Clarissa realized with a blinding flash of insight that life had most certainly not returned to anything approaching normal.
Christian studied her, his eyes warm and full of concern. His penetrating sapphire gaze held her captive, and the glow she had felt earlier in the ballroom—when he first looked at her that way—surged through her veins. A foolish part of her wanted to stand there all evening, absorbing the heat of their silent exchange.
Blinking, she looked away, determined to break the mysterious connection that had sprung up between them. It frightened her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Amore pressing problem had to be dealt with, namely, preventing Christian from challenging Blundell to a duel.
She braved a look at his face. No trace of anger remained on the clean lines and sharp-cut features. But that didn’t fool her.
He caressed her cheek again, and she repressed a delicious shiver.
“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asked in a husky voice.
She nodded, intensely aware that his hands still rested on her hip bones. In fact, his fingers were stroking her, lightly and soothingly, through the delicate fabric of her gown. This time, she couldn’t repress the shiver.
He frowned. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head, disengaging reluctantly from his embrace. He let her go, allowing his fingers to trail a path of heat as she stepped away.
“I’m fine,” she said, inwardly cursing the break in her voice.
“You don’t seem very steady on your feet, and you’re trembling. Do you want me to send for Lillian, or my mother?”
It wasn’t only Blundell who had pitched her into her current state of unease, but Clarissa would die before admitting that.
“No!” she responded a bit too loudly.
Christian looked even more concerned. She clamped down on her nerves and tried again. “Really, Christian, there’s no need to call anyone. Lord Blundell hardly touched me.”
His lips turned down in a disapproving curve. “His mouth was bleeding, and you were running like you had the devil at your heels when you charged into me. That sounds rather more thanbarely touching.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, remaining silent.
His mouth twitched up in a wry smile and he relented. “At least tell me what happened to his lip. Did you bash him with your fan?”
Her fan? What was he talking about?
“That,” he said, glancing at her hand.
She stared in surprise at the fan she still clutched, now a tangled mess of broken sticks and torn lace. It must have been crushed in her struggle with Blundell.
“No. I … I bit him,” she blurted out, instantly regretting it.
He looked puzzled. “You bit him?”
Unfortunately, his puzzlement didn’t last. Enlightenment dawned, and a ferocious scowl descended on his brow. He grabbed her hand and began towing her into the study.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
Clarissa panicked. “Christian, stop,” she exclaimed.
He ignored her. She dug her heels into the thick carpet in front of his father’s desk and jerked him to a halt.
“What?” he snapped. His eyes blazed with fury. He looked ready to go to war.
She glared up at him. He glared right back.
“Stop. It. Now.” She ground out each word.
He gave an impatient shake of his head. “You needn’t worry about it, Clarissa. I’ll take care of this.”
