by Donna Hatch
“We should go in separately,” she said, “so people will not think my behavior unseemly, my lord.”
The curves of his mouth softened and the gleam deepened. “Fear not, my lady, I shall declare my honorable intentions as your protector to your vigilant chaperone.”
“It’s not only Mrs. Hancock that concerns me.”
“Then I shall call out anyone who dares question your purity.”
Startled, she searched his face for clues to his meaning, but his features revealed nothing of his true thoughts. She hoped he merely jested about calling anyone out. Dueling, while illegal, occurred far too frequently. It had been the cause of her brother’s maiming, which led to his untimely demise.
She missed her twin, Armand, with a pain that eclipsed even the loss of her parents. Some days, she might never have gotten out of bed were it not for her younger sister, Hannah.
Her troubles lay squarely upon the shoulders of that dueling fiend who’d shot Armand. If not for the duelist, her twin brother would still be alive. Her parents might even still live. Then she would not be in this dilemma of needing to marry for money. She had always despised fortune hunters, and to be forced into their class seemed a fate too humiliating to bear.
Aware of his probing stare, she moistened her lips. “I appreciate your willingness to defend me. Still, I must guard my reputation by not returning with you.”
“In this crush, we will not be seen entering together, I assure you.”
She glanced up at him, curious at his insistence. Could he be so chivalrous that he now saw himself as her protector? She smiled to herself. Her silly romantic notions had little to do with real people. Lord Amesbury, however kind he seemed, had no reason to protect a plain, penniless orphan. Still, walking on his arm gave her the absurd urge to preen. He escorted her to Mrs. Hancock, who sat gossiping with the dowagers.
“There you are, my dear,” said Mrs. Hancock. “I nearly sent someone in search of you.” When she noticed Lord Amesbury standing next to Alicia, her eyes narrowed in concern. “My lord?”
“Forgive us for alarming you, Mrs. Hancock,” Lord Amesbury said smoothly. “Miss Palmer felt the need for some air and I insisted upon escorting her to protect her from any unsavory characters that may be about.” The disarming smile he turned upon Mrs. Hancock would have transformed stone to mush.
Mrs. Hancock actually blushed and fumbled for her fan. “Oh, of course. How kind of you, my lord.”
Alicia smothered a smile. Who would have thought this mature, sensible lady would fall for the charms of a gentleman? But as she let her gaze rest upon him, she wondered how long she would retain a hold over her own sensible nature if he actually tempted her to discard it.
A young man with serious dark eyes approached and bowed, preventing further conversation with Lord Amesbury. “Miss Palmer.”
She curtsied instinctively, and then as she recognized him, a smile crept over her face. “Mr. Hawthorne? Is that you?”
He nodded. “It’s Captain Hawthorne, now.”
“Oh, yes, I had heard. You have grown taller. How many years has it been?”
A faint grin curved his mouth. “I left for the peninsula eight years ago. You’ve grown up as well, and become quite lovely. May I have the honor of the next dance?”
Alicia accepted, knowing his flattery as only a polite gesture. She introduced him to Lord Amesbury, and then smiled back up at Mr. Hawthorne. He had grown broader and more handsome, but he’d always had those heavily-lashed, dark eyes. Something about him made her think of her father. Memories of her family, and the longing for them, dimmed her pleasure.
With a will, she pushed them aside and smiled at Captain Hawthorne. “How is your father?”
His face closed over. “Not well, I am afraid.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. He and my father were friends years ago, I believe, although I never knew him well. Please give him my best.”
A strange light entered his dark eyes. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “I shall.”
Elizabeth hurried to her on Mr. Wallace’s arm. “Alicia, Lord Sinclair has offered to take a group of us on a tour of his gallery. Will you come with us? Captain Hawthorne and Lord Amesbury, you of course are invited as well.”
“I’ve seen it, and I’m afraid I don’t have much of an eye for art.” Captain Hawthorne bowed to Alicia. “I shall await your return, Miss Palmer.”
