Carina went happily downstairs. On the bedroom floor landing, her joy in the day vanished. For Sir Hugh Mansel stepped out of a shadowy alcove.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, blocking her way. “Finally, I have you alone. One might almost think you have been avoiding me.”
“I have. Excuse me. Lady Grandison has sent for me.”
“Lady Grandison?” he sneered. “Or Lord Durward? Aiming higher than the man who merely supplied your bread and butter?”
“You barely paid me enough for bread,” she retorted, though she should have known better than to rile him. She was just tired of the whole injustice of his pursuit.
She was rewarded with his ugly, oily smile, and a quick, ungentle push into the alcove wall.
“Well you needn’t think Lady Grandison—or anyone else—will pay you any salary once I’ve had you, for the world will know. I might consider sharing you with his lordship, if he still wants you.”
As he spoke, he rammed himself up against her—and everything rebelled.
“How dare you!” she cried, and stamped hard on his foot, at the same time as she gave him a mighty shove in the chest with both hands.
He let out a howl of pain and rage, but she didn’t fool herself. It was only surprise that dislodged him, and that only temporarily. An instant later, his hand was over her mouth so that she could barely breathe.
“Not a sound,” he rasped in her ear.
Only then did she hear it too, footsteps hurrying toward them through the gloom of the passage. This was her worst nightmare. Whether she could draw attention to her presence or not, she faced certain ruin either way. But her body reacted from pure instinct, trying to shake off his foulness. And quite suddenly she was free.
Someone had yanked Mansel off her by the collar.
Durward.
His face was a terrifying mask of fury. So much for his turning over a new leaf concerning duels...
But Mansel did not appear to see the danger. He laughed. “My lord! Care to share this little lightskirt? She is—”
Durward struck him with such speed that he never saw it coming. Mansel hit the floor, his expression one of almost ludicrous surprise. Durward followed inexorably, fist clenched, and hauled Mansel’s upper body off the floor by his shirt front.
“Youdareto touch my betrothed?” he snarled. “To sully her with your foul words?”
Only now did Mansel see his true danger. He flapped his hands, though whether in an effort to free himself or placate Durward was anyone’s guess.
“B-betrothed, my lord?” he babbled. “But I assure youshewaylaidme! Begging for my—”
Durward hit him again and stood over him. “I will tell you this once only. If you so much as say her name, I will kill you—and I will hear, you know. This ismyworld, and my wife’s. You will leave this house immediately, or I will kill you. More than that, if I ever hear of you treating another female so, I shall make sure neither you nor your wife are ever invited anywhere. Do I make myself clear?”
“My lord, my lord, forgive the misunder—”
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh yes, my lord, abundantly.” Mansel nodded wildly like one of Orchid’s nursery toys.
Shockingly, Carina wanted to giggle.
Durward dropped him and turned on his heel to face Carina who had remained in the alcove, wide-eyed and perfectly still. He smiled, one of those dazzling, brilliant smiles that melted her, and almost to her surprise, she found herself smiling back.
“Shall we go to Lady Grandison? I thought we might announce our betrothal.” He offered his arm, which she took with something approaching wonder.
“Why not?”
As they walked away arm-in-arm and took the stairs down to the drawing room, she was amazed to find she wasn’t even shaking. That delightful sense of wellbeing was back, as though this man’s presence was all she ever needed. He stood by her, protected her, looked out for her.
“And you neither killed him outrightnorchallenged him,” she said aloud, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.
