A Matchmaker's Match Read Online Free Page A

to a tree. The stones were all tumbled about, but in the far corner part of a wall had survived intact. A lot could be surmised by looking at the stones themselves. Papa had taught her that chisel marks often had a tale of their own to tell.
    She set out for the corner, picking her way carefully among the scattered stones. The way was rough, the ground uneven. Holding up her riding skirt, she stepped cautiously. She thought she was being quite careful, yet one minute she was upright and walking, and the next her ankle had turned and she was thrown violently to the ground.
    “Oh!” Her Cossack-style riding hat kept her head from hitting directly on the stones. And her heavy velvet habit protected her skin from scrapes, but her entire body felt jarred by the fall. Tomorrow would bring a fair-sized bruise on her derriere. There was no doubt in her mind of that.
    She started to push herself upright. Pain jolted through her and she cried out. Her foot was trapped under a heavy block of building stone. Evidently the weight of her stepping on it had tilted the stone sideways and when she fell it flipped over on top of her foot.
    After she caught her breath, she tried again to reach it. But the stone was too big and heavy, and her foot was twisted at an angle that made it hard to get at.
    She sank back with a sigh, frustrated. It was clear that she could not free herself. Forcing herself into calmness, she tried to settle comfortably. Though her foot was trapped, it was not excessively painful. She would just be in for a longish wait. Since it was yet early morning, no one would be apt to miss her for some time.
    There was little point in ranting and railing at her fate, however. She was pinned there till someone found her—no amount of complaining would change that.
    Well, she had wanted to be alone, to clear her head so she could decide whether or not to help Amanda. And here she was—certainly alone. With plenty of morning air and plenty of time to think.
    She gave herself up to considering the pros and cons of returning to London. At the end of the first hour she had come no nearer a conclusion. What she had concluded was that the stones were quite hard and that she could find no comfortable position among them. For the first time her courage faltered a little. No one at the house knew where she had gone, not even what direction. How would they know where to look for her?
    The sun came out from behind a cloud, forcing her to close her eyes against its glare. Perhaps she would doze a little. The time would pass faster.
    * * * *
    The earl pushed his horse harder. Why hadn’t he risen earlier? He hadn’t expected Psyche to go out riding alone. He’d meant to be there before her, to suggest he ride with her.
    But he had laid awake long into the night, recalling her every word, her every look. So that this morning he’d been late to rise, too late to catch Psyche.
    Besotted, he told himself, you’re absolutely besotted with the woman. But he didn’t care. He only hoped he could find her. The stable boy had said there were ruins in this direction—and he was hoping that she had decided to ride there.
    And then he saw them, great blocks of tumbled stone, probably once an abbey. Seconds later he spied the horse, its saddle empty. Was Psyche examining the ruin? But where?
    And then the splotch of claret caught his eye, claret among the gray stones of the ruin. She was on the ground!
    He pulled the horse to a halt, dismounted, and hurried to her. “Psyche?”
    She didn’t stir. She looked to be asleep, but with that building stone on her foot she could be injured. If she’d fallen and hit her head-- He moved closer, repeating her name, this time a little louder. “Psyche! Are you hurt?”
    She stirred then and opened her eyes. He let out his breath in relief. “Well,” he said, making his tone jocular, “what have we here?”
    Psyche jerked awake and looked up to see the Earl of Southdon looming over her. “Southdon, are