Page 50 of To Steal a Kiss

Her mother’s grasp on her arm had slackened and Alice didn’t waste the opportunity. Snatching it free once again, she backed away, staring at her parents with undisguised horror. With her heart beating too hard, she turned and fled.

It didn’t take Alice long to realise she’d been a little rash. There was no sign of either Kitty or Harriet. The crowds were thick and impenetrable, especially around the supper booths, and many of the revellers were becoming rowdy as the drink flowed. Jostled and elbowed on all sides, Alice searched in vain for her friends, or anyone of her acquaintance. Surely, in this crush of people, there must be someone she knew.

Sadly, she was correct.

As an all too familiar hand slid around her waist and pulled her tight, Alice yelped and swung around to confront the devil who had taken such liberties.

“G-Good evening, s-sweet Alice. All alone? N-Now, that won’t do, w-will it?”

Alice’s skin prickled, some sixth sense telling her in no uncertain terms that she would regret being alone in Edgar Bindley’s company.

“Unhand me, sir!” she exclaimed, struggling to get free as Edgar just chuckled and pulled her closer. She could smell strong spirits on his breath and realised with dismay he was more than a little foxed.

“N-No, I don’t think I shall,” he said, a threatening tone to his voice. “I think I shall take you s-somewhere quiet and teach you how t-to be nice to me. You didn’t seem to mind being n-nice to Mr H-Hunt after all, did you, you little s-slut?”

He propelled her through the crowd, pushing and shoving as Alice struggled harder. As the crowd thinned, Edgar moved her towards the dark of the gardens where private walks and shadowy nooks and corners abounded. Fear turned to terror as she realised she could not allow him to drag her into the darkness and she filled her lungs, ready to scream, when Edgar stopped in his tracks.

She looked up at him, wondering what had happened, to see his flushed countenance pale in a dramatic sweep of white. Alice followed his gaze and gasped. Never in her life had she believed she would welcome the sight of the Marquess of Montagu, but at that moment she could have embraced him.

“Put the girl down, Edgar,” Montagu said, looking bored in the extreme. “I think she is not enjoying your attention.”

“Oh, sh-she’ll enjoy it well enough,” Edgar said, obviously foxed enough to dare brazening it out. “And what do you care for her? She’s n-nobody.”

“I don’t care a damn for her,” the marquess said, without as much as a flicker of interest. His features may as well have been carved from marble for all the emotion visible in his expression. “Less so for you,” he added with a sigh that seemed to indicate his distaste for this unpleasant interlude. “However, I cannot abide displays of vulgarity, and you, sir, are vulgar in the extreme. Now unhand the young woman, or I shall do it for you.”

Alice held her breath. The marquess had spoken softly, never raising his voice, so quietly in fact they’d had to still to hear his words. The devil of it was, they had, because there was menace in that soft-spoken voice; the precise, cool way of speaking hid none of the implicit threat. The lack of any show of emotion or anger only seemed to highlight the danger, rather than dispel it.

Edgar was scowling now; the sulky fury of a spoilt boy refused a treat.

“This is n-none of your affair,” he said, and Alice almost expected him to add, it’s not fair, so petulant were the words.

“No,” said the marquess, inspecting his impeccable grey gloves with a frown of irritation. “And you weary me with your continuous stating of the obvious. Unhand Miss Dowding, or I rather think I shall make you regret it.”

“Why?” Edgar demanded, taking a step back as Montagu settled his grey gaze upon him.

“Am I required to explain my motivation… to you?” The marquess’ gaze swept him from head to toe and Alice couldn’t blame Edgar for the flush of mortification that coloured his face.

To Alice’s immense relief, the hands that had gripped her fell away and Edgar gave her a hard shove, almost sending her to her knees. Before she could tumble, the marquess reached out and grasped her upper arm, steadying her for just a moment before releasing her once more. She had the distinct impression he couldn’t let go fast enough.

Turning his attention back to Edgar, the marquess made a dismissive shooing motion, and to her immense satisfaction, Edgar stalked away.

“My lord,” Alice said, breathless with relief. “I don’t know how I can ever—”

“Enough,” Montagu said, silencing her with a look of cold contempt. “I have no desire for your thanks, nor small talk. I will return you to your friends. I suggest you stay close to them in the future, you foolish child.”

Alice’s cheeks burned with humiliation, but she held her tongue as he escorted her back to the supper booths. To add to her discomfort, the marquess located Harriet and Kitty with ease.

The two young women and Henry all looked shocked and stunned as Montagu accompanied her to their table.

“Miss Dowding,” said the marquess, barely looking at her as he gave her a brief nod and left her beside their table.

“Alice!” Harriet exclaimed, getting to her feet. “Whatever happened?”

Alice was so shocked that she was trembling, and Henry ordered her a glass of rack punch and ordered her to drink it to settle her nerves. Once she’d given them her sorry tale, Henry looked furious.

“That white-livered cur,” he said, smacking the flat of his hand on the table. “I never did like him, always trying to ingratiate himself with St Clair, though the earl won’t give him the time of day either… but trying to haul you off like that? It won’t do.”

“Henry,” Harriet said, a warning note to her voice. “Don’t you dare. You know what father said would happen if he found you’d been fighting again.”