Page 33 of How to Best a Marquess

“We will see you safely home,” Hugh said.

Minutes later, they were traveling at a swift pace in Hugh’s carriage. As soon as they reached Lady Willoughby’s Mayfair home, she flew up the front steps and disappeared inside.

“I fear for her,” Ellie said.

“Not tonight. The baron will be dealing with his own injuries.”

“What about tomorrow? When he is sober, hurting, and dangerously mad?”

“I plan to pay him a visit tomorrow, to have a stern talk, and to ensure he doesn’t harm a hair on his wife’s head.”

She raised her lashes. She understood what he meant when he said he would speak with the baron. Hugh was going to threaten the man to keep his fists away from his wife. She stared, complete surprise on her face. He was an ever-changing mystery. A man who had sworn to defeat her, then went out of his way to aid a woman in need. A man who’d called her admirable. “You would do that?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“It’s just that…I didn’t expect you to be concerned with the welfare of a lady you just met.”

“I detest anyone preying on those physically unable to defend themselves.”

So did she. Not for the first time, she wondered about his military years and how he had treated the men in his command. Without a doubt, she knew he would have put his men’s welfare above his own. The Marquess of Deveril protected the downtrodden.

Hugh hadn’t judged her for aiding the baroness but had helped her. She could never have handled the drunken baron, brought his wife home so quickly, and she could never pay a visit and convince the man to leave his wife alone. Maybe they didn’t have to arrange for Lady Willoughby’s false demise after all.

She leaned forward and placed a hand on Hugh’s sleeve. “I’m grateful for your assistance tonight.”

“I meant what I said. I admire your efforts, but I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

“It’s never happened before.”

She felt the muscles in his forearm tense. “But it can occur again. What if I wasn’t there tonight? The thought of anything happening to you makes me ill.” He held out his hands, and to her shock he was shaking.

The notion of such a big, strong man shaking because he feared for her made her senses spin. She’d seen him fight Bear in the boxing ring. He hadn’t shown fear. His fists had been solid and sure.

But now they trembled.

For her.

He fisted his fingers, his callused knuckles stark. Nicks and cuts marred the tanned skin. The hands of a pugilist, not a marquess.

“Ellie,” he said simply.

She reached out and took his hands. They were double the size of hers. She ran her thumb back and forth across his bruised knuckles. He hissed in a breath and wove his fingers through hers.

“You asked me if I thought of our kiss, and I told you I hadn’t. I lied,” she whispered.

He was still beside her. Only his green eyes were intense and fierce. “How much have you thought of it?”

“A lot.”

The green irises darkened, drawing her in. “Good. Because I want to kiss you again. May I?”

She swallowed, her nervousness rising, but something else sizzled just beneath the surface, something impossible to deny. A clawing need that had nothing to do with their competition, but a base desire deep inside her. Perhaps it was the near rescue, the need that arose when he’d stepped in to help her tonight, or even more tormenting, his plan to visit the baron tomorrow to ensure another’s safety. Whatever the reasons, she did not want to deny the most basic contact between them.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d like that.”