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“I know you didn’t want to come tonight. The tartan was so that you’d remember how much I love you.”
James groaned and enveloped her in his arms. She was dimly aware of the crowd behind him gasping, but she didn’t care.
“Make way!”
Clara froze, mortified, when she recognized David’s clipped voice. She pushed James away from her just before David stepped into view, approaching her with a look of worry.
He did a double take when he saw who sat over her. “You.”
“Thank you for your valor, Mr. Robertson, all is well now,” Clara said loudly. “You may release me to the care of my brother.”
Clara didn’t trust herself to look at James without showing how she felt about him. She turned her head, averting her eyes as she waited for him to leave.
“Unhand my sister,” David enunciated. His quiet voice didn’t carry to the crowd, but remained menacing.
When James didn’t move, Clara breathed out a plea only for his ears, “Please!”
After a frustrated sigh, he stood at last, and David immediately took his place. Clara looked up at her brother, seeing James’s shadow behind him—and that of Lord Breyle.
“I danced too much,” she blurted, “and it was hot. I…I…”
“She fainted,” James said flatly.
The crowd behind them came alive.
“Good catch!”
“Damned lucky that Robertson was there!”
David rose, shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of James—then jutted out a hand.
Her hands over her mouth, Clara watched, wishing she could see their faces and not only their silhouettes.
After a moment, James shook David’s hand.
“Take your leave,” David ground out.
With a last look over his shoulder at her, James did as he was asked.
David helped her sit up. “Thank God I’d already ordered the carriage to be readied,” he said quietly. “Do you think you can—”
Their hostess sailed to a stop next to them, exclaiming her concern. Her musky perfume was so powerful that not even the outdoor air dispelled it.
Clara moaned and covered her face, leaving David to manage the duchess.
Departing the ball was a miserable blur. Clara was vaguely aware of being a spectacle as she left, but she could scarcely breathe without being sick. She spent the ride in a nauseated haze, holding her head and willing herself home.
David was solicitous, and if he was angry about James, he tabled it for later. They were almost to her townhouse when on a turn, a carriage wheel slid through an inordinately large pile of horse dung. Its stench filled the carriage.
Moaning low in her throat, Clara knew she’d reached the point of no return.
David extended his black silk top hat to her just in time. His hand was gentle on her shoulder while she retched. When she finished, he took the hat back gingerly.
Afterwards, Clara felt so much immediate relief, she wished she hadn’t fought the nausea as long as she had. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was one more reminder about the folly of fighting nature.
“I quite apologize about your hat,” she said hoarsely.
“Don’t give it a second thought. It…wasn’t constructed properly, anyway.”
