and then he kissed her... Far from home and her noble relatives, Miss Caroline
Huntington has been injured in a fall from her horse. Called
to her side, Alex Trentham knows he must assist her, though
he has not practiced as a physician for a long while. Just
to see so lovely a woman in a state of undress is a hard
test of his self-control. Caroline is all that is warm and
feminine, beautiful and pure. Brave to a fault, she does not
flinch under his hands, and soon she is on the mend. To hide
his feelings becomes impossible and Alex cannot. Her radiant
innocence is dangerous to a worldly man...and she seems
achingly eager to experience all the pleasure he could show
her...
Excerpt Chapter One
Crete, March 1848 Caroline Huntington was falling. The distance from saddle to ground took on a dreadful
expanse as her horse reared. Flung backward, heartbeat
doubling in her throat, she clutched at the pommel, but the
smooth leather slipped beneath her palms. For a sickening
moment she hurtled down through empty air. Then the earth
rushed to meet her, clouting her head and sending a rough
pain jolting down her outstretched arm. She swallowed,
sudden darkness hovering at the edges of her vision. From
far away she heard the throb of hoofbeats receding. “Help . . .” It came out a moan, and who would hear? She
had left the village far behind, drawn too far up the track
by the promise of a dazzling view from the hillside, the
scent of dusty herbs in the clear air. How quickly the world had upended. One moment riding above
the olive groves, the next . . . She drew in a shaky breath and tried to sit, the world
spinning at the motion. There was no sign of her skittish
mount, no sign of any other living creature besides herself.
The air was still and quiet, the late-afternoon light fading
to red even as she lay on the path. She was alone, a
stranger surrounded by silent hills. Her arm hurt far too much, the ache magnified by the
throbbing in her head. Would anyone find her out here? She
thought of her uncle back in London, her brother—they were
so terribly far away. Her mind veered from the notion she
might never see them again. No. She only had to get up and
start walking, keep breathing through the pain, but she felt
tired, so tired. . . . When she opened her eyes again the world had darkened and
there were stars above her, cold and distant. She stared at
the sky as the constellations spun and wavered. The ground
was hard and chilly beneath her, and the joint of her elbow
felt as though it were on fire. Clenching her jaw she forced
herself to her knees, then made a staggering lurch that
brought her to her feet. Her legs seemed barely connected to
her body and she fought for balance, breath scraping her
throat. The world tilted, then steadied. Right arm cradled close, she began to pick her way back
down the path. Every step jarred and made her want to sit
down again, or better yet, lie down and give in, but she
pressed her lips together hard and kept on. One step. Then
another. One breath. Then another. She did not know how long she had been walking, but the
stars had come down to earth and seemed to dance in front of
her. She blinked, blinked again, and the points of light
resolved into fires. No, torches. She could hear voices,
calling something that sounded like her name. “I’m here!” she cried, lifting her good arm, eyes hot with
relief. In moments they were there, her rescuers, dark-eyed
olive farmers, talking excitedly and waving their torches. “Caroline! Thank heavens we found you.” Maggie Farnsworth
pushed to the fore, her normally neatly coiled hair
straggling from its pins, her face lined with worry. How odd. When had her traveling companion ever appeared
less than tidy? Caroline swayed and Maggie caught her. “Quick, someone help me,” Maggie called. “She’s about to
collapse.” “Allow me to assist you.” A silver-haired gentleman with a
French accent stepped forward, reaching for her. Caroline flinched. “Not my elbow—” “Pardon me, mademoiselle. We must get you to a doctor
immediately.” He turned and shouted in Greek. Two men
hurried back down the track, their torches leaving smears of
light against the darkness. “Manolis will bring the cart,” the Frenchman said. “It will
not be long.” “Thank you, Monsieur Legault,” Maggie said. “Your
assistance tonight has been invaluable. When Miss Huntington
did not return from her ride . . .” Her breath caught on the
