“Rose,” he whispered.
Blackmore’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and Emalyn spoke, a touch of pride in her words, “Now you see why my son wants to marry her. I’m having our coach brought around. We will see that she gets home safely.”
Edmund cleared his throat and stepped forward, but Emalyn waved him off. “Please, Edmund, you will need your carriage for Lady Dorothea and Lady Cecily. I’m also going to ask if you can see that Lady Elizabeth gets home safely.”
“I beg your pardon,” Cecily said.
Emalyn patted her on the arm. “My dear, you and Lady Elizabeth have beaus to attend to. This ball is far from over, and I know Lord Blackmore would like to convey a sense of normalcy for the remainder of the evening. It will not do Lady Rose any good to be more of the center of disruption that she is already.”
“No, it will not,” Rose said. She squirmed a bit, finally worming one arm from beneath the velvet, although it was still encased in the sleeve of Thomas’s coat. She slipped it around Cecily in a slight hug. “Please. Go be with Philby.Please.This was supposed to be your night as well.”
“Nothing is more important than my sister.”
Rose smiled. “Just remember that on my birthday. For now I just want to go home. You would do me no good there, hovering and worrying.”
Blackmore glanced at Thomas, then scowled. “Good God, man, you’re bleeding.”
All eyes turned toward him, and Robert cursed. Thomas peered down at his right shoulder, where blood had seeped through the fabric of his waistcoat. Robert reached into his own coat for a handkerchief, then shoved it beneath Thomas’s waistcoat, pressing on the wound, which sent a blast of pain down his body. He winced but nodded at his brother. Robert withdrew his hand, and Thomas pressed as hard as he could over the wound. He was still looking down at it when another, softer hand, lay over the top of his.
Thomas looked up at Rose, who stared into his eyes, a touch of wonder in hers.
“You came.”
The words, a bare whisper, broke something open in his soul. With a low moan, Thomas folded both arms around her, pulling her as close to his body as he could, burying his face in her hair. Rose melded to him, curling her fingers into the fabric of his waistcoat and pressing her face against his chest.
He heard the uncomfortable throat clearing behind him, the awkward scuffs of shoes. He did not care.
“I meant every word,” he whispered into her hair. “I never want to be without you.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder then, his brother’s low words at his back. “Let’s get her home, Thomas. Both of you need a doctor.”
Slowly releasing his grip on Rose, Thomas peered down at her. “I would carry you, if I could.”
Her brows furrowed at him. “I would never allow it, and you well know it. We will walk. Wounded, bruised, and half dressed. We will walk out of here. Both of us. Head’s up. Where is your cane?”
“I have it,” Robert said. Then he grinned at Thomas. “You know you’ll never be rid of that nickname now.”
“Damn it.”
Rose took his left arm. “Let us go, Wolfie. We have a gauntlet to walk.”
“Don’t you start.”
She smiled, but as Rose took a step, her knees buckled and her determined expression faltered. He caught her, and Robert moved to the other side of her, grabbing her elbow through the cloak. “I swear,” Robert muttered, “the two of you are going to be the death of me. Stand up, woman. You are stronger than the both of us.”
Rose glanced at him, then Thomas, who nodded. “The shaking will stop in a few moments. I promise. Take a deep breath.”
She did, gripping even harder on his elbow. She pressed up with her entire body, and they walked. They passed through the crowd of Blackmore’s guests, the clusters and gatherings of folk parting before them as if they were a runaway carriage, which Thomas supposed they were. He heard the flurry of whispers—some kind and some quite vile—and he saw Rose blink more than once, her face making tiny winces of pain he knew were not from her injuries. He fought the urge to lash out, to defend her, even as he knew it would not do any good.
So he walked on, holding tight to the woman he loved.
Chapter Twenty
He had lookedlike hell.
He had looked like an angel.
An avenging angel who had touched down from heaven, landing in the midst of a fiery hell.
