter only served to anger Isolda.
‘I am glad you find my situation diverting,’ she said stiffly.
‘Some hot tea will see you as right as rain,’ Mrs Compton said, referring to the one luxury upon which Isolda refused to economise, despite its quite exorbitant cost. ‘You will take a cup, my lord?’
‘I am sure the earl has more pressing matters to attend to,’ Isolda said, wishing him gone because he disturbed her in a way that she couldn’t rationalise.
