The Wagered Miss Winslow Read Online Free Page A

chucklehead one might suppose her to be, baldly insulting a man—a very large man as it turned out, once he had clambered to his feet—with no one about to rescue her from his anger save a young serving maid. She knew herself to be within shouting distance of Samuel Hackett’s cottage, for one thing, and for another thing, Beaumont Remington was not quite as unaffected by his spill as Mollie might have thought.
    He rose quickly enough, Rosalind granted to herself, but his wince of pain and his quick clutch at his left arm convinced her that he had suffered a more serious mishap than first supposed, perhaps even broken a bone. She might not be very big, or very strong, but she certainly could not be afraid of an injured man.
    And she also wasn’t nearly as heartless as she seemed. But the coin was burning a figurative hole in the suede bag so that she wanted to get back to her workroom, wash it thoroughly, and see if her supposition was correct, and it was indeed a Roman coin. Beaumont Remington was an inconvenience, a hindrance to her plans, and the accident was, after all, his own fault.
    “Here,” she said, quickly untying her bonnet and slipping the blue scarf out from the slots in its crown. “I think we can make do with this as a sling. Your arm is injured, isn’t it? I shouldn’t think you’d be cradling it so carefully otherwise.”
    “Picked up on that, did you, miss?” Beau asked, ignoring her offer in order to walk over and inspect the damage to his curricle. “What do you propose we tie around this poor apparatus—for it seems to have likewise suffered a fracture.”
    Rosalind frowned, sliding the blue scarf through her fingers. “Fracture? Then your arm is broken? How can you be certain?”
    Beau turned to her and, with the sun full on his face, she got her first really clear look at him. His smile was breathtaking. “How, madam? Because this would not be the first time I’ve broken it. Got it caught up in the rigging once, aboard ship.” He frowned, although his startlingly blue eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth. “Or was that my right arm? It was some years ago, you understand, during my time spent in the Royal Navy.”
         Rosalind’s soft heart—later she was to say that it must have been her soft head —was touched. “You’re a veteran?” She approached him, holding out the scarf.  “Here, bend down, if you please, for you’re as tall as a tree, and I’ll tie this behind your head once you’ve slipped your arm into it. Be careful now, for I wouldn’t want to cause you any further injury.”
    “You wouldn’t?” Beau quipped, his speech suddenly, deliberately, taking on a hint of a brogue. “And here I am, thinkin’ as how I’ve delighted you no end, topplin’ into the dirt. It just goes to show how wrong a man can be, doesn’t it?”

Three
     

     
    R osalind had the good grace to blush. “Am I really that transparent, sir?” she asked, her fingers trembling slightly as she secured the knot of the makeshift sling behind his head and then stepped back, carefully placing some space between herself and this tall, handsome man whose smile was so charmingly boyish. Really! Anyone would think she was as impressionable as Mollie, allowing her head to be turned by a handsome face! “I don’t really wish you harm. It is only that you shouldn’t have been driving so fast on this lane, and your accident has made me late for tea.”
    Beau nodded, wincing slightly as he adjusted the sling so that his arm might be more comfortable. He may have broken it, more’s the pity, there was no denying that possibility. Bridget would ring a mighty peal over his head for this piece of nonsense. “A thousand apologies, ma’am,” he said, bowing as politely as is possible when encumbered by a tightly tied blue scarf. “And you are correct. I was being cow-handed, and woefully negligent into the bargain. I should have known better than to spring my horses along an unknown road.