Alicia nodded. “Of course, Captain.” She turned to Lord Amesbury. “Lord Sinclair’s gallery is rather extensive, I hear.”
Lord Amesbury smiled again. Alicia had never met anyone who smiled so easily, or with such warmth. Odd, but moments ago, she’d had the distinct impression he secretly laughed at everyone. Now he seemed genuinely warm. Perhaps her first impression had been wrong.
“Then I would be remiss if I failed to view it,” Lord Amesbury replied graciously.
On his arm again, and trying to smother the unreasonable joy that honor elicited, Alicia followed Elizabeth and Mr. Wallace to a group forming at the edge of the ballroom. She caught sight of Colonel Westin, but fortunately, he did not appear to notice her. She maneuvered herself so that Lord Amesbury shielded her from the Colonel’s view.
She looked up at Lord Amesbury. If only…
She sighed. Such wishing would lead nowhere but disappointment.
“I believe everyone who is interested in seeing the gallery is present,” Lord Sinclair announced. “If you will all follow me.”
Their host led the group into the gallery. A marble floor mirrored expansive ceiling adorned with gilded, carved moldings. Deep red walls showcased the art. Gas lamplight revealed the most breathtaking works of art Alicia had ever seen.
“Oh, Ali, look; isn’t this exquisite?” Elizabeth pointed out the nearest statue and pulled on Alicia’s hand until she was obliged to release her hold on her escort.
As Lord Sinclair informed the crowd about some of the more impressive pieces, Alicia spotted Mr. Braxton near the front of the group. Her heart thudded. Would she spend the entire evening evading undesirable men?
Catherine Sinclair appeared next to them and smiled up at the viscount. “Lord Amesbury, how delightful that you’ve joined us. I understand your brother is something of an artist, so you must have a great eye for art as well. I’d appreciate your opinion on our latest acquisition.” With a seductive smile and a hand on his arm, she tried to urge him forward. “It’s this one, my lord.”
Lord Amesbury hesitated and glance back at her, but she pretended to be engrossed in a nearby painting. It was inevitable. No man would ever look at her for long with beauties such as Elizabeth and Catherine nearby. She linked her arm through Elizabeth’s, hoping to conceal her disappointment.
“I shall return shortly, Miss Palmer,” Lord Amesbury whispered.
Nodding dismissively without looking at him, she hushed the cry in her heart as Lord Amesbury left with the radiant Catherine.
Mr. Braxton remained out of sight at the moment, but Alicia didn’t dare remain and risk an encounter. She needed to escape. While the crowd trickled past her toward the next display, Alicia remained standing still. Perhaps she could go back out the door they came in. No, it was too far. She could be spotted. Another door on the other side of the nearest marble column might be a better choice.
She glanced back to the art enthusiasts. Catherine still linked her arm through Lord Amesbury’s. Curse the man, he appeared to be enjoying her company.
As Lord Sinclair continued his steady stream of history and explanation, Alicia looked over her shoulder at the door. Each time the crowd moved forward to admire another piece of art, Alicia held back a bit more until she stood at the far edge of the group.
When she was certain no one would notice her missing, she stepped toward the column. The door to freedom lay just beyond.
“Miss Palmer, how considerate of you to leave the others.” Mr. Braxton stepped out from behind the column, leering at her.
Alarm rose within her. How had
he left the main body and made his way to her without her seeing him?
She spoke curtly. “I find that art no longer holds any appeal. I am returning to my chaperone. Good evening.”
He stepped into her path. “How interesting. Art holds little appeal for me at the moment, as well.”
With a pounding heart, Alicia backed away and peered over Mr. Braxton’s shoulder. The group exited the room through a far door. “Excuse me, Mr. Braxton.”
Abandoning thoughts of fleeing through the nearest exit, she stepped around him to catch up to the others. He caught her arm and pulled her behind the column out of view.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “Let go of me. How dare you!”
He clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her with him. She struggled against him as he hauled her through the door she had hoped to use as an escape.
