The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,55

to the Blue Wagon? She has a carriage waiting there to take her to London."

Cecil flung Selina off as if she was infected with some contagious disease. "Better to let the traitorous hellcat freeze."

"Cecil, as Lord Bruard said…" she began, sounding even less convincing than Brock had.

"I didn’t come down in the last shower, you lying slut. You’ve been with that lecherous bastard since I left you."

Brock saw Selina flinch, and he stepped nearer to extend his arm, but she recoiled from his protection. The frozen misery on her face had threatened to break his heart. It was worse now when she refused to accept any help from him.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to the lady," Brock snapped.

"I’ll call it as I see it."

Derwent winced. It was clear that he was eager to avoid dramatics. "Canley-Smythe, I realize this encounter is unexpected, but theatrics benefit nobody."

Brock saw Cecil consider a heated response, but self-interest must have kicked in. He wouldn’t want to offend such a powerful patron as Lord Derwent. In seething acknowledgment, he bowed.

Derwent nodded, although his expression didn’t warm. He presented his arm to Selina. "May I offer you a seat in my carriage, Mrs. Martin?"

"Thank you, but if…if Erskine has a broken arm, he should go. I was only bruised in the accident, my lord."

Pride threatened to burst Brock’s chest. Even on what must count as the worst day of her life, she thought of someone else’s trouble before her own.

Derwent scowled, as if the idea of a menial sharing the rarefied air he breathed offended every drop of his blue blood. "There’s room for four. If we take the injured man, Mr. Canley-Smythe or Lord Bruard must remain behind."

Horror flooded Brock at the prospect of letting Selina go without him. He didn’t trust Cecil, who looked ready to commit murder. It was the closest thing to passion he’d ever seen the cod-faced poltroon display. But then Brock had known from the first that while Selina didn’t want Cecil, Cecil most definitely wanted her.

Selina broke away to cross to where Erskine sat, pale and in obvious agony. Brock followed, itching to do something to make all this better for Selina and hating to be so powerless.

"We need to splint that arm before you travel, Erskine," she said in an impressively steady voice. "I’m so sorry you were hurt."

"Och, madam, nae need to worry about me. I’ll be right as rain in nae time." But when the man tried to stand up, he jarred his arm and went as white as milk.

Relieved to have something practical to do, Brock returned to his carriage. He slithered down the bank and felt his boots sink into the mud as he snapped a length of wood from the rails. He tossed the stick back onto the road, then collected the baggage from the back and tossed that up to safety, too.

Plaistow appeared at the top of the ditch. "May I be of assistance, my lord?"

"Good man. Can you give me a hand up?"

The sides of the ditch were steep and slippery. Brock had made it down with relative ease. He wasn’t sure he’d make it out again without help.

When he was back on the road, he rummaged in his bag and produced half a dozen neck cloths. He also took the chance to rub some snow over his face and hands to clean off the worst of the blood.

He turned back to Plaistow. "Will you help me splint my coachman’s broken arm?"

By the time Erskine was ready to travel, after an interval of excruciating pain that he bore with astonishing stoicism, Derwent and Canley-Smythe had retired inside the undamaged coach. Neither had offered to assist with the coachman’s injuries.

"More brandy, Erskine?" Brock asked, as he and Selina helped the stocky young man up onto shaky legs. Now Erskine was as ready to travel as he was going to be, Plaistow had left them to check that his horses were fit to run.

Erskine was ashen, and it was clear shock was setting in. "Aye, thank ye," he mumbled, staggering as he found his feet.

"Keep this." Brock handed the man the silver flask. "You might need it again before you reach the Blue Wagon."

With some stumbling, Brock and Selina got Erskine across to the carriage. Derwent emerged as they approached. "If we take your man, someone has to stay behind."

"Be buggered if I’m giving up my seat for that petticoat-chasing bastard," Cecil snarled from inside the vehicle.

Brock caught a flash of terror