Page 19 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

He looked down. Yes, she was still clasped in his arms in what could only look like a romantic embrace.

He ought to let go, but he was not at all certain she wouldn't slump to the ground if he did.

He shut his eyes. Blast it all.

Then he opened his eyes and turned to Lady Westover with a friendly smile that no doubt did little to conceal his horror. "Lady Westover. How good to see you."

She inclined her head a fraction, as she walked in their direction.

"Lady Arabella," she said.

Arabella did not respond.

Lady Westover walked past them with the perfect serenity of a woman who was no doubt going to alter her plans for the afternoon to share this new sordid tale at her earliest convenience.

John watched her go with Arabella's arms still gripped in his hands.

From afar, he'd always seen Arabella as formidable in bearing and unequaled in beauty. Up close, he could say for certain that while he'd been correct about her beauty, her stature was another matter.

It was clear to him now that Arabella's confidence and bearing made her seem larger than she was. In reality, her arms were thin, her frame petite.

She looked fragile to the point of being breakable. And the way she was staring at him right now…

Well. He wasn't entirely certain she'd even noticed Lady Westover.

His gaze ran over her, from her wide eyes to her parted lips.

Perhaps she had registered Lady Westover, but this new turn of events wasn't as bad as whatever had sent her flying down the stairs.

He looked up from where she'd come. The urge to go up there and face whatever or whoever it was that had scared her so thoroughly was nearly overwhelming.

But she was straightening in his arms, backing away. When he looked down he saw that she was blinking rapidly, as if trying to bring herself back to her senses. "I— Er, thank you." Her voice was soft and stilted.

"I should…" She looked around them, and he followed her gaze.

The lobby had gone back to its usual small noise. A footman moving about, the desk clerk turning a page in his ledger, a clock somewhere ticking. No one was paying them any mind.

"I should go." She blinked again. Her eyes were trying to focus. "I have to go."

She backed up a step, but he kept his hands on her arms. "Did you come in a carriage?"

A small shake of her head. "I hired one."

"Mine is out front. Come." He gently tugged her toward the door. "I'll take you home."

She did not move. "I cannot go home."

She said it calmly, and it was the matter-of-factness that made his chest constrict on her behalf.

I cannot go home. What a sad statement. And yet, it seemed like the least of her worries.

For a moment he stared at her as his mind worked. He could not force her to go home. But he couldn't leave her here. And he certainly couldn't take her to his home, not without a chaperone of some sort.

Some irritating voice in the back of his mind wondered why he was so worried about propriety now. Too little, too late, isn't it?

He shoved that thought aside. Where could he take her?

It came to him in a heartbeat. "I know somewhere," he said. "Come."