To her surprise, he flinched. Even in the dim light she could see the blood drain from his face. But he soon recovered, staring at her so intently she felt like a cornered animal.
“I do respect you, Clarissa, so much so that I intend to make you my wife.” He inspected her bosom with a lustful gaze. “Now that your period of mourning is over, you must recognize how advantageous it would be for you to marry again. If your father were still alive, he would surely urge you to accept my offer.”
Anger rose in a hot, welcome flare, infusing her with courage. “You honor me, sir,” she said coldly, “but I have no desire to marry. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Lady Montegue.”
She attempted to force her way past, but he grabbed her arms. His thick fingers squeezed her in a pinching grip.
“Let go of me,” she gasped.
She tried to yank away but he held fast. His nails dug into her flesh, sending lancing pain down her bare arms. She struggled, but he pulled her close, rubbing himself against her.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes as panic welledin her chest. She clamped down hard, forcing her vision to clear. A scream bubbled up in her throat, but a shred of reason sealed her lips. The scandal if they were found like this would be overwhelming, and there was no predicting the consequences. To be discovered alone together, in so secluded a place, whomever was finally blamed—and Blun-dell might very well accuseherof improper behavior—her reputation would be irreparably damaged.
He bent his face close, leering at her. The reek of alcohol and the disgusting grind of his hips made her want to vomit.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Clarissa. Not dressed like this. Not when you engage in open flirtation in front of half theton. I saw you upstairs with Archer,” he sneered. “Why waste your time on a boy when you can have a man? You made that same mistake when you married Middleton. You would be wise not to do it again.”
He might as well have thrown a pitcher of ice water in her face. Her head cleared and her spine straightened.
“Unhand me, Lord Blundell, or I shall scream loud enough to wake the dead. You are a vile man, and I would rather die than marry you.”
A murderous fury darkened his gaze. He dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back. A strangled cry almost escaped her throat, but he cut it off with a hard, slobbering kiss. His lips mashed hers and his tongue invaded her mouth, choking her. Unable to breathe, she struggled with a desperation born of terror.
Blundell crushed himself against her, bending her over the hard stone of the parapet as he locked her in an unbreakable grip. Tears leaked from her eyes when she felt his hand dragging up her skirts.
But more than fear rose up in a welling tide. Fury rose, too, pushing out the fear. She had to stop him. She’d ratherbe exposed to all of London and shunned by everyone she knew than allow the brute to molest her.
When he took a breath, she bit down hard on his lower lip. He gave a shocked cry and jolted back, letting her go so suddenly she could barely keep from toppling over the barrier behind her. Quickly righting herself, she slipped past, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab her.
“Come back here, you bitch,” he spat out in a snarling voice.
She dashed for the doors leading into the darkened study, only to collide with a rock-hard body coming through them. A pair of strong arms snaked around her, keeping her from crashing to the ground.
“Clarissa,” exclaimed Christian, holding her close. “What the hell is going on out here?”
She stilled in his arms, gazing up at him, trying to see his face in the dark. Her brain went blank as relief wiped out every other emotion. She sagged, her limbs weak and trembling. He cradled her in a gentle embrace, one hand splayed securely across her back.
With an effort, she managed to calm her pounding heart, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him. Her brain stopped tumbling around in her skull and her reason returned.
“Better?” he asked in a quiet voice as he rubbed a soothing hand down her spine.
She nodded.
“Good. Then please explain why you were running as if your life depended on it.”
A painful rush of blood heated her cheeks. How could she explain without causing a scene? Christian would be furious, and God knew what he would do then. She had to defuse the situation before a scandal erupted right there in the middle of the largest ball of the Little Season.
“Ah … nothing … nothing was happening,” she stuttered. “I was just …”
She trailed off as he arched his eyebrows in disbelief. Then he lifted his gaze and stared out at the terrace, where Blundell still stood, muttering curses under his breath. Christian’s face grew stern, anger tightening his features into sharp angles.
“Never mind,” he said in a quiet but lethal voice. “I see the problem.” His flinty gaze switched back to her face. “Did that bastard hurt you?”
Clarissa loosened her fingers from where they clutched the front of Christian’s coat and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice. She gave his chest a gentle push, forcing him to let go. He did, but reluctantly.
“It was nothing,” she continued. “Really. I ’d be grateful if you escorted me back inside. I ’d like to find Lillian.”
