Can such a strange friendship turn into love? He never realized she was so lovely. She never noticed how charming he was. Miles Bridgerton and Vanessa Everleigh have known each for over a decade and both of them had never really given the other much...
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Vanessa and Miles learned that one momentary loss of control could change everything between them.
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When Vanessa came into his view, it was not in the way he would've wanted to encounter her. Michael Smythe-Smith was with her, not exactly a sight Miles wanted to see. She was limping, and Michael was helping her walk.
Miles approached them, trying not to let it bother him too much that Michael was holding her waist. He could not be jealous while she was obviously hurt. "Did something happen?"
"Ah, Miles, perfect timing." Michael looked up at him. "Miss Everleigh seems to have hurt her ankle after stumbling."
"Was it during the dance?" Miles raised his eyebrow.
"No, before, on the way to the dance floor. It was hardly my own fault." Vanessa rolled her eyes. "That blasted woman and her pettiness." She glanced at Miles, vexed. "Augusta."
Of course, Miles understood.
"Do you mind taking over for me? I presume you know which room is hers, and surely you'll want to examine her, too. I must get back." Michael looked at Miles, knowing exactly what to say. He passed Vanessa over to him, and gave Miles a look of encouragement before finally leaving them alone.
It was Miles' turn to help her down the hall until they reached her room. He could hear that each step hurt, and he worried that she might've sprained her ankle. Finally, they entered her room and Miles helped her settle into the desk chair. He closed the door, knowing full well how improper it was for him to be in her room, but she did not seem to mind.
"If you'll allow me, I should take a look at where it hurts." He said, kneeling down in front of her.
"Of course," She told him, preparing to hold her skirts up and show him her ankle. It felt scandalously intimate, but they had to deal with what the situation called for.
"You don't have to lift your skirts up," He said, wishing she not show him more than what was needed. More for his sake than her own. "Just poke your ankle out."
She did as he told her, dropping her skirts and simply poking her pained foot out until he could see and hold it clearly.
"Does it hurt severely?" He asked, gently slipping her footwear off and slowly moving her ankle around. It felt awfully intimate, but it had to be done.
"No... At least not really when you move it as such. But when I tried to walk and put pressure on it, the pain from that is enough to make me limp." She watched him as he examined her foot, noting how his touch felt. They were not skin to skin. He did not wear gloves, but her skin was protected by a sheer layer of stockings, which certainly wasn't enough to shield her skin from the sensitivity of his touch.
