Page 45 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
She crossed her arms over her stomach to help contain the helpless anger and fear that whirled inside her. She trembled with it. If she dared to let go of herself, it might somehow tear her apart from the inside. A sob half escaped her, drawing glances from one of the tables. Holding it in, she hurried out of the salon and back into the long corridor lined with portraits. At the end, a set of terrace doors had been opened to the night, so she headed toward them,needing to get away from everyone. Unfortunately, the corridor passed right by the dice game room, and a man stepped out as she passed.
“Miss Crenshaw?” It was Lord Ware. “By God, are you hurt? Has someone harmed you?” He rushed after her and glanced behind, looking for the perpetrator that had sent her seeking refuge outside.
“No, I am unharmed. I simply need some air.” She did her best to keep her composure, but she knew she failed when he didn’t look a bit less concerned.
He glanced toward the terrace. “You should not be out there alone.” It was dark, but there were gas lamps. She had seen them flickering from the windows of the ballroom on the first floor. “I shall accompany you.”
God save her from men who thought she needed them. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but that would likely only make him more suspicious. At the very least it would make things take longer, and with every fiber of her being she needed to be out of this house and have a moment of peace.
Balls were not for her, she decided. Terrible things happened at them.
“As you please,” she said and swept past him, although he kept pace with her.
The mansion off Park Street was huge, nearly taking up a block, so the garden was larger than the Ashcroft garden. It stretched the length of the house with several walking paths circling the space. She immediately headed away from the noise of the ball into the far corner near the brick wall.
“Where in hell do you think you are taking her?”
The voice belonged to Rothschild. She whirled to see him coming out of another set of terrace doors, walking toward Lord Ware. Both his tone and his stance were menacing. His hands were in fists at his side as if he were prepared to fight the poor viscount on the spot. For his part, Lord Ware stood his ground, but he glanced to her with eyes so wide the whites were clearly visible around the irises. “Miss Crenshaw wished to come outside. I was merely assuring her safety.”
“This isn’t one of your bare-knuckle brawls, Rothschild. Lord Ware saw that I was in distress and came to my aid.”
Rothschild’s gaze swept over her from top to bottom and back again, as if he was searching for the source of her distress. He might as well have checked her over with his hands for how breathless his examination left her. She whirled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as she reached for the anger boiling beneath the surface. He was the reason she was in this mess. She had no business being so attracted to him. He wore the same damned black-and-white evening suit as every man here, so why did the way his coat stretched over the solid breadth of his shoulders look so appealing to her?
“Thank you for your help, Ware.” His tone made it clear this was not true gratitude. “You may leave us.”
August rolled her eyes. Just once she wanted someone to not jump at his orders.
To his credit, Lord Ware did not move immediately. “Miss Crenshaw?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rothschild’s jaw clenched tight. Lord Ware fidgeted. To put him out of his misery, she said, “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Ware. I will be fine.”
He gave her a nod and walked stiffly back inside. Rothschild waited until he had passed through the doorway to come over to her, stopping before her. “What has happened? Are you distressed?”
Refusing to meet his gaze, she hurried around him to follow the path through the rhododendrons. The last person she wanted to talk to was him.
“You are limping.”
“Leave me alone.”
She knew he wouldn’t, and his shoes crunching on the stone told her as much. She did not dare go too far into the garden with the library incident from the last ball fresh on her mind. Instead, she stopped at the turn in the path, far enough away that some of the noise was deafened, but close enough not to appear too indecent. She hoped.
“Here. You must be cold.”
She hadn’t realized how cold she was until his tailcoat, still warm with his body heat, enveloped her shoulders. The warmth felt so good and welcome that she wanted to accept it, but the need to never accept anything from him won out. She shrugged out of it, and it would have fallen had he not been faster and caught it. The absence of warmth made the chill air even that much more apparent. With him close, the night filled with delightful notes of lemon and bergamot. Her rebellious body savored it, reaching for more of it all while she continued to face away from him.
There was a moment of silence and then, “Will you tell me what has you upset?” His voice was filled with concern.
“As if you don’t know.” She refused to look at him, but she wanted to see his expression so badly that she glanced briefly over her shoulder. He had looked down, his hands dropping to his sides. The one holding the coat appeared to have a new scab on a knuckle, leaving her wondering if he had participated in another fighting match. In only his shirtsleeves and vest, he somehow appeared even more handsome. When he looked up, she jerked her gaze away.
“I came every day, but you were never at home.”
“Someone else might take the hint.”
“Why will you not see me?” Soft amusement had replaced the concern in his voice.
“Are you really so daft as that?” She swung around to look at him.
He smiled, and she couldn’t help but fixate on the attractive curve of his lips. It forced her to remember the almost-kiss in her drawing room when she had nearly agreed to allow him to court her for appearances before her mother had spilled the truth all over both of them.
