To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) by Michelle Styles Page A

darkness. Here she was berating Robert Montemorcy and he had saved her. Tears pricked her eyelids.
    ‘I give you my promise. It will be sorted out. And, Henri, you know you can depend on me keeping my promises. I have always kept them.’
    ‘Give me a moment to compose myself and I shall be on my way. I’ve only slightly twisted my ankle. I used todo that frequently when I was in my teens and it never lasts long. And the bite on my leg looks worse than it is,’ she said and forced her body to be upright. Sharp pain shot through her ankle, sending a wave of dizziness crashing through her. It might take a little longer than she first considered to shake the pain off. She’d worry about the blood later, rather than put Robert out by asking for help. Other people always needed it more than she did.
    ‘How far do you think you will get on that ankle?’ He hovered near her. His hands brushed her elbow. A jolt went through her and she was intensely aware of him standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.
    ‘I should make it back to my aunt’s. This little incident has inexorably altered my scheme for the afternoon.’ Henri looked at him. She was in no fit state for visiting. Her skirt had a great tear and she also wanted to keep her wits about her when she met Miss Ravel. She had to tread carefully. She wanted to keep both her promise to Sebastian and to Montemorcy.
    Henri risked another excruciating step and felt the sweat begin to gather on her brow. She hated to think about walking all that way home, particularly as a fine drizzle had started and a Northumbrian drizzle nearly always turned into a full-blown rainstorm. But Henri knew she could not stay in the road or, worse still, rest at Mr Teasdale’s. The man was a disgrace to the neighbourhood.
    Mr Teasdale, having secured the dog, advanced towards them, whining about how this was not his fault. Robert waved him away, telling him to go and fetch the doctor.
    ‘I’m going home,’ she announced in a loud voice.
    ‘You won’t make it, not on that ankle,’ Robert said,turning back to her. His face darkened as she took a hopping step. ‘Henri, you are a danger to everyone else. What will happen if a cart or carriage comes along the road? I give you a half-dozen steps before you have to sit down again.’
    ‘Is this another one of your idiotic wagers? How far can Henrietta Thorndike walk before she gives up? Let’s see, I will wager that I can walk further than you think!’
    ‘A statement of fact. You have no need to play the martyr.’
    ‘You know nothing about me and my strength of character, Mr Montemorcy. I have a strong constitution.’
    ‘I do not doubt your spirit, but your flesh.’
    Henri took a cautious step. The pain went through her in agonising waves. ‘See, I can do it. You should have more faith in me. My mother was strict about my upbringing. She hated weakness in anyone but herself.’
    ‘Are you always this stubborn? Dark humour doesn’t change your injury.’
    ‘I find it helps.’ Henri hated the way her voice caught in her throat and looked down. Her stomach lurched again, and she finally gave in. ‘My ankle hurts…Robert…oh, I want it to stop.’
    He held out a hand. ‘You don’t have to do this on your own, Henri, simply to prove a point to me. If I apologise for not telling you about my ward, will it help? I do regret that you took the news in the wrong fashion. I made a mistake. There, now can you accept my help, rather than fighting me every inch of the way?’
    She shook her head, hating the lump that formed inher throat. Why did he have to start being pleasant? ‘You will observe the stern stuff I am made of. I persevere.’
    She took a third step and wished she hadn’t. More than anything she wanted to give way and accept his arm.
    ‘You delight in taking stubbornness to new heights. It will take you hours.’
    ‘I’m pleased you see the sense in what I am doing.’ Henri concentrated on taking the next