Page 34 of Any Rogue Will Do
Long ago, he’d felt the same way about the name. Hearing those old feelings come from her mouth made him blink. When had he accepted the pejorative name? “Ethan. My name is Ethan Ridley.”
She smiled for real this time, lighting her eyes. “Ethan, you may call me Lottie.”
Hearing his name—his real name—from her lips felt impossibly precious and intimate. “Thank you, Lottie.” Lifting her injured hand, he lightly kissed each knuckle. “I should call out Montague. This is not acceptable.”
Arching a brow, she worked her glove back on, then tucked her arm into his. “I want your word as a gentleman that you won’t. I don’t need the scandal, and you don’t need his blood on your hands—because I have every confidence you’d win.”
He growled. Montague had hurt her. The bastard deserved a thrashing, then execution at dawn, followed by dumping his body unceremoniously in the river. Let the fish have whatever remained after Ethan was done with him. Lady Charlotte—Lottie—stayed him with a hand on his chest, and his growl became something closer to a purr.
“I mean it, Ethan. He’s not worth ruining our lives simply to get even. Promise me.”
“Fine. I promise I will not call him out.” Dumping him in the river might be an option, though.
“Thank you. Now, I am going to freshen up a bit. Don’t kill anyone while I’m gone. You appear quite fierce.” Lottie patted his chest one more time, then walked away, leaving a lemony tang in the air.
While Montague didn’t appear in the immediate area, every protective instinct within Ethan reared its head, so he followed at a distance just in case, keeping an eye on the people in her path. As she sailed with the confidence of a queen across the room, then down a hall, she smiled at a few acquaintances.
Leaning on the wall several feet from the doorway, he waited for her to emerge from the retiring room. Female voices approached the door. None of them were Lottie’s.
“She must be a fool to give up such a treat for a fatter purse. Especially with a hefty dowry of her own.”
“She has to have a huge dowry if her father ever expects to unload her on some poor fellow. Her bank account isn’t all that’s plump.”
“Doesn’t Lord Amesbury care he’s getting used goods? I overheard my brother saying Montague described exactlyhowpink her bits were—if you understand my meaning. The wordseagerandenthusiasticwere used. Repeatedly.”
“Poor Paper Doll Princess. Amesbury isn’t that much of a catch. Not with his past…”
Sometimes Ethan was grateful for his ungentlemanly build. As he straightened from his casual stance against the wall, he didn’t feel even remotely gentlemanly. The tittering laughter cut off when they caught sight of him.
Curling his lip with disgust, he stared each of the three women down—he couldn’t call them ladies after that shameless display of vindictive tongue wagging. One by one, the women avoided his gaze, then scurried away as if he would release hellhounds after them.
One minute passed. Then two. Finally, Lottie emerged from the room. Ethan snaked an arm around her waist, gently pulling her toward a nearby passageway. The small dim space, intended for servants, had only a single lamp on the wall, near a set of narrow stairs.
“Ethan—”
He towed her deeper into the shadows, then used his body to protect her from the view of those passing by. “Now. Look at me, lass.” Flat eyes stared at his cravat, lacking her usual spirit. “Sweetheart, look at me.” The endearment slipped out, but it felt so right he couldn’t regret it.
She firmed her chin until her jaw set in a mulish line, then raised her gaze to his. There was no use biting back a smile. Lottie’s stubborn streak made an appearance in that narrow little point of her chin, which was too adorable for words. His girl had a spine of steel, even if she occasionally forgot that.
When had he begun thinking of her as his?
“How much did you hear?” she asked.
“I’m a beast, which we both knew already. They have grossly inaccurate opinions about your beautiful figure. And every one of them deserves tae be courted by that rat Montague.”
“All of it, then. Or most of it. I doubt they knew I was in the room. Not that my presence matters, I suppose.”
“It’s rubbish. Every bit of it.”
“How are you certain it isn’t true? Montague is saying I—” She gulped. Tears shone in her eyes in the low light. “He’s saying I—”
Ethan brushed a finger down the side of her face, as he had that evening at the inn forever ago. Still impossibly soft. “We both know you didn’ drop Montague for my fortune or because you’re fickle in your affections. You barely tolerate me on the best of days.” That got a watery smile. “I don’ care how far things went between yourself and Montague. He’s a bastard and a rogue tae say such things about you, no matter the circumstances.” The siren song of her luminous skin called to him in the dim light, drawing him a half step closer.
“For what it’s worth, they’re lies. He kissed me. I didn’t care for it. I tried to push him away. But he refused to take me home without another kiss. I think he likes to hurt women. I had bruises, but by the end of it, so did he. Since then I’ve refused to see him.”
Bracing an arm above her head, he closed his eyes and pulled her close with a hand around her waist. The move wasn’t meant to be an embrace for anything but comfort. “Oh, lass, I’m sorry. If I could take away that memory, I would.”
The hug changed when she raised her face toward his and rested her hands on his waist. Air grew scarce, but that might be because he held his breath. The expression on her face looked an awful lot like welcome.
