To Marry a Matchmaker. Michelle Styles

      ‘The dog is not to blame. The owner is.’ His dark brown eyes burned. ‘And as I’m the man who pulled the dog away from you, I’m not the one who needs the lecture. As attempts to deflect attention from your injury go, that was pretty pathetic. I’m concerned about you, Henri, not what caused the accident. The causes can be remedied later.’

      He’d seen through her ruse. With an effort she turned her head. The world tilted slightly and if anyone else had been standing beside her she would have given in to the darkness. Here she was berating Robert Montemorcy and he had saved her. Tears pricked her eyelids.

      ‘I give you my promise. It will be sorted out. And, Henri, you know you can depend on me keeping my promises. I have always kept them.’

      ‘Give me a moment to compose myself and I shall be on my way. I’ve only slightly twisted my ankle. I used to do that frequently when I was in my teens and it never lasts long. And the bite on my leg looks worse than it is,’ she said and forced her body to be upright. Sharp pain shot through her ankle, sending a wave of dizziness crashing through her. It might take a little longer than she first considered to shake the pain off. She’d worry about the blood later, rather than put Robert out by asking for help. Other people always needed it more than she did.

      ‘How far do you think you will get on that ankle?’ He hovered near her. His hands brushed her elbow. A jolt went through her and she was intensely aware of him standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

      ‘I should make it back to my aunt’s. This little incident has inexorably altered my scheme for the afternoon.’ Henri looked at him. She was in no fit state for visiting. Her skirt had a great tear and she also wanted to keep her wits about her when she met Miss Ravel. She had to tread carefully. She wanted to keep both her promise to Sebastian and to Montemorcy.

      Henri risked another excruciating step and felt the sweat begin to gather on her brow. She hated to think about walking all that way home, particularly as a fine drizzle had started and a Northumbrian drizzle nearly always turned into a full-blown rainstorm. But Henri knew she could not stay in the road or, worse still, rest at Mr Teasdale’s. The man was a disgrace to the neighbourhood.

      Mr Teasdale, having secured the dog, advanced towards them, whining about how this was not his fault. Robert waved him away, telling him to go and fetch the doctor.

      ‘I’m going home,’ she announced in a loud voice.

      ‘You won’t make it, not on that ankle,’ Robert said, turning back to her. His face darkened as she took a hopping step. ‘Henri, you are a danger to everyone else. What will happen if a cart or carriage comes along the road? I give you a half-dozen steps before you have to sit down again.’

      ‘Is this another one of your idiotic wagers? How far can Henrietta Thorndike walk before she gives up? Let’s see, I will wager that I can walk further than you think!’

      ‘A statement of fact. You have no need to play the martyr.’

      ‘You know nothing about me and my strength of character, Mr Montemorcy. I have a strong constitution.’

      ‘I do not doubt your spirit, but your flesh.’

      Henri took a cautious step. The pain went through her in agonising waves. ‘See, I can do it. You should have more faith in me. My mother was strict about my upbringing. She hated weakness in anyone but herself.’

      ‘Are you always this stubborn? Dark humour doesn’t change your injury.’

      ‘I find it helps.’ Henri hated the way her voice caught in her throat and looked down. Her stomach lurched again, and she finally gave in. ‘My ankle hurts…Robert…oh, I want it to stop.’

      He held out a hand. ‘You don’t have to do this on your own, Henri, simply to prove a point to me. If I apologise for not telling you about my ward, will it help? I do regret that you took the news in the wrong fashion. I made a mistake. There, now can you accept my help, rather than fighting me every inch of the way?’

      She shook her head, hating the lump that formed in her throat. Why did he have to start being pleasant? ‘You will observe the stern stuff I am made of. I persevere.’

      She took a third step and wished she hadn’t. More than anything she wanted to give way and accept his arm.

      ‘You delight in taking stubbornness to new heights. It will take you hours.’

      ‘I’m pleased you see the sense in what I am doing.’ Henri concentrated on taking the next step.

      ‘I only see nonsense.’

      Her foot slipped. And, somewhere, the dog began barking again. She reached out a hand and encountered his stiff shirt front. She clawed at it.

      ‘Falling. Dizzy,’ she mouthed as the humiliating blackness threatened to claim her. ‘Dogs frighten me. Always have. Help me, please, I don’t want to be a weak-willed ninny. Want to be strong. Have to be.’

      ‘Allow me. Now, hush.’

      He scooped her up, holding her against the broad expanse of his chest. Henri turned her face so that she could not hear the steady thump of his heart and took deep steadying breaths. There was something reassuringly safe about his arms and the way he walked with firm steps. She could allow herself to be carried for a little way and then, when her ankle hurt less, resume her journey.

      ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked. ‘Mr Teasdale’s front room?’

      ‘To my house.’ He lifted an unyielding eyebrow. ‘It is no more than a few hundred yards. You need medical attention. I would not send a dog to die in Teasdale’s front room. The man lives in squalor not even fit for a pigsty.’

      Henri struggled against the bounds of his arms. ‘Don’t you think you should ask me first?’

      He stopped in mid-stride and seemed amazed that she could possibly object. ‘You will be quite safe there. The doctor has been sent for and my man Fredericks will alert your aunt to your whereabouts.’

      ‘You’ve thought of everything.’ Henri leant back against his arms. The wind tousled his hair slightly, highlighting his strong jaw and the way his mouth was bow-shaped. ‘But I don’t want to trouble anyone.’

      ‘Suffering from a dog attack is no time for missish behaviour,’ he said, covering the ground with rapid strides as if she weighed no more than a feather. ‘Miss Ravel and her mother will be pleased that you are calling, even if in an unorthodox fashion. She has heard of you and your romantic past. She was asking about you this morning at breakfast. I haven’t bothered to enlighten her that you are the least romantic person I know.’

      A small shiver went down her spine as she examined his hawklike profile. She didn’t know which was worse—that Robert thought she was unromantic or that Miss Ravel had spoken of her. She needed to discover Sophie Ravel’s side of the story before she decided on her course of action. ‘My fame precedes me. How stupendous.’

      ‘You grow pale, Henri. Is your ankle bothering you that much?’

      ‘I have finished fainting for the day.’ Henri attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. ‘I simply twisted it. It will be better in a few moments. You should leave me to rest at the side of the road.’

      ‘Stop being a hero. You’ve gone grey with pain. But we will allow the doctor to decide.’

      ‘The doctor will agree with me. It is a twisted ankle and the bleeding has stopped.’ Henri held her body slightly away from his. She was intensely aware of the way his chest muscles rose and fell underneath his frock-coat, and the way his stock was a bit undone, revealing the strong column of his throat. And the way her heart had started to thump. ‘And I’ve no intention of fainting again.’

      ‘A lady who declines to faint. Will wonders never cease? My mother had it down to a fine art. She swore it was useful in ending arguments.’

      ‘The force of the argument