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James had eyes only for her—and he appeared concerned.
She took another small breath, trying to get air, but the odor of wet Denton assaulted her again.
“May I introduce Mr. James Robertson.” By the time Denton spoke James’s name, his voice had quieted so much that if she wasn’t already familiar with it, she might not have understood. “Lady Clara Chadbourne,” he mumbled to James, as if his lips were numb.
Her own name was the last thing she heard before a distant roar grew louder, filling her ears. She couldn’t feel her face. The edges of her sight dimmed, then total darkness swallowed her.
As Clara regained some level of awareness, she realized she was being carried; one of her arms dangled uncomfortably.
She registered the gasps and snippets of exclamations of shock around her without realizing they were connected to her.
“Whoever—”
“Is that—?”
“Good God!”
“What?”
“That’s—”
Her eyes drifted open just as James carried her over the threshold onto the large terrace lit by gas lamps. Confused, she looked up at his tense face.
“To the side!” he ordered.
Clara closed her eyes, not wanting any more glimpses of the grotesque faces reacting as they passed.
The outside air was cooler, fresher, and she breathed more easily.
“Make way,” James demanded impatiently.
She opened her eyes as he deposited her onto a cushioned chaise longue in the corner of the terrace. He sat down and angled himself over her.
She gripped his arms.
“I have you, Clara,” he murmured to her, putting his hands softly on her shoulders.
He twisted for a moment, barking, “Back! Get back!”
A chorus of shoes tapped on the tile as the spectators complied.
James turned back to her, his mouth set grimly. But as they stared at each other in the lamplight and he watched her faculties return, one side of his mouth quirked up. “Morning, lass.”
“Oh, James.” She couldn’t help it, she smiled.
He smiled more widely. “I admit it. Balls are more exciting than I realized.”
She giggled. “You’re only saying that because you got to shoulder a duke out of the way.”
He chuckled. “I’m saying that because I have you in my arms. But I’d still choose a picnic in an orangery over this ball.”
“So would I,” she whispered.
James leaned closer, filling her sight. “What happened? Are you ill?”
“I needed fresh air. I’m feeling much better.”
His gaze dropped to her tartan skirts.
