"—poke you," she finished. "I'm dreadfully sorry."
"It is astonishing," he said, his voice liberally laced with irony, "how much sorrow I hear in your voice."
Ellie caught another giggle in her throat.
"Oh, for the love of God," he muttered. "Just laugh. Lord knows my life is laughable."
Ellie, whose own life had descended into the miserable ever since her widower father had announced his intention to marry the village of Bellfield's biggest busybody, felt a pang of empathy. She didn't know what could have prompted this remarkably handsome and well-heeled lord to go out and get himself blindingly drunk, but whatever it was, she felt for him. She stopped her work on his boot for a moment, leveled her dark blue eyes at his face, and said, "My name is Miss Eleanor Lyndon."
His eyes warmed. "Thank you for sharing that pertinent piece of information, Miss Lyndon. It isn't every day I allow a strange woman to saw off my boots."
"It isn't every day I nearly get knocked to the ground by men falling from trees. Strange men," she added for emphasis.
"Ah yes, I should introduce myself, I s'pose." He cocked his head in a manner that reminded Ellie that he was still more than a touch inebriated. "Charles Wycombe at your service, Miss Lyndon. Earl of Billington." Then he muttered, "Much as that's worth."
Ellie stared at him unblinkingly. Billington? He was one of the county's most eligible bachelors. So eligible that even she'd heard of him, and she wasn't on anybody's list of eligible young ladies. Rumor had it that he was the worst sort of rake. Ellie had heard him whispered about at village gatherings, although as an unmarried lady she'd never been privy to the juiciest gossip. She tended to think that his reputation must be very black if he did things that couldn't even be mentioned in her presence.
Ellie had also heard that he was fantastically wealthy, even more so than her sister Victoria's new husband, who was Earl of Macclesfield. Ellie couldn't personally vouch for that, as she hadn't seen his personal finance ledgers, and she made it a point never to speculate on financial matters without hard evidence. But she did know that the Billington estate was vast and ancient. And it was a good twenty miles away. "What are you doing here in Bellfield?" she blurted out.
"Just visiting my old childhood haunts."
Ellie motioned toward the branches above them with her head. "Your favorite tree?"
"Used to climb it all the time with Macclesfield."
Ellie finished her work on the boot and put the knife down. "Robert?" she asked.
Charles looked suspicious and a bit protective. "You're on a first-name basis with him? He's recently married."
"Yes. To my sister."
"The world grows smaller by the second," he murmured. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance."
"You might rethink that sentiment in a moment," Ellie remarked. With a gentle touch, she slid his swollen foot from his boot.
Charles looked down at his mangled boot with a pained expression. "I suppose my ankle is more important," he said wistfully, but he didn't sound as if he meant it.
Ellie expertly prodded his ankle. "I don't think you've broken any bones, but you've a nasty sprain."
"You sound experienced at this sort of thing."
"I come to the rescue of any wounded animal," she said, arching her brows. "Dogs, cats, birds—"
"Men," he finished for her.
"No," she said pertly. "You're the first. But I cannot imagine that you'd be that much different from a dog."
"Your fangs are showing, Miss Lyndon."
"Are they?" she asked, reaching up to touch her face. "I shall have to remember to retract them."
Charles burst out laughing. "You, Miss Lyndon, are a treasure."
"That's what I keep telling everyone," she said with a shrug and a wicked smile, "but no one seems to believe me. Now then, I fear you will require a cane for several days. Possibly a week. Have you one at your disposal?"
"Right now?"
"I meant at home, but...." Ellie's words trailed off as she looked around her. She spied a long stick several yards away and scrambled to her feet. "This should do," she said, picking it up and handing it to him. "Do you need assistance getting to your feet?"
He grinned wolfishly as he swayed toward her. "Any excuse to be in your arms, my dear Miss Lyndon."
Ellie knew she should be affronted, but he was trying so hard to be charming, and devil take it, he was succeeding. Handily. She supposed that was why he was such a successful rake. She stepped around to his back and put her hands under his arms. "I warn you, I'm not very gentle."
"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"
"On the count of three, then. Are you ready?"
"That depends, I suppose, on—"
"One, two ... three!" With a grunt and a heave, Ellie pulled the earl to his feet. It wasn't an easy task. He outweighed her by a good four stone and was drunk, to boot. His knees buckled, and Ellie only just managed to keep herself from cursing as she planted her feet and braced them. Then he started to topple over in the other direction, and she had to scoot to his front to keep him from falling.
"Now that feels nice," he murmured as his chest pressed up against hers.
"Lord Billington, I must insist that you use your cane."
"On you?" He sounded intrigued by the notion.
"To walk!" she fairly yelled.
He flinched at the noise, then shook his head. "It's the oddest thing," he murmured, "but I have the most appalling urge to kiss you."