nine
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Effie drew in a breath as she stared at the growing red stain on Lord Montcrest’s waistcoat. “That’s blood.”
“It’s nothing.”
“The stain is growing larger.”
“I have to go.” He walked towards the edge of the dance floor, hiding the stain with his hand.
She followed him at a close distance. He did his best to remain straight, but he kept hunching. She must have hit a freshly stitched wound or something similar.
Pressing the handkerchief against his side, he walked out of the ballroom with her at his heels.
“Montcrest.” She chased him along the corridor. “Let me see. I feel responsible for hurting you.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s nothing.” He sounded as if he were choking.
“I can help.” She caught up with him. “Trust me.” Even though the scene would be scandalous.
He came to a halt and studied her for a long minute. Pain drew deep lines around his mouth. “You shouldn’t worry aboutme. You shouldn’t waste your time on me.” The laboured and haughty tone was replaced with a vulnerable one.
Shock caught her at his resignation as if his statement were definitive. What had happened to him to make him so certain about his unworthiness? Guilt for having judged him gnawed at her.
She touched his arm as the instinct to pull him into a comforting hug rose. “Let’s discuss that after I’ve taken a look at that bleeding cut.”
“You take care of animals.”
“You would be surprised to know how many things we have in common with them.” She opened the nearest door and beckoned him inside a sitting room.
He didn’t move. In the semidarkness of the corridor, he looked pale and hurt, guarded like a wild animal.
“Trust me,” she said again.
He closed his eyes briefly before following her.
The moment she closed the door behind them, darkness fell in the room, and a certain stirring of uneasiness flickered within her. She was alone with a man she barely knew, in the middle of the night.
Her hand trembled when she locked them in. It was better to make sure no one entered, but being locked in with him meant she couldn’t get out easily.
The thick door muffled the music from the ballroom, and his uneven breathing sounded louder.
She lit a few lamps. Their yellow glow spread over a couple of armchairs, bookshelves, and a large Chesterfield sofa. The fear he might take advantage of her vanished when he gritted his teeth and hung his head. He was in pain and needed her help, and she wouldn’t refuse it.
“Over there.” She pointed at the sofa.
He didn’t move, his hand still on his stained shirt. “We’re alone.”
“Well spotted.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but you’re bleeding. The handkerchief is all red. If you cooperate, we’ll be quicker and leave this room faster.”
Exhaling, he sat on the sofa, not without wincing.
She sat in front of him. “Let me see.”
He removed the bloody handkerchief and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. She shifted on the seat. If Papa saw her now, she would have a difficult time explaining what she was doing. Lord Montcrest was a gentleman Papa wouldn’t be happy to consider among her suitors. And if they were caught alone together, Papa wouldn’t appreciate the gossip. She wouldn’t appreciate it.
