CHAPTER THREE

      “OH, FOR THE love of...” Baron Cooper Townsend instinctively grabbed the young woman by the shoulders. He’d been watching her, the way she was clinging to her companion’s arm as they proceeded along the flagway, the two of them chattering like magpies, definitely not looking where they were headed.

      He believed the taller one to be the Countess of Cockermouth, although he couldn’t be certain. Besides, it was the other young lady who somehow seemed to demand his attention, simply because she existed.

      And then she’d apparently tripped and all but propelled herself into his arms.

      “My, my, Coop, look what you found,” his friend Darby teased, never one to fail to see the amusement in most any situation. “Or is that look what found you? I’ve lost count—is that four? Two on the way down, and now two coming back? Alas, our English misses seem sadly lacking in imagination, as well as balance.”

      Cooper ignored the man, concentrating on the small, upturned face and the pair of huge indigo eyes looking up into his. They had to be the most unusual and intriguing eyes he’d ever seen; they all but swallowed him up, leaving him shocked and nearly breathless.

      This did not please Baron Townsend. Levelheaded Baron Townsend. Wasn’t his world topsy-turvy enough, without adding unexpected attraction to his budget of woes?

      Still, he watched, fascinated, as those eyes, like a mirror into her soul, told him her every thought, each rapidly transitioning emotion. Wide-eyed shock. Embarrassed innocence. Questioning. Recognition. Amusement, almost as if she was laughing at their situation, perhaps even at him. No, that couldn’t be possible.

      “I didn’t mean that quite so literally, but how very convenient,” she said as if to herself, and her smile almost physically set him back on his heels. Damn, it had been amusement he’d seen, and it definitely was at his expense.

      Wonderful. It wasn’t enough that they chased him. Did this one have to find the pursuit so amusing?

      “Are you all right, miss?” he asked tightly, still lightly holding her upper arms, because that seemed to be his required opening line in these tiring encounters. “Perhaps you’ve twisted your ankle and require my assistance?”

      “I seem to have tripped over an uneven brick. How careless of me, not to watch where I’m stepping. No, I don’t think I’m injured,” she said, and her voice, rather low and husky for such a small thing, surprised and further intrigued him, much against his will. “Not precisely at any rate. But if you’d be so kind as to support me over to that bench?”

      Those eyes, that voice, the unique color of the little bit of her hair he could see, the alabaster skin set against those eyes and a fetchingly curved pink mouth. So much danger in such a small package.

      You said hello, Coop, he reminded himself. Now say goodbye.

      “I don’t think so. Why don’t you hop?” he heard himself say, and let her go.

      And damn if she didn’t immediately being listing to one side, so that he was forced to swoop her up into his arms before she could collapse on the flagway.

      “Why didn’t you tell me you hurt your ankle?” he demanded as he carried her over to the bench outside a milliner’s shop, her companion right behind him asking, “Dany, are you all right?”

      “I told you I wasn’t injured, not precisely. I asked for your assistance, remember? I seem to have lost the heel to my shoe, see?” The beauty incongruously named Dany raised her right leg to display the damaged shoe (and give him a brief but delightful sight of her shapely ankle). She looked up at him, understanding rising in her eyes even as the sun rises at dawn. “You didn’t believe me. Are you often accosted in the street by admiring and hopeful females, my lord Townsend?”

      Coop straightened. “So you do know who I am?”

      “And you said it wasn’t a good likeness,” Darby said, holding out a copy of the damned Volume One. “This fell out of the young lady’s hand as you performed your less than impressive imitation of Sir Galahad to the rescue.”

      “Give that back,” Dany demanded, holding out her hand. “I’ve yet to read it.”

      “And that’s how it will remain, unread,” Coop said. “Put that in your pocket, if you please.”

      “Excuse me,” the older of the two women said imperiously, inserting her body between that of Coop and Dany. “I don’t know who you gentlemen are, but you would both please me very much by taking yourselves off now so that I may attend to my sister.”

      “You hear that?” Darby clapped Coop on his back. “The hero of Quatre Bras and all points west has just been dismissed. How lowering.”

      Coop took a step back and bowed. “A thousand pardons, ladies. We’ll be on our way. But first, if I may be so bold as to ask we exchange introductions? I believe you might be Oliver’s countess. My friend here is the viscount Nailbourne, and I am...”

      “He’s Baron Cooper McGinley Townsend, Mari, hero, as if you didn’t know, or would if you’d lower your chin enough to be able to look at him. Just the man we were talking about before I so providentially tripped and landed in his arms. Twice.”

      “Dany!”

      The countess sat down beside her sister all at once, rather as if someone had pushed her onto the bench.

      Dany looked up at Coop, those huge eyes of hers filled with amusement and obvious mischief. “While my sister plots ways to gag me and have me sent back to the country, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Daniella Foster, here in London, according to my fond papa, to obtain a little town polish before I’m officially sicced on Society in the spring. And sadly failing to acquire any, if my sister’s forlorn sighs mean anything. I’ve been looking for you, Your Lordship. It would appear my sister needs a hero.”