Page 18 of A Chance to Dance with the Duke
She squeaked with alarm as his arms slid under her legs and then under her arms and she found herself hoisted into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
Oh, the crowd was loving this. She saw the shocked faces, the heads huddled together to discuss what was happening. She heard snippets of her name.
Or rather, her nickname.
All the times she’d wanted to hitch up her skirts and flash the London crowds with a view of her leg just so she could crow,It’s not a pegleg, you nincompoops!
And now they’d know because the skirts of her lovely new gown were soaked through, clinging to her limbs.
So at least that rumor ought to be cleared up. But that silly nickname was the least of her worries now.
Tears weren’t just stinging, they were burning hot and she had to fight to keep from burying her head in Carver’s chest.
Instead she clutched his jacket and held on tight as he carried her out of the fountain. Her mind was so rattled by the commotion going on around them—what with the chatter and the laughter and the stares—she belatedly realized that Carver was issuing commands, his tone a reminder that this man, while young, was still very much a Duke.
“Fetch me blankets,” he said to a man who she did not know but was definitely not a servant.
Yet the grown man rushed off to do Carver’s bidding.
Because even grown men respected the great and powerful Duke.
Even if he did pick on crippled young ladies like the veriest bully.
Flames of anger rippled through her at the injustice of it all. She saw the swoony sighs as the now drenched Duke carried her toward the veranda.
Crowds parted as a fresh wave of whispers followed.
He’s so strong…so capable…so brave….
Brave? Really? He’d stepped into a fountain, not a raging sea. How was he the hero here?
She wiggled in his arms. “Set me down.”
“No.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m not taking you inside looking like this. And…” He glanced around pointedly. “I do not feel comfortable setting you on the ground.”
Anger was a relief. “Well, I do not feel comfortable being in your arms.”
Which was…a lie. Suddenly she became acutely aware of just how comfortable she was. His grip was tight, and his body warm. She was snuggled against him in a way that was so oddly comforting it made her chest tight with emotion.
She hadn’t felt so coddled and protected since she’d been a small child.
Oh, heaven help her, that thought made those tears she’d been battling well in her eyes. But she couldn’t. She would never give them the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
“Please, don’t cry.” His voice was gruff, and she heard the rumble of it through his chest.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to.” With a pitiful quivering lip, she added, “I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.” He turned slightly, and she realized he was shielding her from prying eyes. “Do not give them that satisfaction.”
Her breath caught at the emotion in his eyes, as much as at the way he’d spoken her own thoughts aloud.
Of course, when she’d thought it, Carver had been one ofthem.