Inside she found a small sitting room, poorly lit, and empty. Terror choked her. As she tried to wrench away, she bit his hand.
Instead of becoming angry, he grinned wickedly, his eyes glittering underneath his bushy eyebrows. “How un-ladylike of you, Miss Palmer.”
He kicked the door closed and pushed her against the wall, pinning her with his body and seizing her wrists. Though more than twice her age, he proved to be anything but weak and feeble.
“Release me at once or I shall scream.” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.
“That would be a poor choice. What would people think of you if they caught you in such a compromising position?” He pushed her hands up over her head and held them both in one hand with surprising strength.
Cold terror bathed her in perspiration. Mrs. Hancock thought she was with Elizabeth and Lord Amesbury. Elizabeth only had eyes for the art and Mr. Wallace. Viscount Amesbury had fallen for Catherine’s charm and beauty. No one would miss her. She had no hope for rescue.
Mr. Braxton was right; if anyone saw her now, she’d be regarded as compromised. She would be forced to marry him or face complete ruin.
He leaned against her. “I am considering paying a great deal of money for you. I merely wish to sample the goods first. Your uncle wouldn’t blame me, I am sure.”
“No—!”
His mouth came down hard upon hers, roughly silencing her scream. He tasted of stale cigars and wine. He groped her body and tried to force her mouth open. Horrified and humiliated, she bucked and kicked him in the shin.
His mouth came away. “I expect a meek and submissive wife. But I don’t mind taming you first.”
“I’ll never marry you. Let go of me.” She tried to wrench free but he shackled her wrists so tightly that she cried out.
His free hand fisted in her skirts, and he began to draw up her hem, exposing her legs.
No!
Desperate, she thrashed. In a moment of clear thought, she remembered something her twin brother Armand told her years ago about male anatomy when she had accidentally hurt him during play. Hoping the same were true for all males, she brought her knee upward in a sharp, hard motion.
Mr. Braxton’s hold on her broke. He collapsed, coughing, onto the floor. Alicia wrenched open the door and flew out of the room into the gallery, right into another man.
She let out a cry and staggered back.
A pair of arms came around her. “Miss Palmer?”
As her rescuer’s features became clear, she sobbed in relief. “Lord Amesbury.”
Chapter 3
Cole Amesbury put a comforting arm around the distraught girl as she collapsed against him. Her hair smelled faintly of lavender, and her soft body melted against his chest. He looked back into the open door from whence she had fled. A gray-haired man lay curled up and groaning on the floor. Alicia Palmer trembled in his arms wearing a look of wild terror, her lips swollen and showing signs of bruising. Her crushed gown and disheveled hair completed the picture.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.
White-hot fury shot through Cole. He had been justly accused of many scandalous things, but assaulting a woman had never been one of them. Though tempted to beat the old man senseless, clear reason broke through the rage; he could not leave Miss Palmer alone. At the moment, she required care. From the looks of him, her attacker would be going nowhere soon. There would be time to confront the man later. And confront him, he would. Tonight.
Struggling against the violent urges racing through his veins, he demanded, “Who is that?” His voice sounded harsh and angry even to his own ears.
“Mr. Braxton,” she choked.
Of course. The man she had been avoiding when she fled to the garden. Still shaking, she visibly tried to control her tears. An uncharacteristic surge of tenderness crept over Cole, nudging aside his anger.
Most women used tears as a form of manipulation. Few wept out of true emotion. He doubted Miss Palmer was even capable of deception. All evening, she’d proved herself genuine, without guile. He wanted to protect her from all the ugliness of the world that would shatter her innocence.
Cole silently cursed. He had known a man she feared pursued her that night. He should have remained at her side. If he had not released Miss Palmer’s arm when her friend pulled on her, Catherine Sinclair would not have been so bold as to take him away. He had meant only to be polite to the host’s daughter, not to abandon the girl he escorted.
He pulled Miss Palmer closer against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, whispering words of consolation. Tensing, she pushed him away. Reluctantly, he released her. He should have known that the touch of another man would not be welcome at the moment.
