One Touch of Magic Read Online Free Page A

London, would not wait in the village for very long, and it would never do to leave Mary Ann alone there. She drove down the road, until the men were left far behind her.
    Unfortunately, fate seemed to be against her. Attempting to cross a shallow stream, something she had done dozens of times before, she felt a great jolt, and her phaeton tilted and would go no farther. Her horses tossed their pretty heads, as if indignant that their jolly run had been so rudely interrupted, and tried to move forward. The carriage was quite thoroughly stuck.
    Sarah twisted about to look down at the offending wheel. It was obviously caught in some muddy rut of the streambed, and she would have to walk to the nearest farm for help. She glanced down at the water, frowning.
    She had dressed so carefully today to meet her sister, leaving behind the stout boots she used for digging in favor of dainty new kid half-boots. She certainly did not want to ruin them! Perhaps she could climb over the front of the phaeton onto one of the horses’ backs? But then how would she release the horse from the carriage without getting muddy?
    She sat there for a moment, absorbed in this conundrum, until she heard the rustle of hooves on the road behind her. She turned, full of relief, to call out for rescue—only to find that it was the man who was perhaps Lord Ransome approaching.
    A half-smile curved his lips as he reined in his horse next to her carriage. He was handsome, Sarah thought, just as everyone said, and not the least weather-beaten. He was rather sun browned, to be sure, the darkness of his skin in contrast with his guinea-gold hair. His eyes were a brilliant blue, surrounded by only the faintest of lines that deepened when he smiled at her fully.
    They sparkled in the sunlight, blue as the sky, making him seem very friendly and easy. Not at all the stiff-backed prig she imagined an Army man would be. And he seemed very—familiar.
    She smiled back, caught by his handomeness, his smile. She didn’t think she could speak even if she tried, she was so breathless. And he hadn’t even said anything to her yet! He had just smiled at her, and she was staring like a silly schoolgirl.
    Stop it right now, she told herself sternly. You are not some young miss; you are a respectable widow, and he is the one who holds your work in his hand.
    If he thought she was a simpering lackwit, he would never let her stay at the village.
    She twined the reins around her fist, and sat up straight on the carriage seat. “Good day, sir,” she said, deeply grateful that her voice emerged in a normal fashion, and not as a high-pitched squeak.
    “Good day, ma’am,” he answered, his own voice deep, and rich with humor. “It appears you are in quite a situation.”
    She smiled at him. “Indeed. The wheel is stuck,” she pointed out unnecessarily. “I am meant to be in Upper Hawthorn to meet my sister.”
    “Well, I would offer my assistance, but perhaps I should introduce myself first. I am Miles Rutledge.”
    “The new Lord Ransome. Yes, I thought so. I’ve heard much about you. I am Lady Iverson.”
    “I have heard of you, as well.”
    Sarah looked up at him quizzically. “Have you indeed?”
    “Of course. The famous Lady Iverson, the lady antiquarian. I am eager to hear more of your activities. But, in the meantime, perhaps we should turn our attention to this emergency, and get you into the village to meet your sister.”
    He leaned down to look closer at the wheel, one hand on the edge of her phaeton. She stared down at it, fascinated. It was a strong hand, dark, long fingered, capable, with a small white scar on its back. In the deepest, most secret part of her mind, she saw that hand resting on her bare arm, sliding along her skin. . . .
    She shook her head to clear it of this new silliness, and managed to paste a bland expression on her face just as he straightened up.
    His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected her improper thoughts. Or maybe he was just