A Regency Christmas Carol by Christine Merrill Read Free Book Online

‘My Barb always was a spirited one as a youngster. Constantly climbing into trees and taking the short way back to the ground. It is a good thing that the Lampett heads are hard, or we’d have lost her by now. Sit down, Barbara, and let me have a look at your foot.’
    She took the seat they had pressed her to, and her father knelt at her feet and pulled off her muddy boot, probing gently at the foot to search for breaks.
    She sat patiently and watched as Stratford’s expression changed from concern to interest at the sight of her stocking-clad leg. Then he hurriedly looked away, embarrassed that he’d been caught staring. He gave her a rueful smile and a half-shrug, as if to say he could hardly be blamed for looking at something so attractive, and then offered a benign, ‘I hope it is nothing serious.’
    ‘A mild sprain, nothing more,’ her father assuredhim. For a change, his tone was as placid as it had ever been. He was the simple schoolmaster, the kind father she remembered and still knew, but a man the world rarely saw. She wanted to shout into the face of the mill owner to make him notice the change.
    This is who he is. This is who we all are. We are not your enemies. We need you, just as you need us. If only you were to listen you might know us. You might like us.
    ‘Would it help for her to sit with her foot on a cushion for a bit?’ Mr Stratford responded as he was addressed, behaving as though she had twisted an ankle during a picnic, and not while haring to her father’s rescue. ‘My carriage is waiting at the back gate, just around the corner of the building.’
    ‘That will not be necessary,’ she said. This had hardly begun as a social call, though both men now seemed ready to treat it as such. While she doubted her father capable of guile, she did not know if this new and gentler Stratford was the truth. What proof did she have that they were not being led into a trap so that he could call the authorities? Even if he did not, at any time her father might recollect who had made the offer and turn again to the wild man she had found a few moments ago.
    ‘A ride would be most welcome,’ her father said, loud enough to drown out her objections. His axe still lay, forgotten, on the floor behind them. For now he waswilling to accept the hospitality of a man he’d been angry enough to threaten only a moment ago.
    ‘Then, with your permission, Mr Lampett, and with apologies to you, miss, for the liberty…’ Joseph Stratford pulled off his apron, tossed it aside, then reached around her and lifted her easily off the stool and into his arms.
    While it was a relief to see how easily he’d managed her father, it was rather annoying to see how easily he could manage her as well. He was carrying her through the factory as though she weighed nothing. And she was allowing him to do it—without protest. The worst of it was, she rather liked the sensation. She could feel far too much of his body through the fabric of his shirt, and her face was close enough to his bare skin to smell the blending of soap and sweat and cologne that was unique to him. Such overt masculinity should have repelled her. Instead she found herself wishing she could press her face into the hollow of his throat. At least she might lay her head against his shoulder, feigning a swoon.
    That would be utter nonsense. She was not the sort to swoon under any circumstances, and she would not play at it now. Though she did allow herself to slip an arm around his neck under the guise of steadying herself. His arms were wrapped tightly, protectively, around her already, and such extra support was not really necessary. But it gave her the opportunity to feel more of him, and to bring her body even closer to his as he moved.
    ‘It seems I am always to be rescuing you, MissLampett,’ he said into her ear, so quietly that her father could not overhear.
    ‘You needn’t have bothered,’ she whispered back. ‘I am shamming.’
    ‘As you were