Free The Reluctant Reformer by Lynsay Sands Page A

so really wasn’t prepared for his attractiveness. Tall and lean with sandy-colored hair and a charming—if, at the moment, somewhat alarmed—smile. She would place him at the same age Gerald would have been were he still alive. Which was, perhaps, two or three years younger than the man who had kidnapped her.
    â€œI fear that is the best I can do,” he announced apologetically, releasing her streaked hands and tucking the cloth back into his pocket. “Is there something wrong?”
    Tearing her alarmed gaze from his pocket, she tried not to feel guilty about his waistcoat now needing cleaning. She was rather amazed that the man wasn’t aware of what he had just wiped off of her, but then she couldn’t smell it now so supposed he couldn’t either. Likely, she had scraped the worst off so that what remained merely looked like mud.
    Realizing that he was awaiting an answer to his question, Maggie shook her head. A clump of snarled hair immediately dropped into her eyes and reminded her of her ruined state. Having little choice, she pushed the tangled mess back from her face, then straightened with all the dignity she could muster.
    â€œThank you,” she offered, then turned on her heel and pushed back through the bushes and out of the trees.
    â€œJust a moment,” he called, hurrying after her as she started up the road.
    Maggie had taken several steps in her chosen direction before she realized that she should have gone the other way. She was now heading in the same direction that the carriage was traveling. This man was likely too polite not to offer her a ride.
    â€œMight I assist you to where you are going? I shouldnot like to be unchivalrous,” he added as if he had somehow read her thoughts.
    â€œI thank you for the offer, kind sir. However, that is not necessary.” Maggie didn’t slow her step, but she did roll her eyes. Why were people so predictable? He would have done her a great favor had he been a rude boor and simply returned to his carriage and his journey. It would have been an even greater favor had he not stopped at all, she thought, glancing down at her hands with disgust. She really needed to find some water to clean up. A glance down showed that she had truly crawled right through the muck. The knees of her skirt were brown.
    Her mother—were she alive—would have been horrified. Maggie was horrified. Creeping about brothels, and crawling on her knees through the woods!
    She sighed miserably as she considered how low she had allowed herself to fall. I used to be such a proper lady, doing and saying the proper things—she mourned, then admitted—well, not always. She hadn’t earned the refrain “Only you, Maggie!” by never setting a single step wrong. Still, she’d managed only mild mishaps in the past, and most of them due to clumsiness or inattention. Since Gerald’s death, she had taken risks she knew she shouldn’t have and—
    â€œYou wouldn’t be headed for the village, would you?”
    â€œYes,” Maggie answered distractedly, then clucked her tongue in irritation. She was sure she should have kept that to herself. She had no idea who this man was. He could be a bounder, or a—
    â€œThen, I fear you are headed in the wrong direction.”
    That made her pause. She turned to face him.
    â€œIt is back this way,” he continued, gesturing in the direction from which he had come.
    Maggie peered up the lane, then sighed. She started in this new direction.
    He fell into step beside her. “I should probably introduce myself. Lord Mullin, at your service.”
    She stopped again and faced him sharply. “Robert?” His eyebrows raised at the familiar address and Maggie flushed. “I apologize for the familiarity, my lord, but Gerald usually referred to you as Robert in his letters.”
    â€œGerald?”
    â€œMy brother. Gerald Wentworth,” she explained with