A Lady unlike any other (four hoydens #1)

Chapter 4

"John Hamilton wins again!" shouted someone in the background.

John Hamilton was none other that Lady Rosalyn Orford. And she had won, yet again. The Cleveland bay she'd bet on won just like she'd guessed, much to the crowd's dismay.

Everyone had bet on the Arabian thoroughbred. Normally she would've too. But any idiot could see that the horse was tired and wouldn't be able to finish the race.

Here she was at a local horse race, betting and winning. She wasn't supposed to be here, no Lady was. But she'd donned her disguise. No one could tell she was a woman. She wore the clothes she'd borrowed from a puny footman after bribing him. And she'd put her hair beneath a large hat that hid most of her face.

She loved the atmosphere. The crowd was practically electric. There were some unpleasant aspects such as the smell.

Did men even bathe?

And much to her amusement, not even a single person had suspected her of being female. Typical male behaviour. They only believed what they wished to.

Nobody had paid her any attention. Until now. People were beginning to notice her, this was the third bet she'd won, after-all.

Rosalyn had to leave. Now.

So she pulled down her hat almost to her nose and blindly made her way to the periphery of the crowd, clutching her bag winnings close to her body. She was almost there when she collided with what seemed like a wall.

She fell back, her bottom hitting the ground. But before she could get up, a group of unruly large men almost ran over her. She fell again, the rough terrain scratching her hands. She held back a howl of  pain when one of those men stepped on her ankle.

And then the crowd seemed to clear. A man held out his hand, lifting her up.

I must have collided against him, Rosalyn thought.

"I can't believe how weak you boys are these days," the man was muttering.

His voice sounded oddly familiar.

Unable to quench her curiosity, she looked up.

A mistake.

She knew he recognised her the moment he saw her. She certainly recognised
him. He was the man from the woods.

Rosalyn immediately tried to pull her hand from his, but in vain. He was too strong.

And then after his initial surprise had ebbed, anger took over.

To say he was angry would be a gross understatement. The man was radiating fury.

That scared Rosalyn, just a little. And maybe excited her, just a little.

He began dragging her. But she let out a grunt because her ankle was certainly sprained and she couldn't even take a step without more than a considerable amount of pain.

He swore and picked her up in his arms.

Not the way heroes picked up their heroines, but rather how one picked up a sack of potatoes.

"Put me down!" She squealed, enraged.

"Not yet, my boy," he said, sarcasm dripping from ever word.

After much struggling against him, Rosalyn grew quite tired. But they seemed to have reached their destination for he put her down. It was a deserted stable.

He sat her on a stack of hay and removed his coat.

Rosalyn thought she was going to faint.

He then proceeded to tear his shirt sleeve and went to a nearby hand pump, wetting the cloth.

He brought it to her and knelt down before her. And then he pulled her hands and held them palm up, one by one. Wiping the blood that had dried around her scratches.

Rosa sat there silently, unable to speak. She had thought he was angry and yet he was tending to her wounds so tenderly.

She took this time to absorb his face. He had amazing eyes- green flecked with gold. His nose was straight, unlike the awful hooked noses most men sported. And lips, oh lord. The lines on face said he was a man who smiled a lot.

Then why was it that he only ever frowned when he was with her?

He began to remove her boot. She tried to protest, but he didn't heed her. He removed her stockings and held her foot up, his palm cupping her heel. She couldn't help but notice how tiny and fragile her foot looked in his large hands.

He began to turn her foot this way and that, testing it.

As he turned his head to examine her foot, she noticed how sharp his jaw was.

My my, he could probably use it to slice turkey.

And then she imagined it in her head, a habit of Alice and began to giggle at how silly he'd look cutting turkey with his jaw.

He looked up sharply and she slapped a hand over her mouth, unable to shake the ludicrous image from her head.

He bent down and she thought she caught him smiling.

His hair was so soft. She wanted to run her hands through his golden hair.

And then he turned her ankle just so and Rosa howled at the acute pain.

He sat back and watched with satisfaction as she realised her ankle had been healed.

She stood up and tested it, putting her weight on it. She didn't feel any pain at all.

"Thank you!" she gushed.

He stood up.

"Are you quite alright?" He asked, coming to touch her head.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"It seems like you are mentally disturbed," he shrugged.

"What do you mean?" she sputtered, angry now.

"First time I saw you, you were riding a stallion thrice your size at a break-neck speed in the middle of the woods, all alone, wearing men's clothing. Next, I see you dressed as a man, again, at a local horse race, that no woman in her right mind would attend, especially all alone," he said, ticking off the items on his fingers, an insolent expression on his face.

"You don't know anything about me," she said hotly.

"I know that you have a penchant for dangerous things," he said, suddenly furious.

"Do you realise how dangerous those men can be? Do you understand how easily those men could've harmed you?" He spat, shaking her by the shoulders.

And then, much to his annoyance, she began to rant. About how it wasn't her fault that women were not allowed to such events, about how much she loved horses. And then about how she was a big girl and could take care of herself.

When he pointed out that she'd fallen and hurt herself on both occasions, she pinned the blame on him.

Very convenient.

And then he did the only thing he suspected could make her shut up.

He kissed her.

It lasted all of two seconds because she'd shoved him away from her by then.

She had remarkable strength for such a tiny person, he thought although he'd moved only because she'd taken him by surprise.

And then she slapped him, he let her because he deserved it.

She ran off after that, but not before taking her bag of winnings with her.

He tried to catch her, but she got lost in the crowd before he could. He ran though, looking like a loon running around with only one shirt sleeve.

Then he saw her from afar, getting into a carriage. A carriage that he assumed and hoped would carry her to safety.