She appeared to search for something. “I don’t have a handkerchief. I must have dropped my reticule.” She accepted the handkerchief Cole offered. “Thank you.” She heaved a tremulous breath as she dried her tears. “Forgive me for falling apart.”
He clenched his fist to avoid touching her cheek. “Think nothing of it.”
“You must think badly of me.” She gasped and worry leapt into her face. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? My reputation will be sullied and then I will never be able—Oh! Uncle Willard will be angry when he hears I rejected Mr. Braxton in such a manner.”
“I should think he’d be angry that the man tried to force himself on his niece,” he replied grimly.
She shook her head and looked as if she would say more, but closed her mouth instead. A moment later, she looked up at him. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”
“I will escort you to the withdrawing room where you may splash your face and straighten your hair. Then we’ll find…ah, Mrs. Hancock, was it? Your chaperone for the evening?”
She nodded. “That’s very kind, my lord.”
Again the girl’s large eyes drew him. They were the color of coffee and cream, flecked with gold. Unusually long, dark lashes clung together with the dampness of her tears. They were the loveliest eyes he had ever seen, and they had captured him all evening. She had captured him all evening. What it was about her that had so completely entranced him, he could not say. But he longed to discover the je ne said quais that made this girl so, well, different.
He glanced back into the smaller room, but the groaning body lying on the floor had disappeared. Mr. Braxton must have gone out through another door while Cole’s focus lay upon Miss Palmer. “I shall deal with Mr. Braxton later.”
“Please, I know you must think ill of me now, but I beg you to say nothing of my shame.”
“Your shame?” Incredulous, he stared. “He should be ashamed. And punished. What he did—what he tried to do—is reprehensible.”
“Please. I will be ruined.”
Her frightened, desperate plea tugged at his heart as much as her terror a moment ago. He stilled. His heart? He wasn’t aware that he still possessed one.
“Very well, Miss Palmer, I will say nothing. But I assure you, you are clearly blameless. I’d like nothing better than to shoot that man.” After he’d beaten him with his bare hands.
She gasped as if h
e’d just said something dreadful. “No dueling, I beg you.”
Cole dredged up a lazy grin despite the righteous anger still coiled within him. “Duel? What makes you think I want to hand him a gun and let him shoot back at me?”
She shuddered. “I don’t wish that either. But please, don’t challenge him to a duel. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Even a man such as he?”
She shook her head. “I do not wish anyone to suffer from a gunshot wound. Even him.”
Her reaction puzzled Cole. A year ago, another woman in a similar situation had been adamant that her honor be satisfied. She had later proven not worth the effort, more’s the pity.
He froze. Alicia Palmer? As in…?
No, surely not. Palmer was too common a name to suggest any relationship to an opponent he’d dueled last year.
Her voice edged into his thoughts. “I beg you, Lord Amesbury, do nothing.”
All night, expressions passed over her face, easily readable, even if he did not fully understand her reasons. How refreshing. “You are remarkably forgiving.”
“Please, my lord. The scandal would ruin me.” She fixed those beautiful, heavily-lashed eyes upon him.
Only a heartless cad could refuse those eyes. And the social backlash, if others ever suspected she had been caught engaging in any unseemly behavior, would destroy any hope of a good match.
“Very well, Miss Palmer. You may trust me to keep your secret.”
As he looked down into Alicia Palmer’s face, he had no doubt she would be worth any risk. Her sweet, unspoiled temperament touched him in a place he thought long dead.
He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
After she retrieved her reticule, he escorted her through the crowd to the retiring room. Cole waited outside the door, his tension building. He kept a tight rein on his anger, but it mounted like a raging river trapped behind a dam; rising, building, threatening to shatter the barrier. It took all his self-control to remain there instead of seeking out Mr. Braxton and thrashing him. First, he would place Miss Palmer in the care of others; then he would have a nice little tête à tête with Mr. Braxton.