Chapter 7：DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR

"I'm afraid it's no use, sir," the coachman said. His voice sounded hollow and distant as it echoed from beneath the carriage. "It's the axle. Damaged beyond our abilities to make repairs here, I can tell you. Someone must ride and get help."

Ian's lips tightened against the curses to which he longed to give utterance. He had learned long ago that cursing fate was an exercise in futility. And that painful lesson had been reiterated more times than he wished to remember during the past fourteen months

"All right then," he agreed. "I'm afraid that expedition will have to be up to the two of you," Ian said, including the groom in his instructions. "Unharness the leaders and see if there's a house nearby which looks decent enough to shelter Miss Darlington. If not, then ride on and bring back a conveyance of some kind from the nearest posting inn."

"On this stretch of road the inns will probably be our best bet, sir," the coachman said. He had crawled out from beneath the carriage and was beating muddy snow off his knees with his gloved hands. "I can't remember passing any dwelling likely to offer a proper shelter for the young lady."

"If the storm hits, I suppose any dwelling will be proper. Better than the coach at least."

"I can ride," Annie said.

Ian looked up to find her standing in the open door of the carriage, her breath creating a small white fog around her face. He thought about warning her that she would do better to stay inside and keep the cold out. No matter how well-constructed the vehicle might be, come nightfall it would be vastly uncomfortable, even with the rugs.

There were four horses. Ian briefly debated whether to send Annie off with the coachman. Given the rigours of the day, he was frustratingly sure of his own inability to stay astride for any distance at all. The cold and damp had already taken its toll, although he was loath to make that admission, even to himself.

Riding was another of the pleasures that had been taken from him when he had been wounded. And of course it was one of the things he missed the most.

"I think we should do better to stay with the coach," he said aloud, smiling at her as if this were simply a minor inconvenience. "It won't take long for help to arrive, and the interior of the carriage offers protection from the cold which being on horseback won't afford."

"I assure you, Mr Sinclair, the ride won't make me Ill. I believe I am made of sterner stuff than that," Annie said, returning his smile.

Obviously she was, Ian thought. She hadn't dissolved into a fit of vapours or made any complaint the delay. For that he was eternally grateful. He had quite enough to deal with right now without adding hysteria to the mix. She would probably handle the ride with aplomb as well, despite the temperature.

That was not the reason he had opted to keep her with the coach. He was the problem. Not Annie.

He knew he could trust her to John coachman's care, if he sent her off on the third horse. However, if there were no suitable houses on the road and they had to seek shelter at a posing inn, Ian also knew he would be endangering her reputation and possibly even her physical safety. He couldn't ask out expect his servants to guarantee either of those. As Annie's guardian, that was his duty. And the demands of duty were something with which Ian Sinclair was very familiar.

"I think we'll do better to wait here. And better not to allow the cold into carriage," he added.

Her eyes met his, widened a little, as quick colour stole into her cheeks. She had interpreted that last as a rebuke.

Perhaps it had been, Ian admitted. Or maybe it had simply been the result of the deep ache in his leg that grew more painful each minute he stood in the middle of this infuriatingly empty road trying to decide what the hell to do with his ward. A young woman who had been thrust into his life by the very man...

"Of course," Annie said.

She stepped back inside, closing the carriage door aft her. Closing it hard enough that the entire vehicle shook.

Ian heard and ignored the groom's quickly muffled snort of laughter. Reluctantly, his own lips aligned themselves into a less grim aspect, and he met the coachman's sympathetic eyes with resignation in his.