words. “There now. We foreigners must look after one another, is
it not so? Though without the help of these good men we
would not have found your friend.” “But we did. We did.” Maggie supported Caroline, holding
firmly to her uninjured arm. The flames reflected off
Maggie’s gold-rimmed spectacles. “When you had not returned
by supper, I knew something was wrong. The owners of the
villa directed me to Monsieur Legault, and he helped
organize the search.” Caroline swallowed. “I’m so glad.” She leaned against her
friend and closed her eyes. How could she have been so
thoughtless, so careless? She would make it up to Maggie,
somehow. “Ah,” Monsieur Legault said. “Here is the cart. It will not
be comfortable, but the aid we seek is not far.” Maggie led Caroline to where the rustic vehicle waited. “I
would not think a village of this size boasted a doctor,”
Maggie said. “How fortunate.” The Frenchman smiled, though there was something cautious
in his expression. “We shall see. Come.” The cart rolled forward over the rough track, and it did
not take long for Caroline to fall into a hazy, pain-filled
daze. The night sky, the flaring torches, the jolting ride
wove together into a disjointed tapestry. She did not
realize they had halted in front of a cottage until Maggie
coaxed her upright and helped her from the cart. Monsieur Legault went to the door. He pounded, and pounded
again until at last it was opened by a figure who remained
in the shadows. Caroline blinked, her vision still blurred.
A tall man, she thought. “What do you want?” His voice was gruff. “Mr. Trentham, we require your help.” The Frenchman waved
to where Caroline stood, supported by Maggie. “The
mademoiselle is injured.” The man shook his head. “I cannot help you.” He began to
close the door, but Monsieur Legault set his foot in the jamb. “I ask you not to be stubborn. She is hurt—she must be seen.” The shadow moved closer to the light. He was tall, his hair
the color of night. The torchlight painted hollows under his
cheekbones and cast his uncompromising nose in sharp relief.
He did not look like a doctor, not with his creased clothing
and untamed hair, a scowl making his face even more
forbidding. When his gaze moved to her, Caroline felt it, a
nearly physical sensation, like standing under a storm cloud
just before the fury of wind and rain lashed down. She
shivered. He regarded her for several moments, measured by the rapid
beat of her heart. His eyes seemed black in the flickering
light. That intent gaze moved down to her dusty boots, then
returned to her face. At last he turned to the Frenchman. “The woman is on her
feet. She looks well enough. Take her to Rethymno.” He
stepped back and made to close his door again. “You must help us,” Monsieur Legault said, a pleading note
in his voice. “Rethymno is too far, and you know how little
talent the doctor there has.” “Enough to care for an injured arm. Good night.” “Wait!” Maggie stepped forward, bringing Caroline with her.
“You cannot refuse—you are English!” “Oh?” He paused with one hand on the door frame, his lips
twisted as though he had tasted something bitter. “I don’t
see that it signifies.” “Of course it does. This is Miss Caroline Huntington, the
niece of the Earl of Twickenham. How can you consider
yourself a gentleman if you turn her away?” “Who says I consider myself a gentleman?” Caroline took an uneven step forward, ready to add her
voice to the argument, but the world tilted. She heard
Maggie gasp, but Monsieur Legault was quicker. He spun,
bracing Caroline before she fell. “You see?” He glared back at Mr. Trentham. “It is more than
her arm.” The dark man said nothing for a long moment, then with a
curse he turned on his heel and stalked back into the
cottage. Light from inside spilled across the threshold. “Come, little one.” Monsieur Legault aided Caroline into
the cottage while Maggie followed behind. “Put her in there.” Mr. Trentham gestured down a short
hallway but made no move to follow. Caroline allowed herself to be led and was dimly aware of
sinking down on a bed, of Maggie removing her riding boots
and helping her lie back. The room whirled behind her closed
eyelids. “Do not worry at Mr. Trentham’s manner,” Monsieur Legault
said in an undertone. “He was a very skilled doctor—even if
he refuses to acknowledge it.” “Why is that?” Maggie asked. “He will not speak of it. But your companion, she is in
