Despite her trembling hands, she obeyed quickly. When she was through, he laid the unconscious man down on it and stretched him out.
"It's pretty cold in here. Do you want to get out of the coach? Go sit in mine where it's warmer?" he asked.
The puff of air which accompanied his words was ample evidence of the bitter weather, but she said in a firm tone, "I'm staying. He needs us both."
"Your husband would want you to be safe."
"He's not my husband," she said in an off-hand manner as she laid the hot water bottles around the prone man.
At last Blake raised his head to look at her face. And stared in shock. For there before him, disheveled but composed, was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Her bonnet and shawl had fallen back to reveal her incredible attributes. She had hair black as a raven's wing, a complexion as fair as a white rose, with a blush of red in her cheeks and lips. She possessed the most remarkable dark blue eyes he had ever seen, almost purple now that her pupils were wide with shock.
He guessed her to be in her early twenties, for though she looked very young, she seemed so composed and competent that he did not think she could be any younger than that.
His seething jealousy over the man's relationship with the surreally beautiful girl made his tone harsh. "You're awfully young to be living as anyone's mistress. Have you no sense—"
Her eyes flashed fire. "How dare you! This man is a complete stranger to me. He got in before Reading. I'm no man's mistress," she said coldly.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean— But then why are you here alone?"
"I'm meeting my brother in London for Christmas," she said with a defiant flash of her dark eyes. "No one was able to accompany me. I little imagined I would meet such a fate. The storm came up so suddenly it spooked the horses.
"But please, rather than scold me for my supposed lack of morals, we must find the other two men. We must see if they're still alive. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Greengage. Just tell me what to do."
"If you won't get into the other coach where it's warm, keep checking to see that he's breathing. If he starts to choke, turn him onto his side, his head tilted downwards to let his mouth drain."
"All right, I will."
He stared at her again. "I say, you're being awfully brave about this."
She lifted her chin proudly. "I haven't much choice, have I?"
"Good girl. Very sensible. All right, Belle. We need to get you both sorted and then I need to head out."
He took up one of the blankets and tucked it around her, before helping her step over Mr. Greengage's prone form. "Sit here where it's dry, between the two benches. Keep this wrapped around you, and tuck my hot water bottles in around you too. The cold kills just as assuredly as a badly bleeding wound. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "That's why we need to find the other two men soon."
"Yes, indeed." He wrapped the blanket around her more securely, and took another one to place over her head. He brushed her cheek lightly as he did so, sending a shiver through them both. My goodness, but she was lovely.
She was a woman. Single. Injured. And a woman, he reminded himself again. Never to be trusted.
Catching himself staring at her, his finger still on her cheek, he cleared his throat. "Some bruising, a couple of cuts from the glass, but they're like pinpricks." He stroked her petal-soft cheek once more. "No scars. Your perfect beauty is safe."
She sighed and shook her head. "I don't care about that. I only hope Mr. Greengage survives his ordeal."
"I'll do my best," he vowed, forcing himself to pull away from her.
"I trust you."
"Good. I trust you to look after him and yourself, Belle. I'll be back soon, I swear."
"I believe you," she said, her eyes raised to his. "Take care of yourself. The storm sounds like it's getting worse."
"I will. Everyone is counting on me now." He tried not to let the crushing weight of that burden choke him. He reminded himself quickly that he had faced far worse during the war. He could do this. He had to do this.
With a tight smile he hoped would reassure her, Blake bowed over Belle's slim hand and went into action once more.
CHAPTER FOUR
Blake put his bag on top of the coach along with two rugs and a hot water bottle. He raised himself out and jumped down onto the ground.
The snow was indeed now a near-blizzard, but he knew he had to do something to save the drive and postillion. He wrapped himself tightly in his greatcoat.
Then he wound the blankets around himself, clasped the bag and bottle, and stepped away from the relative shelter of the coach. The wind was so strong that it nearly lifted him off his feet, though at nearly six foot four he knew he was not a small man by any means.
As he trudged onwards through the storm, looking for any sign of life, he wondered what his options were. The last village they had passed had been several miles back.
If memory served correctly, the next village was about the same distance away. Even if John rode like the hounds of Hell were after him, it would take him several hours to get there and back. It had to be nearly four in the afternoon now.
It was hard to tell with it so overcast and no sign of the sun anywhere, but he knew night was coming quickly on this, the shortest day of the year. The soonest John could be back would be about seven, even assuming he could find anyone to help him in this appalling weather. Even assuming that he made it that far.
So he would have to keep everyone warm and dry for at least another three hours.
