Page 37 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
Shaking her head at so ludicrous a notion, she entered the corridor where the lighting was a bit dimmer. Never before had she spent so much time considering the various aspects of bedding. Oh, before she’d married, she’d certainly contemplated the act, speculated about everything that might be involved. Her wedding night had done little more than dull her enthusiasm for mating rituals. Making love was certainly an inappropriate description for what occurred in the marriage bed. Downie—
“Well, if it’s not the notorious heiress.”
Spinning around at the ominously delivered words, she found herself facing one of Downie’s most trusted friends, hatred and disgust burning in his eyes. “Lord Evanston, it was my understanding this area was reserved for ladies.”
“But then you’re not a lady, are you? You’re awhore. As such, you should be treated as one.” He took a menacing step forward.
She couldn’t rush past him, so she turned, hiked up her skirts, and ran.
Christ, he was failing his mission. Instead of implying with word and deed that he was infatuated with Gina, he was constantly giving attention to her sister. The temptation of her was something he’d never before experienced. He was drawn to women, but he’d never been obsessed with wondering how they might taste or feel or sound when passion took hold, rolled through them, conquered them. He was strung so tightly, was so distracted that if he sat down to play cards, he’d probably lose every hand. He’d not be able to count the cards, to determine what remained to be played. Fortunately, Gina was not becoming bored with roulette. Probably because she was having a string of wins. If he didn’t know it was impossible to influence the wheel, he’d think she’d figured out a way to cheat.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the hallway into which Lady Landsdowne had disappeared. He probably should have found a woman to accompany her, to assure she found her way. When Drake had opened the club up to women nearly a decade earlier, he’d introduced the renovated place to London with a night where the entire establishment could be viewed by either gender. Rexton had been curious about what the private areas for only the women offered. He recalled a room for cards, a library with spirits, a chamber mostly made up of fainting couches. But those rooms were accessed via a corridor that veered off from the main hallway. Might she get lost in the warren?
“Is something amiss, my lord?”
He looked back at Gina, her brow pleated with fine lines. He was no doubt worrying for naught, but he couldn’t seem to shake off the unsettling thought that she’d been absent too long. He’d seen the disgust at the opera. He’d noticed less of it here, but then those within these walls were often skilled at not showing what they felt—the ability to hide one’s feelings and thoughts came in handy when playing cards. “I’m going to go make sure your sister’s all right.”
Her brow furrowed more deeply. “She’s in an area where only ladies are allowed. Should I go?”
As though this slight girl could fend off someone if trouble were afoot. Although what sort of trouble could Lady Landsdowne get into? A lady pulling on her hair perhaps? On the other hand, he had run into some vicious women on occasion. And there had been the incident in the hallway at the theater. “No, I’ll see to it. Don’t leave this spot.”
“I won’t.”
With a nod, he turned on his heel and strode quickly and with purpose to the corridor. As he traversed it, he remember it was a jagged journey to a door that opened to the outside so women could come and go as they pleased if they wished to retain a bit of discretion when it came to vices they might enjoy. Men would never see them, learn of their visits. Not unless they ventured into the areas where both genders mingled.
He came to the split in the passageway and was about to turn down the one that led to the chambers when he heard a struggle coming from the opposite direction. His heart leaped in his chest. He took off at a dead run. Even if it wasn’t Lady Landsdowne, someone was in trouble. When he careened around a corner, he saw that it was indeed the lady for whom he was searching.
She was pressed against a wall, her arms behind her, no doubt shackled at the wrist by the tall, broad man’s powerful hand, his other large hand cupping her chin, holding her face tilted toward his mouth as he tried to connect it with hers while she moved her head as much as she was able to avoid him. She was attempting to kick him, to break free, but her heavy skirts were hampering her movements. Yet still she fought.
And Rexton saw red, crimson, scarlet.
Mineroared through his head or maybe it even roared out of his mouth because the man looked back over his shoulder. Evanston. Rexton grabbed a handful of clothing near the lord’s throat, tore him away from Lady Landsdowne, and directed three hard, quick jabs into Evanston’s face. He was aware of the popping and snapping of cartilage and bone, the spurting of blood before he threw the man, whimpering and groaning, to the floor.
“Get the bloody hell out of here before I kill you.” His voice was low, shimmering with restrained violence.
Evanston didn’t argue. He merely scrambled to his feet and, holding both hands over his face, ran.
“Coward,” Rexton spat after him. He turned to Tillie. He couldn’t think of her as Lady Landsdowne at that moment because there was no sign of the haughty, prideful woman who had greeted him that first afternoon at Landsdowne Court. All he saw was her vulnerability, her wide frightened eyes, her chest heaving with her labored breathing. “Are you all right?” He shook his head before she could answer. “No, of course you’re not. Are you hurt?”
She blinked at him. He could see her trembling. “Are you hurt?” he repeated a bit more gently.
“You... you... hit him. Three times.”
“I’d have hit him more but touching him was beginning to make my skin crawl. Did he harm you?”
Tears began to well in her eyes. “You didn’t think I deserved it, for being an unfaithful wench?”
“A man pawing at you? No woman deserves that, regardless of her behavior.” He tore off his glove and tenderly cradled her cheek. “Do you have pain anywhere?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No. I just... I couldn’t push him away.”
“He’s a big lummox, but you shouldn’t have had to. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near you.”
The tears that had been hovering vanished. She took a deep breath, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t seem to help himself: he skimmed his thumb over her silky cheek, all the while watching the movement, mesmerized by it as though he’d never before touched a woman. What was it about her that made her so different?
“Why are you here?” she asked, bringing him back to the present, to the situation. He lowered his hand.
“I was concerned. You were gone too long.”
