Her face contorted in remorse and worry the maid crouched next to Nicolette, her serviceable gray cloak billowing around her. She clutched the pup to her chest, and Bella proceeded to exuberantly lick her chin and cheeks, drawing a giggle from Jane.
“Bella, stop,” she said between laughs, angling her round face away.
His big brown eyes hopeful, Sampson thumped his rope-like tail thrice but didn’t move. He shifted his soulful eyes to Westfall, fairly pleading for permission to greet Bella.
“Good boy,” Westfall praised. “Stay there.”
The duke’s beautiful mouth tipped into a chagrined smile as he cut Jane a sideways glance, a hint of mirth twinkling in his indigo blue eyes. “He won’t hurt the puppy, I promise you. He just wants to say hello. He’s actually quite gentle.”
Yes, Nicolette had experienced his gentleness, first-hand.
Jane slowly straightened, clutching Bella to her as if she feared Sampson would gobble her for a morning snack.
“So you say, but that—” She cast her disparaging gaze over him as if trying to summon an accurate description—“That oaf just knocked Miss Nicolette down.”
“He’s still a puppy and forgets his manners. He also has no concept of how large he is,” Westfall apologized.
He looked far too striking in his dark blue jacket for Nicolette’s peace of mind. The color accented his eyes to perfection and gave his jet-black hair beneath his chimney-style top hat a bluish tint.
She bit the inside of her cheek, all the while mentally chiding herself for noticing.
“Hmph.” Jane made a disbelieving noise and pinched her lips together.
“He escaped the footman walking him,” the duke said by way of an explanation.
Obviously.
Look away, Nicolette commanded herself.
She did so with a degree of disinclination that didn’t portend well. Focusing her attention on Sampson, she asked, “Is he yours? I thought your mother only kept Pomeranians as pets.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.
Here she lay indelicately on the pathway, several haut ton members gawping at her, and she casually chatted about his mother’s notoriously spoiled Pomeranians.
“I’m minding him for a friend,” Westfall elucidated, patting the dog’s oversized head.
In truth, he looked more bear-like than canine. “What breed is he?”
“He’s a Newfoundland. They were bred to be work and rescue dogs.”
“Are they all so large?” she asked.
Westfall lifted a shoulder. “More or less.”
Sampson stared longingly at Bella, who eyed him with cautious interest.
“Are you injured, Miss Twistleton?” Westfall inquired solicitously again. “Do you require a physician?”
Do I?
No, nothing felt broken.
However, Nicolette’s shoulder and ankle ached like the very devil, her hip not quite as much.
“That will not be necessary,” she said, shaking her head.
Ouch.
She winced slightly, sorer than she’d at first realized. She didn’t relish the walk home on her tender ankle or the speculation her soiled gown was bound to produce, however. Mama might forbid her to walk out alone, henceforth.
“Hmm.” Westfall made a low sound in his throat, but Nicolette couldn’t discern its meaning. For as long as she’d known him, he’d done that.
The crowd continued to increase around them, and she still lay splayed indecorously on the footpath. Before she had a chance to adjust her pale pink walking gown, Westfall gently hauled her into a sitting position.
“Your gown,” he murmured beneath his breath, his gaze politely averted from her legs.
Her face burning, she shoved her skirts down. As she did so, her bonnet slid off, and several strands of dark hair tumbled loose over her shoulders and breast.
He made an inarticulate sound, and she speared him a questioning glance.
He was so close, she could see the midnight blue ring encircling his irises, and the gold flecks there, too. She would not—no, you will not—peek a glance at the granite thighs covered in cream-colored pantaloons, so close to her, she could see the outline of his corded thigh muscles.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Noticing a man’s thighs?
Nicolette’s stomach pitched in the weirdest fashion.
Perhaps she was hurt worse than she’d first thought.
Had she hit her head, as well?
She cautiously moved her neck slightly to test the theory.
The movement didn’t meet with so much as a single twinge.
Westfall perused the onlookers encircling them and motioned for a tall, blond man in green and gold livery to come forward. “Farrow, please collect Sampson and take him home.”
“Yes, sir.” At once, the footman sprang forward and seized the brown leather leash that, until now, Nicolette hadn’t even noticed.
But then again, when she’d seen Sampson lumbering toward her, she’d feared Bella or she were about to be attacked and mauled.
As Farrow led the docile behemoth away, Westfall’s censorious attention roved the gawkers again. A degree of marble hardened his amiable features and leeched into his voice as well. “The rest of you may go on your way. As you can see, Miss Twistleton is fine. Thank you for your concern.”
Oh, well done, Your Grace.
Nicolette only just managed to check her grin of approval. She held no great admiration for the threesome, unlike the elevated opinions they had of themselves.
Lady Clutterbuck opened her mouth as if to object.
However, Lady Darumple clutched her friend’s boney elbow, fiercely whispered something in her ear, and steered her friend away. Her eyes tightening disapprovingly at the corners, with a last considering glance, Lady Crustworth elevated her nose and swept away, too.
Absently rubbing her throbbing ankle, Nicolette strove to conceive of a delicate way to rise that didn’t include rolling onto all fours and presenting her bum for viewing.
Without so much as a by your leave or a hint of what he was about to do, Westfall slipped an arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders and lifted her. His muscles flexed and bunched with the effort, but no hint of strain marred his face.
Her breath lodged in her throat, and she struggled to formulate a single word.
“My curricle is just there.” He jutted his strong, square chin in the direction of the entrance. “I shall see you home.”
Nicolette stiffened, prepared to give him a proper set down.
Of all the high-handed—
“Should I come with you, Miss Nicolette?” Jane, her eyes round as the moon, shifted her astonished gaze between them several times.
He grinned, a distinctly devilish glint in his blue eyes. “I’m afraid the conveyance only seats two, Miss…?”
“Pirdie, Your Grace. Jane Pirdie.” She bobbed a wobbly curtsy.
Nicolette snorted and almost rolled her eyes.
Now she decides to remember her manners?
Westfall sliced Nicolette a wicked grin. He’d heard her snort.
“Miss Pirdie, hurry home and make them aware there’s been an accident. Send someone for the physician, too,” Westfall suggested, adjusting his hold on Nicolette, and angling her higher in his arms.
Her heart did not turn over from excitement or from a rush of sensation. It was a fear of being dumped unceremoniously onto the ground that caused the irregular fluttering and flitting about behind her ribcage.