Or overnight? It didn't bear thinking about.
But thus far nothing had come up and down the road in either direction. The next mail coach from Bristol or London would not be due until tomorrow. He was on his own so far as he could tell.
A mound in the snow with some dark fabric peeping from underneath sent Blake running up the road as fast as he could given the gale blowing.
He guessed it was the driver from the whip frozen in his hands. Blake uncovered his face and neck. Broken.
He said a quick prayer for the repose of his soul, and covered his face with his muffler as a sign of respect.
He took a handful of snow to quench his raging thirst, and trudged on, feeling more dispirited with every stride. Another two minutes, struggling every step of the way, located the postillion, who was just off the road under a tree. He was half-buried, blue with cold, and with one leg at an unnatural angle.
"I'm a doctor," Blake said, wrapping the blankets around him and thrusting the water bottle into his shivering arms. "I'll look after you. I need to splint this leg and get you back to my carriage."
He wrapped both of the blankets around him, and gave him some snow to eat.
"H-h-h-how are the others?" he chattered.
"The driver's dead, I'm afraid, but your two passengers are still alive."
"That poor girl?" he asked.
"Not too bad. It's the man I fear for. Now come, no more talking. Try to rest. I need to go look for some branches."
He groped around under the trees in the fluffy powder and eventually found a pair that were long and stout enough to serve. He had some rolls of bandages, but not enough to immobilize the leg fully.
He sighed and quickly stripped off his clothes, removing his shirt for its cotton. He hastily donned his waistcoat and jacket once more, and finally his greatcoat and scarf. The snow on his bare chest made him shiver, and the wind raked at his bare throat as he worked.
"Here, hold these for me."
The young man did as he was told, positioning the branches on either side of the leg. "What's your name?"
"James, sir."
"Well, James, brace your back against the tree and hold on."
He set the bone and quickly lashed the rolls of bandages around it to hold it in place. Then he wrapped his shirt around it and his stock, and nodded.
"It will do until we get back to civilization. Come on, I'll help you up."
He gathered James up and slung one of his arms over his shoulder. James wrapped the traveling rugs around them both, and kept the still-warm ceramic hot water bottle between them as they struggled back to the site of the wreck. The wind blew so violently sideways that at times it threatened to sent them sprawling into the drifts.
Blake slid around trying to keep his footing and not injure his patient any further. The wind and snow stung every exposed part of his body. He could barely see as the white swirled all around. But the thought of the lovely girl waiting for him, the injured man needing his help, drove him on.
At last he could see the outline of the two carriages. They lunged forward and struggled the rest of the way to Blake's coach. He put James safely into it, placing the foot warmers on either side of his feet in the middle of the floor and wrapping him in the blankets securely.
"Sit here and try to stay warm. Have a dig around and see what sort of useful things you can find, food and so on. The inn packed a basket for me but I didn't even look in it. I need to go out and find more wood and cloth for the other man. Then I'll need your help getting the others out of the wrecked coach."
James nodded. "I'll do what I can."
"Good lad. I'll be back soon."
Blake plunged back into the storm and went up to his own luggage rack. He lowered the bags to the ground but left them for the moment. Clothes could wait. The storm was getting worse. He needed more important things than that.
He looked in the boot of the carriage, and found an axe and a shovel. He shouldered the axe and went in search of more branches, and some firewood.
As he struggled back to the line of trees, the greatcoat was tugged unmercifully by the wind, and his bare throat already felt raw. He knew he was freezing, rapidly running out of time. He could already feel the overwhelming sleepiness which the bitter cold provoked.
He shinned up a likely tree which had some good low-hanging branches, and worked manfully to get a collection of them together. He cut four to serve as splints, and hacked several more to use for fuel. He climbed down and ran back to the carriage as fast as he could with his load.
He debated on making one more trip. But he was just too cold, and he didn't want Belle to worry any more than she had to.
Back at the carriage he dropped the firewood, took the splints, and unstrapped his valises from the back. He swung everything on top of the other coach and climbed up himself. He said quietly, "Look out below. I'm coming down."
CHAPTER FIVE
Belle's look of relief at Blake's return was unmistakable. "Thank God you're back. I was so worried. The storm sounds worse."
He lowered the things in and climbed down.
At last she saw his face clearly. He was white and pinched-looking, his coat frozen and full of snow, the top of his partly-bared chest raw, his hands shaking.
She put one small hand on his shoulder. "We need to look after you first, Doctor," she said. "You won't be able to help any of us if you're sick yourself."
