"Yes, thank you." He took her hand and hauled himself to a standing position, trying to ignore the myriad aches and pains that flared with every movement. When he reached his feet, he planted his hands on his hips and stretched his neck to the left. The joint made several cracking sounds, and Charles fought the urge to smile when Ellie winced.
"That doesn't sound very promising," she offered.
He didn't reply, just stretched his neck in the opposite direction, finding some sort of perverse satisfaction in the second round of cracking noises. After a moment, his eyes fell upon the overturned curricle, and he swore under his breath. The wheel had come off and was now crushed beneath the body of the vehicle.
Ellie followed his line of vision and said, "Yes, I tried to tell you that the wheel was quite ruined, but I now realize that you were in far too much pain to listen."
As Charles kneeled down to inspect the damage,
she surprised him by adding, "I'm terribly sorry for walking away a few minutes ago. I didn't realize how hurt you were. If I had, I should never have left. I— I shouldn't have left regardless. It was very bad of me."
Charles was touched by her heartfelt speech, and impressed with her sense of honor. "Your apology is unnecessary," he said gruffly, "but appreciated and accepted nonetheless."
Ellie inclined her head. "We did not travel very far from my home. It shouldn't be difficult to walk back and lead the horses. I am certain my father will be able to arrange transportation home for you. Or we can find a messenger to fetch a fresh carriage from Wycombe Abbey."
"That will be fine," he murmured, giving the damaged curricle a closer look.
"Is something amiss, my lord? Other than the fact that we drove through a rut and overturned?"
"Look at this, Eleanor." He reached out and touched the damaged wheel. "It's no longer attached to the carriage."
"I imagine that is from the accident."
Charles tapped his fingers against the side of the curricle as he thought. "No, it should still be attached. Broken, from when we overturned, but attached right here at the centerpoint."
"Do you think that wheel came off of its own volition?"
"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I do."
"But I know we hit that deep rut. I saw it. I felt it."
"The rut was most likely the catalyst for the removal of an already loose wheel."
Ellie leaned down and inspected the damage. "I think you're right, my lord. Look at the manner in which it is damaged. The spokes have been crushed by the weight of the curricle, but the body of the wheel is in one piece. I have studied very little physics, but I should think it would have snapped in two when we overturned. And—Oh! Look!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out the metal bolt.
"Where did you find this?"
"On the road. Just over the hill. It must have come loose and fallen off the wheel."
Charles turned to face her, his sudden movement bringing them nose to nose. "I think," he said softly, "you are correct."
Ellie's lips parted in surprise. He was so close that his breath touched her face, so close that she could feel his words as well as hear them.
"I might have to kiss you again."
She tried to make a sound that would convey— well, she didn't know what exactly she wanted to convey, but it made no difference anyway, as her vocal cords refused to make a single noise. She just sat there, utterly still, as he slowly tilted his head to the side and rested his lips upon hers.
"Very nice," he murmured, his words entering her mouth.
"My lord ..."
"Charles," he corrected.
"We really ... that is to say ..." She completely lost track of her thoughts at that point. Having the inside of her lower lip caressed by a man's tongue did that to her.
Charles chuckled and lifted his head a mere inch. "You were saying?"
Ellie did nothing but blink.
"Then I may assume you merely wanted to ask me to continue." His smile turned wolfish before he tipped up her chin and traced the line of her jaw with his lips.
"No!" Ellie burst out, suddenly jolted by a mortified sense of urgency. "That isn't what I meant at all."
"It isn't?" he teased.
"I meant to say that we are in the middle of a public road, and—"
"And you fear for your reputation," he finished for her.
"And yours as well, so you needn't make me out to be a prude."
"Oh, I have no intention of doing that, sweetheart."
Ellie lurched backward at his suggestive remark, promptly lost her balance, and ended up sprawled in the dirt. She bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she might regret. "Why don't we head home now?" she said evenly.
"An excellent idea," Charles replied, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it and allowed him to help her up, even though she suspected that the effort hurt him. A man had his pride, after all, and Ellie rather suspected that the Wycombes had more than their fair share.
* * *
The walk back to the vicar's cottage took about ten minutes. Ellie kept the conversation strictly on neutral topics, such as literature, French cuisine, and—even though she winced at the banality of it when she brought it up—the weather. Charles looked rather amused throughout the conversation, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. Worse, his ironic smile was just a touch benevolent, as if he were somehow permitting her to talk about thunderstorms and the like.
Ellie wasn't much enamored with the smug look on his face, but she had to be impressed that he could maintain the expression while he was limping, rubbing his head, and occasionally clutching his ribs.