‘Gracious me, that wee devil’s killed Charlotte!’ exclaimed Maude, and she pressed her gloved hand hard against her lips.
Certainly, petticoats and habit lay motionless on the grass, but the child’s outraged moaning suggested that the diagnosis was probably wrong. In an instant, though, Morgan was out of the saddle and alongside the girl, her cries subsiding almost as soon as he wrapped his arms about her.
‘There, Miss Foster, there. Are you hurt or just winded, jewel?’ Tony could see that it was more shock than actual harm. ‘It’s my leg, sir,’ Charlotte sobbed.
‘Forgive me, please, miss, but can you point your foot...’Morgan reached as decorously as he could below the backless skirt of her riding habit, gently holding her calf through the corduroy breeches that she wore below, ‘...and
