Free Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion by Wendy Soliman Page A

assaulted because he caught a glimpse of the rogue responsible as he took off on foot through the trees. The desire to chase him down and thrash the living daylights out of him for his insolence had been compelling, but he could not leave Miss Brooke, possibly injured, without protection. There might be others hiding out in the trees waiting to assault her, also. He had heard nothing about a band of marauders being in the district, but since the end of the war there had been an increasing number of such incidents in rural areas.
    Not that he gave the possibility serious consideration. Amos couldn’t be sure her attacker had been Reece, but given he had just now followed him to an otherwise deserted common, the possibility of anyone else being the perpetrator was remote.
    “Here, take my hand and allow me to help you to your feet.”
    He reached down, smiling his reassurance. She hesitated for a protracted moment before slipping her hand into his with obvious reluctance, as skittish and unsure of herself as one of his new born foals. Amos closed his fingers firmly around her palm and pulled her easily and gently to her feet. A part of him wished he could sweep her into his arms and pick her up by less conventional means. The desire to behave recklessly consumed him whenever he was anywhere near Miss Brooke. Stimulated by the mere touch of her hand, he ignored his extreme reaction to it, concentrating all his efforts upon making her feel safe. The urge to protect her and frighten off those who wished her harm burned through him like a virulent disease. That any man could behave so despicably towards a respectable young woman roused him to a paroxysm of fury.
    “Have you twisted your ankle?”
    She placed her weight on the afflicted limb experimentally. “No, I don’t believe any harm has been done by my clumsiness. Thank you for coming to my aid, Lord Amos, but I need detain you no longer.”
    She gasped when she noticed her bodice had been torn, revealing the top of her shapely breasts. Amos reached for her shawl and tied it across her bosom, preserving her modesty.
    “Let us go over there and sit on that log until you recover.”
    “I am perfectly all right. There is no necessity for you to inconvenience yourself.”
    Why is she so anxious to be rid of me? “On the contrary, there is every need.”
    He led Warrior with one hand and placed the other on her elbow as he guided her towards the log in question. She took several deep breaths and appeared to recover some composure, yet was still deathly pale. Amos was gripped by the sight of her thick riot of curly hair, cascading over her shoulders. The ribbon holding it in place had slipped free during her attack. Thoughts of that attack−of what might have happened had he not been there to save her−fuelled his murderous rage and deepened his determination to discover her true reason for being in the district.
    Amos had yet to decide if he would tell her what he knew about her activities. She made most, if not all, of the jewellery for her uncle, but took no credit. The strain, the secrecy, was starting to tell on her nerves. Amos was willing to wager Reece did not know one end of a soldering iron from the other. Zach was right to say it was not Amos’s concern−or rather, it had not been. Since witnessing an attack of Miss Brooke’s person and saving her reputation, even the wildest of the horses he bred could not have stopped him from delving more deeply into her business.
    “Here,” he said, helping her to sit.
    Once she was settled, he tied Warrior’s reins to a low, stout branch, and the horse idly set about cropping the coarse grass. Amos sat beside Miss Brooke and fixed her with a steady gaze. There was blood on her forehead, but it had stopped flowing and the wound did not appear serious. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket, moistened the cloth with his tongue, and gently dabbed at the injury. She inhaled sharply but not, Amos suspected, because he