good hands. Come, madame, you must sit too—the events of the
evening have unsettled you. Look, you are trembling.” Caroline heard her friend’s sigh, the weary rustle of
skirts settling. She wanted to apologize, but all strength
had left her. Her head hurt, and it was easier to simply lie still, eyes
closed, and try not to imagine what would follow. Would she
have to return to England? Maggie would insist on
accompanying her, but that was unthinkable. Her friend’s
mission in the Mediterranean would have to be abandoned if
she did so—and it would be Caroline’s fault. “I see you’ve made yourselves at home.” She opened her eyes to see Mr. Trentham standing in the
doorway. His dark hair looked as though he had roughed his
hands through it before entering the room. It gave him a
wild, untamed air. “Really, sir.” Maggie started to rise, but he waved her
back to her seat. “Calm yourself, Mrs. . . .” “Farnsworth,” she supplied. He gave a nod, then turned his scowl toward Monsieur Legault. “Bien,” the Frenchman said. “I knew we could rely upon you,
Mr. Trentham.” “You presume too much.” The black-haired man stalked to
Caroline’s bedside. He moved with an almost imperceptible
limp, favoring his left leg. He bent and looked into her
eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze. Caroline stared back
into deep indigo—the color of the sky after sunset, just
before it shades into night. “My elbow,” she said, trapped by his gaze. “I landed on my
arm when I fell.” “Here?” He set two fingers to the inside of her elbow,
where the fire burned. She flinched. “Yes.” He took her hand and she felt the roughness of his palm.
“Can you move your fingers, Miss Huntington?” She could, her fingers brushing lightly against his. “Good.” Despite the difficult introduction and his obvious
unwillingness to care for her, his touch was gentle. Steady competence radiated from his hands, an odd contrast
to the rest of his demeanor. “The blood flow doesn’t appear to be compromised, but your
elbow . . . Take a deep breath.” Caroline obeyed as his large hands moved up her arm. When
he touched the joint she stiffened in pain and could not
help her quick, indrawn breath, but she refused to give
voice to the lightning slicing through her. She would bear
whatever came in silence, for Maggie’s sake. His touch moved back down to her wrist. “Move your fingers
again. Yes, that’s it. Any tingling? Loss of feeling?” “No.” It came out a strained whisper. He glanced up. “Mrs. Farnsworth, I require your assistance.” Maggie came and stood at Caroline’s shoulder. Her face was
pale and she was breathing quickly. “I am not certain—” “Grasp her arm here, above the elbow. Firmly. I am going to
apply a downward pressure and lever the arm so the bones can
return to their proper alignment.” “Lever the arm?” Maggie’s voice was faint. Mr. Trentham looked impatient. “That’s generally the
accepted procedure to reduce a dislocated elbow.” “Shouldn’t you administer something for the pain?” Maggie
sounded as though she were the one in need of medication. Caroline glanced at her friend. “I will be all right.” She
forced a smile past the throbbing ache. “Please, Caroline. I can’t bear the thought of you
suffering.” Maggie swallowed. A sudden, dangerous edge leapt into Mr. Trentham’s voice.
“She said she would be all right.” “You don’t know my companion as I do,” Maggie said. “She
won’t admit . . .” He leaned forward and stared into Caroline’s eyes. A ghost
of something like panic shadowed his expression. “I do not
run an apothecary. And I do not administer medications.” His
tone was harsh. “You have no right to ask.” “Mr. Trentham.” Monsieur Legault spoke from his place at
the end of the bed, his voice soothing. “A small dose of
laudanum. It will not hurt, surely. She seems to be in some
difficulty.” “Please.” Maggie’s voice held a touch of desperation. Caroline wanted to argue that she could bear it, but she
was not certain she could. Just the thought of him
straightening her arm brought her perilously close to tears. Mr. Trentham stood, hands balled into fists. “You don’t
bloody know what you’re asking.” Tension vibrated from him, and Caroline was reminded again
of a storm about to break free, some elemental force barely
chained. “Now, my friend,” the Frenchman said softly. “No.” The doctor spun, mouth tight and furious, and strode
hurriedly from the room.
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