Blake nodded gratefully. He was shivering so badly he could barely speak. He most certainly could not bend his fingers. She snatched open one valise and pulled out the clothes, a clean shirt and several jackets which she put to one side, and more shirts and stocks.
Then she helped him off with his greatcoat, jacket and waistcoat, and assisted him in donning his shirt. She patiently redressed him as though he were a child, wondering at her nerve in doing so. Touching a half-naked man... A huge, half-naked man, she thought with a hot blush.
He was after all a complete stranger, and could be dangerous. Dangerous to her virtue if nothing else, she admitted to herself candidly, for the was the most attractive man she had ever set eyes on.
Jet black hair with a slight wave to it, delicately arched ebony brows over remarkable warm clear hazel eyes, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, a beautifully sculpted mouth, strong chin, she was sure he had to be every woman's dream of masculine perfection.
Married with ten children, no doubt, she thought to herself, trying not to be shy in front of him after she had seen his fabulous chest, huge broad shoulders and muscular arms, his enormous hands that could span her waist.
He was tall, with powerful thighs and calves, and looked far larger even than her own step-brother Peter, whom she knew to be over six feet two.
But now was not the time to dwell on the man's incredible attributes. She got a dry waistcoat and jacket on him, noting the rich flannel and wool fabrics, inhaling the rich smells and detecting his own fragrance as well, fine lavender soap and rich leather. No aroma of cigars or drink clung to him, which relieved her no end.
She blinked up at him again, unable to help but stare at his arresting masculine attractiveness. He was now clad in a black coat and forest green waistcoat, which set off his eyes, and if anything made him look even more stunning.
She helped him on with his great coat and scarf once more, while he continued to hold his frozen hands up out of harm's way. He was still shivering, so she leaned forward and threw the other jackets over his shoulders and encircled him in her arms.
She wrapped the travelling rugs around them both. He resisted for a moment, but she placed the hot water bottle in between them on his lap, and began to work on his hands.
"M-m-mustn't rub," he said.
"I know." She warmed each one in turn with her own two palms, and blew on them while Blake sat there shivering, his teeth still chattering uncontrollably.
Her delicate touch, the intimacy of her rosy lips occasionally brushing his fingers, was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced his life.
He tried to tell himself that he was being absurd. But he had rarely shared any tenderness with a woman, let alone one so lovely, or so young. Innocent-looking…
As he warmed, his sleepiness increased, and he felt his head bobbing down to rest upon her shoulder.
"You can't fall asleep," she whispered.
"I know. I'm just so tired all of a sudden."
"It's the cold. Stay with me, Doctor. You need to stay awake."
He blinked owlishly and lifted his head, though he leaned more heavily upon her while she blew on his hands until the painful stinging sensation subsided and he could bend his fingers again.
"Better?" she asked softly.
"Mmm."
She continued to work on his hands in silence for a time longer, before putting her warm palms on his frozen face.
"Did you find the other two men?" Arabella inquired after a time.
"James the postillion is still alive," he rasped, the cold and his own trembling making his voice hoarse.
She held him closer now, continuing to cradle him against her body and the water bottle until at last his shivering subsided.
Then she handed him a bottle of ginger beer, and said, "Drink. There's also brandy."
"Alcohol only makes you feel warm temporarily. It's actually one of the worst things you can take for the cold," he told Belle.
She nodded and helped him hold the bottle to his lips. Some of it ran down his shivering chin. She took her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed him dry. Again, the gesture was so intimate that he had all to do not to pull her to him and kiss her.
He was acutely aware of her body even through the thick wool of her navy blue gown and the yards of petticoats he could feel underneath.
Thank goodness she had dressed well for the weather. Her gown was damp in places, he could feel, but she did not seem to be suffering unduly from the cold. But the sooner they got out of there and into his coach and he made a fire, the better off they would all be.
Now she opened his medical bag and took out some scissors. She lifted her skirts unceremoniously. He nearly fainted with desire as he saw her ankles and calves while she started to cut a yard off the bottom of the flannel. She dropped her hem back over her neat practical half boots and began to cut them into six-inch strips. She gathered some of his shirts as well, and then waited patiently for him to give her instructions.
"How a
re you now?" she asked.
"Better. Warmer. I think I'm ready."
"What do you want me to do?"
"We'll do the leg first. You need to hold his thigh steady, like so. I'm sorry about this," he said softly. "A young lady shouldn't--"
"It's all right. I want to help," she said, gazing at him steadily.
His mouth went dry with need but he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. "All right. Grasp it firmly, and I'm going to tug to set the bone."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 64