‘Impertinent wench.’ Luke scowled at her and then laughed. ‘You remind me of my Great-Aunt Dorethea when she was young.’
‘Indeed? I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted.’ Roxanne’s brows arched. ‘Do you think you can mount if I hold the horse?’
‘Flattered. I admired her. Give me your arm, Miss Roxanne. I need you as a crutch.’ Holding on to her arm, Luke levered himself on to his left foot. He hobbled towards the horse, then, as she held its head steady, took hold of the saddle and belly-flopped over it, using the strength of his arms and body to pull himself into a sitting position. Beads of sweat had gathered on his brow by this time, but he controlled his desire to yell out with pain. Roxanne had fitted her bundles round the pommel of the saddle; then, with an agility that surprised him, she took his outstretched hand and swung herself up behind him. ‘You’ve done that before?’
‘I’ve been riding horses barebacked since I was thirteen or so. We did an act that involved my having to jump up on to a moving horse.’
‘You are full of surprises, Miss Roxanne. I thought you a lady at first, but no lady of my acquaintance could do what you just did.’
‘A lady might not have been near when you fell,’ she reminded him. ‘I may not be a gentlewoman in the sense you mean, sir—but I will thank you to show me the proper respect. I am not a lightskirt and shall not be treated as one.’
Luke glanced over his shoulder. ‘How do you imagine I would treat you if you were a whore?’
‘I have no idea how a gentleman behaves with a lady of easy virtue, though Sofia told me that gentlemen are invariably the worst. I only know that I did not like the way Black Bob looked at me.’
Luke was intrigued. ‘Who is he and how did he look at you?’
‘He is the leader of the troupe and looked at me as though he could see through my clothes. He told me that now Sofia was dead, he would claim me as his woman—so I ran away.’
‘You have run away from your people?’
‘Yes. He had to go somewhere on business and so I took my chance while he was gone.’
A rueful laugh escaped Luke. ‘And you ran into me. Well, Miss Roxanne, I must thank my lucky stars that you did. If you help me as far as the next inn, I shall return the favour by hiring a coach to take us both to London.’
Roxanne stiffened. ‘I told you, I am not a whore—and I shall not be your mistress.’
‘Have I said that I wish you to be? I am merely repaying a favour, miss—and if you have any sense you will accept my offer. A girl who looks like you will have offers enough, I dare say, but most of them will not be to your liking. If you are to become an actress you will need patronage, and you may as well accept mine as another’s.’
Roxanne’s breath caught. She almost wished she had walked away from him in the woods. He could surely manage now he had his horse.
‘Put your arms about my waist,’ he instructed. ‘Hold on tight, Miss Roxanne. My ankle is painful and we had best find an inn before I pass out and you have to cart me there in an unconscious state.’
Roxanne did not reply. She put her arms about his waist, holding him tightly. She did not fear him, as she did Black Bob, but if he were to fall unconscious she might have difficulty in getting him safe to an inn. Perhaps the feel of her at his back would keep him awake long enough to reach the nearest inn. She hoped that he would not fall senseless, because she had no idea of where she was headed and the sooner he reached a doctor the better.
Roxanne could have no idea how very aware Luke was of his passenger, her full breasts pressed against his back. He had noticed her perfume as soon as he became conscious and found her bending over him. It was light and yet sensual, unlike any he had smelled on the ladies he met either in society or in the world of the demi-monde he sometimes frequented. She was different, unusual, and he’d felt intrigued from the first.
Roxanne was a woman most men would notice, her figure not willowy slender, but athletic—statuesque, might be a good word. She reminded him of the marble figure of Diana the Huntress he had commissioned for his country house, which stood in a fragrant corner of his garden, but warm with life and passion instead of white and cold. He could imagine what the leader of the travelling players had planned for her and the thought brought a frown of anger to his brow.
Damn the man for his impudence!
Clearly, her friend Sofia had been a person of influence, protecting the girl as she grew to womanhood, but once she was dead, Roxanne was at the mercy of any rogue who saw her. Luke did not know why that thought made him angry, but his protective instincts had been roused and, in thinking of her and ways to make certain she was protected, he was able to fight off his pain.
He cursed himself for riding carelessly as a wave of faintness washed over him and it took all his willpower to stay in the saddle and hold on to the reins.
‘I could take control of the horse if you wish, sir. He would respond to me, as he did earlier.’
Roxanne’s words jerked him back to reality and her arms about him helped fight off the faintness. He must stay awake, because he needed to be in command. She must not be allowed to slip away when they reached the inn. He could not lose her yet; he needed her help.
‘I can manage,’ he growled. ‘It cannot be much further.’
‘I pray you are right,’ she said and her arms tightened about him, as if she would save him from falling.
A sharp wave of desire shot through Luke, bringing him to his senses more surely than any words. He laughed deep in his throat—it was like him to want the unobtainable. Luke had met with little resistance in his adult life; the ladies were usually more than willing to share his bed—or even entice him into the summerhouse. It was ironic that the first one to evoke such a strong response in him for an age had placed herself out of reach.
Roxanne had made it clear she would not be his mistress and in all honour he could not use his charm to persuade her after all she had done. However, it would not suit him if she were to run away. He might never see her again, and that thought was sufficient to stave off both the pain and the faintness. An ironic smile settled over his lips. She had already shown herself compassionate; perhaps the best way to keep her with him was to plead his need of a nurse or helper to see him home.
‘Hold me tighter,’ he said. ‘The pain makes me faint. I beg you, do not desert me, Miss Roxanne. In this state I am helpless and at the mercy of unscrupulous rogues—men who would see me dead as soon as look at me.’
‘You have enemies?’
‘An enemy,’ Luke improvised. ‘You accused me of riding too hard, but I was trying to escape from him when the fox startled my horse.’
He justified his lie to himself. His enemy was the bitter anger that had been festering inside him since the interview with his grandfather. The Earl of Hartingdon’s unfair accusations and his outrageous demands had smouldered in his brain, making him careless.
‘Will you be safe when you reach London?’
‘Yes.’ Luke waited, holding his breath. ‘Once I am home I shall be perfectly safe, but I need help lest I lose consciousness and lie ill by the wayside.’
‘It is true that not everyone would help if you became ill of a fever. I know that men like Black Bob might take advantage and rob you.’ Roxanne seemed to hesitate, then, ‘Very well, I shall not abandon you. I will see that a doctor is fetched, and, if you are ill, stay with you until you are home. I will nurse you and care for you should you need it. However, you must give me your word not to take advantage, sir.’
‘You have my word as a gentleman,’ Luke said. ‘I