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“A friend?”
“They’re swelling…”
“A fellow governess. Upon my second employment, you see, an earl’s son pestered me somewhat, so I sought methods of dissuasion from Miss Culpepper. She reported this never failed.”
“I can well imagine.”
“Aberdare… The pain…”
Brushing his thumb over her dainty wrist, he could feel her pulse pound an erratic beat. She must have been scared, despite her valorous words, for out in this secluded garden, anything could have happened.
And would have done, if she’d not been so…well instructed.
“I beg of you…”
Rhys should have been keeping an eye on his damn guests, not avoiding them. “Come to my study for a brandy. I’ll inform Mari you are safe as she was worried for you and ask Gwen to chaperone her.”
“I… I’m not sure.”
“Argghhhh.”
“I insist.” He proffered his arm. “Come, Miss Beaujeu. Please.”
Her hand settled upon his jacket sleeve, and she glanced up, eyes opaque. “In that case… Merci, Monsieur le duc.”
Rhys shivered in the crisp night air as he led her from the Sunken Garden.
“Where are you going?”
Arm in arm they strolled, following the hedges, a half-moon gliding from behind a cloud to light their way.
A faint whisper drifted on the autumnal night breeze…
“Help me… Someone… Anyone. They’ve gone numb.”
