The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(222)

Despite her trembling hands, she obeyed quickly. When she was through, he laid the unconscious man down on it and stretched him out.



"It's pretty cold in here. Do you want to get out of the coach? Go sit in mine where it's warmer?" he asked.



The puff of air which accompanied his words was ample evidence of the bitter weather, but she said in a firm tone, "I'm staying. He needs us both."



"Your husband would want you to be safe."



"He's not my husband," she said in an off-hand manner as she laid the hot water bottles around the prone man.



At last Blake raised his head to look at her face. And stared in shock. For there before him, disheveled but composed, was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.



Her bonnet and shawl had fallen back to reveal her incredible attributes. She had hair black as a raven's wing, a complexion as fair as a white rose, with a blush of red in her cheeks and lips. She possessed the most remarkable dark blue eyes he had ever seen, almost purple now that her pupils were wide with shock.



He guessed her to be in her early twenties, for though she looked very young, she seemed so composed and competent that he did not think she could be any younger than that.



His seething jealousy over the man's relationship with the surreally beautiful girl made his tone harsh. "You're awfully young to be living as anyone's mistress. Have you no sense—"



Her eyes flashed fire. "How dare you! This man is a complete stranger to me. He got in before Reading. I'm no man's mistress," she said coldly.



"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean— But then why are you here alone?"



"I'm meeting my brother in London for Christmas," she said with a defiant flash of her dark eyes. "No one was able to accompany me. I little imagined I would meet such a fate. The storm came up so suddenly it spooked the horses.



"But please, rather than scold me for my supposed lack of morals, we must find the other two men. We must see if they're still alive. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Greengage. Just tell me what to do."



"If you won't get into the other coach where it's warm, keep checking to see that he's breathing. If he starts to choke, turn him onto his side, his head tilted downwards to let his mouth drain."



"All right, I will."



He stared at her again. "I say, you're being awfully brave about this."



She lifted her chin proudly. "I haven't much choice, have I?"



"Good girl. Very sensible. All right, Belle. We need to get you both sorted and then I need to head out."



He took up one of the blankets and tucked it around her, before helping her step over Mr. Greengage's prone form. "Sit here where it's dry, between the two benches. Keep this wrapped around you, and tuck my hot water bottles in around you too. The cold kills just as assuredly as a badly bleeding wound. Do you understand?"



She nodded. "That's why we need to find the other two men soon."



"Yes, indeed." He wrapped the blanket around her more securely, and took another one to place over her head. He brushed her cheek lightly as he did so, sending a shiver through them both. My goodness, but she was lovely.



She was a woman. Single. Injured. And a woman, he reminded himself again. Never to be trusted.



Catching himself staring at her, his finger still on her cheek, he cleared his throat. "Some bruising, a couple of cuts from the glass, but they're like pinpricks." He stroked her petal-soft cheek once more. "No scars. Your perfect beauty is safe."



She sighed and shook her head. "I don't care about that. I only hope Mr. Greengage survives his ordeal."



"I'll do my best," he vowed, forcing himself to pull away from her.



"I trust you."



"Good. I trust you to look after him and yourself, Belle. I'll be back soon, I swear."



"I believe you," she said, her eyes raised to his. "Take care of yourself. The storm sounds like it's getting worse."



"I will. Everyone is counting on me now." He tried not to let the crushing weight of that burden choke him. He reminded himself quickly that he had faced far worse during the war. He could do this. He had to do this.



With a tight smile he hoped would reassure her, Blake bowed over Belle's slim hand and went into action once more.





CHAPTER FOUR



Blake put his bag on top of the coach along with two rugs and a hot water bottle. He raised himself out and jumped down onto the ground.



The snow was indeed now a near-blizzard, but he knew he had to do something to save the drive and postillion. He wrapped himself tightly in his greatcoat.



Then he wound the blankets around himself, clasped the bag and bottle, and stepped away from the relative shelter of the coach. The wind was so strong that it nearly lifted him off his feet, though at nearly six foot four he knew he was not a small man by any means.