Dedicated Villain by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online Page B

manage.”
    He bent and tugged at his boot, trying to spare his right hand. His ankle protested vigorously, his thumb throbbed, and he bit his lip and wished with profane intensity that Sorenson, his invaluable man of all work, was here.
    Two small hands gently but firmly detached his grasp. “Just lean back,” she said, “and be quiet.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI do this for my father all the time, you know.”
    She probably did, for whatever her past station in life, certainly she now lived in a caravan. Perhaps she even had admirers who visited her in this leafy glade. He apologized for being such a nuisance and stuck out his leg.
    â€œNuisance, is it? Have you forgot? I am greatly … indebted to you, Mr. … Mathieson,” she panted, tugging.
    â€œOw!” gasped Mathieson.
    She staggered back and sat down inelegantly, clutching his boot. “I am sorry. But—it’s off at all events,” she said cheerfully, clambering to her feet, no more perturbed by her fall than was Mathieson, who’d enjoyed a fine view of ankles and petticoats.
    The second boot came off more easily; at least less painfully, and she gave a little crow of triumph. “Excelsior! And I amMiss Fiona Bradford.” She dropped a swift curtsey, flourishing the boot in her hand, then set it neatly beside its mate. “Now—while you wash, I am going to go across to my father’s caravan and change my dress and get some of this mud off. I’ll come back in just a few minutes, I promise, and tend your poor hand.”
    â€œNever mind about me. What about the little girl?” He glanced anxiously at the bunk. “She hasn’t moved!”
    â€œHow very kind you are.” Miss Bradford went over to lift a corner of the blanket carefully. “Oh, she’s fast asleep. She’ll be all right, never fear. Now—keep warm. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
    It seemed a rather haphazard attitude to adopt toward a half-drowned child, but women knew more about these things, of course. He waited until Miss Bradford had closed the door behind her, then began clumsily to wash his face and hands. The water was black when he finished, but he felt much restored. The blanket was warm and ample, and with it wrapped around him he was quite cozy and no longer shivering. His head was nodding when Miss Bradford knocked and then came in carrying a steaming pitcher and with a basket over her arm.
    â€œHere I am, at long last!” she cried brightly, then halted, staring.
    He had made shift to order his thick black hair, but it was wet from his ablutions and a few strands curled untidily about the features that were so breathtakingly handsome that she felt a twinge of unease.
    Mathieson, staring in turn, came clumsily to his feet.
    Miss Bradford had changed into a charming but simple gown of light blue. The mud was gone, revealing an oval face that had little claim to classic beauty. Her small nose was slightly uptilted, her upper lip was too short, even if it did curve very sweetly to meet its mate, her candid green eyes were inclined to be narrow, but held such a smiling look, and a dimple lurked beside her firm little chin. Her hair hung in a damp light brown mass about her shoulders. Despite the fact that she was so little,her figure was prettily rounded, but he was dismayed and muttered, “Good Gad! You’re scarce out of the schoolroom!”
    For an instant she did not move, standing there clutching the pitcher and gazing up at him. Then she gave a rather strained laugh and hurried to put the pitcher on the floor and pick up the bowl of dirty water. “I’ll have you know I am of age, sir! Just,” she amended hurriedly.
    Mathieson breathed a silent sigh of relief and sat down again. She was an odd chit, devoid of sophistication or a proper shyness, which was not to be wondered at in a girl who dwelt in a caravan. Still, she had evidently been taught how to