Page 48 of Rival to Resist
Caroline hurried over and took him by the arm.
“You, Mr. Yorke, are a fool,” she said in breathy annoyance as she guided him through the crowd, which was already focused on Jago’s next challenger. “You should count yourself fortunate that you will live to see another day.”
He chuckled, but he was leaning on her more than expected.
She glanced at him, and her heart flipped. “You are bleeding.”
He brushed the back of his hand at his brow. “It is only a scratch,” he said, flinching at the contact.
“More foolishness,” Caroline said. “It must be seen to. Mrs. Tonkin!”
“I shall fetch her,” Eliza said, hurrying away.
A minute later, Mrs. Tonkin bustled over, a grim look on her face.
“Mr. Yorke has an injury that needs attendance,” Caroline said.
Mrs. Tonkin’s lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded him. Her eyes flitted to Caroline for a moment. “Bring ’im to the inn, m’lady.”
“I can hardly leave my own campaign party,” Mr. Yorke protested.
“I will stay and ensure things continue as planned,” Eliza offered.
Mrs. Tonkin nodded her approval, then shot a cocked brow at Mr. Yorke. “If ’ee think these people are ’ere for ’ee, sir, you’re a bigger fool than Mr. O—” She cut herself off with a quickglance at Caroline, then cleared her throat. “A bigger fool than I thought ’ee.”
Mr. Yorke sent Caroline an amused glance as they went up the steps, still leaning on her slightly. “You see how she bullies me.”
The blood had started to flow more freely and was beginning to drip from his brow toward his eye.
Keeping a firm hand on his arm, she used the finger of her glove to quickly but gently stop the trail.
“Thank you.” He put his own hand to the wound. “Perhapsthisis how we should decide the election. Wrassling.”
Caroline had a feeling Mr. Yorke would be the victor in such a match. While Oswald was taller, he was also thinner, and he lacked the vivacity of Mr. Yorke.
“Shall Jago go to Parliament, then?” she asked as Mrs. Tonkin opened the door to The Silver Pilchard.
Mr. Yorke chuckled, then gave a little grunt as he rolled a shoulder.
Caroline regarded him out of the corner of her eye, wondering just how much pain he was in.
“’Ee can sit there,” Mrs. Tonkin said, gesturing to the nearest table. “I’ll fetch water and a cloth.”
Mr. Yorke sighed and took a seat as she disappeared, leaving them alone in the deserted taproom. “This is quite unnecessary.”
Caroline moved a chair so that it faced him, then took a seat and removed her gloves. “We are in agreement on that point.”
“Good,” he said, rising.
She grabbed him by the wrist.
His gaze flicked to her. His skin, still bare from his rolled sleeves, was warm but rough with sand. She had the impulse to brush it away, and her fingerstingled.
She pulled him down until he was seated. “You misunderstand me. This is unnecessary because you might have avoided it if you had listened to me.” She leaned forward and touched a hand to Mr. Yorke’s brow. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” he said as his brow knit.
“Liar,” she whispered without malice as she inspected it, trying to see just how serious the injury was. Her hands cradled his head, her fingers in his hair as she gently but firmly urged his face this way and that.
