A tearing agony went through Lillian’s right thigh, and she would have stumbled to the ground had it not been for the support of his arm around her back. “Oh, damn it,” she said shakily, clutching at her thigh. A twisting spasm in her thigh muscle caused her to groan through her clenched teeth. “Damn, damn—”

“What is it?” St. Vincent asked, swiftly lowering her to the path. “A leg cramp?”

“Yes…” Pale and shaking, Lillian caught at her leg, while her face contorted with agony. “Oh God, it hurts!”

He bent over her, frowning with concern. His quiet voice was threaded with urgency. “Miss Bowman…would it be possible for you to temporarily ignore everything you’ve heard about my reputation? Just long enough for me to help you?”

Squinting at his face, Lillian saw nothing but an honest desire to relieve her pain, and she nodded.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and gathered her writhing body into a half-sitting position. He talked swiftly to distract her, while his hand slipped beneath her skirts with gentle expertise. “It will take just a moment. I hope to God that no one happens along to see this—it looks more than a bit incriminating. And it’s doubtful that they would accept the traditional but somewhat overused leg-cramp excuse—”

“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Just make it go away.”

She felt St. Vincent’s hand slide lightly up her leg, the warmth of his skin sinking through the thin fabric of her knickers as he searched for the knotting, twitching muscle. “Here we are. Hold your breath, darling.” Obeying, Lillian felt him roll his palm strongly over the muscle. She nearly yelped at the burst of searing fire in her leg, and then suddenly it eased, leaving her weak with relief.

Relaxing back against his arm, Lillian let out a long breath. “Thank you. That’s much better.”

A faint smile crossed his lips as he deftly tugged her skirts back over her legs. “My pleasure.”

“That never happened to me before,” she murmured, flexing her leg cautiously.

“No doubt it was a repercussion from your exploit in the sidesaddle. You must have strained a muscle.”

“Yes, I did.” Color burnished her cheeks as she forced herself to admit, “I’m not used to jumping on sidesaddle— I’ve only done it astride.”

His smile widened slowly. “How interesting,” he murmured. “Clearly my experiences with American girls have been entirely too limited. I didn’t realize you were so delightfully colorful.”

“I’m more colorful than most,” she told him sheepishly, and he grinned.

“Much as I would love to sit here chatting with you, sweet, I had better return you to the house, if you’re able to stand now. It will do you no good to spend too much time alone with me.” He stood in an easy movement and reached down for her.

“It seems to have done me quite a bit of good,” Lillian replied, allowing him to pull her up.

St. Vincent offered her his arm, and watched as she tested her leg. “Is it all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lillian replied, taking hold of his arm. “You’ve been very kind, my lord.”

He stared at her with an odd flicker in his pale blue eyes. “I’m not kind, darling. I’m only nice to people when I’m planning to take advantage of them.”

Lillian responded with a carefree grin, daring to ask, “Am I in danger from you, my lord?”

Though his expression remained relaxed with good humor, his eyes were disturbingly intent. “I’m afraid so.”

“Hmm.” Lillian studied the chiseled edge of his profile, thinking that for all his posturing, he had not taken advantage of her helplessness a few moments ago. “You’re awfully forthcoming about your evil intentions. It makes me wonder if I should really worry.”

His only response was an enigmatic smile.

After parting company with Lord St. Vincent, Lillian climbed the steps to the spacious back terrace, where laughter and excited feminine chatter was resounding off the flagstones. Ten young women were standing around one of the tables, involved in some kind of game or experiment. They bent over a row of glasses that had been filled with various liquids, while one of them, who was blindfolded, cautiously dipped her fingers into one of them. Whatever the result was, it caused them all to squeal and giggle. A group of dowagers sat nearby, watching the proceedings with amused interest.

Lillian caught sight of her sister in the crowd, and wandered to her. “What is this?” she asked.

Daisy turned to view her with surprise. “Lillian,” she murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, “why are you back early, dear? Did you have some difficulty at the jumping course?”

Lillian drew her aside while the game continued. “One could say that,” she said tartly, and told her about the events of the morning.

Daisy’s dark eyes turned round with dismay. “Good God,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine Lord Westcliff losing his head that way …and as for you…what were you thinking, to let Lord St. Vincent do such a thing?”

“I was in pain,” Lillian whispered back defensively. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even move. If you’d ever had a muscle cramp, you would know how much it hurts.”

“I would elect to lose my leg entirely before letting someone like Lord St. Vincent near it,” Daisy said beneath her breath. After pausing to consider the situation, she couldn’t seem to keep from asking, “What was it like?”