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Another woman rushed to their sides as well.

Glancing upward, Jason pulled his eyebrows together.

The Countess of Keyworth?

Yes, Keyworth’s wife.

Jason had met her at some event or other.

“Jason?”

His grandmother’s warbly voice dragged his attention back to her.

“Yes, Grandmother. Are you hurt?” He put a staying hand on her shoulder when she tried to roll over. “Don’t move until I’m sure you are fine.”

“Pshaw. I’m going to bruise like a plum, my boy. There’s no doubt about that nor preventing it either.”

No small amount of truth there.

Pushing onto one elbow, she turned her head to look at him. “But this poor dear is truly hurt, I fear.” She waved a gnarled hand in his direction. “Help me to sit, my boy. We must see to my savior at once. I’ve already sent for my coach. I cannot imagine why Fellowes hasn’t arrived as yet.”

A pale-faced beadle rushed forward, now that the danger had passed. After collecting his abused scepter, he asked the Countess of Keyworth, “How may I be of service, my lady?”

“Please send a boy to have my coach brought around to this side of the arcade.” The Countess of Keyworth’s attention never veered from the redhead sprawled on the pavement.

“At once, my lady.” With a dip of his head, the beadle bustled away. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he signaled to a young lad of perhaps ten or twelve years of age loitering near the entrance.

Poor lad. He’d likely never be permitted to enter Burlington Arcade.

After a brief exchange, the boy nodded and dashed away, his thin legs churning.

“Lenora?” The white-faced woman whispered again, her horrified eyes wide as she stared at the pale-as-chalk girl prone on the ground. She seemed incapable of uttering anything else.

Dark umber lashes the same shade as her winged eyebrows fanned the girl’s pale cheeks as she lay unmoving. Dark crimson blood seeped from beneath her head.

“Handkerchiefs,” announced Lady Keyworth matter of factly. “I need handkerchiefs at once.”

Without waiting for the gawkers to procure their handkerchiefs, she stuck her hand out and demanded the onlookers hand over the scraps. Several gentlemen and ladies readily complied.

Sure.

Now that the danger had passed, the bystanders had become all helpful solicitousness. The cowards would most likely embellish their tales later and portray themselves as Good Samaritans for assisting a woman in distress.

Regardless, Jason also offered his tidily folded handkerchief.

The countess kneeled beside Lenora and, gently lifting her head, pressed the cloths to her scalp. “Darling, can you hear me? Open your eyes, Lenora. Please, dear.”

Lenora’s lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes.

Her turquoise gaze collided with Jason’s, and double mule kicks to the gut couldn’t have rendered him less able to breathe. He’d never seen eyes that color, like the deepest, most transparent ocean but rimmed with dark forest green.

She stared back at him, a puzzled look of wonderment in her gaze. “Do I know you? I feel as if I must.”

She’d felt that instant connection too, even in her sorry state?

Smiling gently, Jason shook his head. When a shock of hair fell over his forehead, he realized he’d lost his hat somewhere as he’d pelted to his grandmother’s aid. He had no doubt the expensive Oxonian was long gone. Probably already bartered by a street urchin for a loaf of bread.

The British thought all Americans were uncouth bumpkins. He might as well prove them right by introducing himself and Grandmother. “We’ve not been introduced. I’m Captain Jason Steele, and the woman you aided is my grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Darlington-Pope.”