Free Moonstruck Madness by Laurie McBain

civilization, I'm beginning to believe. I'd forgotten how surly these English servants can be," he complained spitefully.
    "Per favore, but I grow much fatigued sitting here upside down while you make conversation, James," a fretful voice echoed from the coach.
    "My dear, of course, I beg your pardon," Lord Wrainton answered quickly as though afraid of possible hysterics. "Will you be able to help us, Your Grace?"
    Lucien nodded reluctantly. "Naturally, I couldn't leave you and the lady—?" He paused delicately, waiting to be enlightened.
    "Lady Wrainton, my wife; but living in Italy as we have, she is used to being addressed as the Contessa."
    "Of course," the Duke sighed, "I'll escort you to the nearest inn, where you may hire conveyance to London. I am afraid that we are traveling in opposite directions after that"
    "We shall be most grateful just to get out of this cursed ditch."
    Lord Wrainton jumped down from the side of the coach, splattering his pumps as he did so and nearly slipping in the slick mud as he regained his balance. He was a middle-aged man in his forties, slight of build, and almost too handsome to be masculine, with his thickly lashed, violet eyes.
    "Luciana," Lord Wrainton called to his wife. The Con-tessa looked down from the carriage doubtfully as Lord Wrainton told her, "Jump and I'll catch you, my dear."
    "If you will allow me?" The Duke interrupted. "I would be pleased to assist the Contessa."
    Lord Wrainton frowned, then nodded his head. "Yes, I am rather shaken up from the accident, otherwise I could easily carry my wife."
    The Duke hid his smile, not wanting to offend Lord Wrainton's pride, but as he stepped forward and lifted the Contessa from the carriage he doubted seriously if the older man could have managed. He followed Lord Wrainton to the carriage, the Contessa's scarlet silk stockings and white silk shoes with their high, slender heels revealed to the gaping grooms as Lucien swung her into a firmer grip in his arms.
    He carefully traversed the muddy road, his foot slipping once in the slime, causing the Contessa to grasp his neck tightly with her arms. Her heady perfume drifted to Lucien and he grinned as she allowed herself to press closer.
    "Grazie," she murmured, her breath warm against his throat.
    "My pleasure, Contessa."
    He lifted her into the coach, tucking her fur-trimmed pelisse snugly about her and then placing a sable rug over her lap. Lucien was about to follow when a frightened wail drifted to them from the overturned coach, followed by a scream and a flow of excited Italian.
    "Dio mio, I'm afraid 1 forgot poor Maria, my maid," the Contessa confessed. "And I really can't leave her stranded here; she speaks no English," she explained apologetically, her big brown eyes full of wishful pleading.
    Lucien shrugged. "By all means, you must have your maid, Contessa." He looked around and seeing one of the grooms standing idle ordered him to see to the other occupant of the overturned coach. At the sound of an outraged scream, the Duke glanced back and laughed as Sandy staggered across the road carrying a large, struggling woman, her face red and puffed from crying and issuing a tirade on the flushed Sandy's blond head. As they neared the carriage Sandy's foot disappeared in a large hole filled with water, and, losing his balance, he fell backwards and disappeared beneath the bulky figure of the Contessa's maid.
    Laughing, Lucien assisted the flustered woman to her feet and hefted her into the carriage from which she called forth a volley of abuses on the unfortunate Sandy, who'd quickly struggled to his feet and was hastily making his way some distance from the carriage, his face as red as a beet and his backside covered with clinging mud.
    "Maria, silenzio!" the Contessa ordered, a quiver of laughter still in her voice.
    After a moment's consultation with his coachman, Lucien climbed into the coach, the door closing behind him as he settled himself comfortably beside Lord