Rescued By The Earl's Vows. Ann Lethbridge

her cousin stood chatting and fanning her face. ‘One cannot have everything one wishes, can one?’

      ‘One cannot,’ he agreed.

      Instinct told him that, despite her calm demeanour, there was an underlying worry behind the light words. The anxiety he’d sensed in his office seemed to have increased.

      He’d deliberately led her into a set with an uneven number of couples and when once more they were standing out, he bowed. ‘It is uncommonly hot in here, my lady, may I offer you some refreshment before I return you to Queen Elizabeth’s side?’

      ‘As long as you don’t suggest we go bag a rabbit or two in the garden, I would like that.’

      He laughed. Couldn’t help it. ‘Really? That was the best one of your swains could do?’

      ‘I should have known better than to have explained my costume to him or to have expected him to behave like anything but a fool.’

      Startled by her vehemence, he led her out of the set.

      ‘A gentleman you know, I presume?’ he enquired.

      ‘Indeed. He thought he was being amusing. He actually suggested that the costume would serve me better without the bow. Fat lot he knows about Artemis,’ she muttered.

      Jaimie took two glasses of the non-alcoholic punch which he knew without a doubt would be horrible. While the champagne would have been more fun, self-defence prevented him from being the cause of anything untoward. It is a gentleman’s duty to protect a lady, his father’s voice reminded. On that occasion, he had guided his mother around a puddle. Sort of. Only a little bit of her hem had trailed through it. It was one of the few mental images he had of his parents.

      He guided Lady Tess towards the French doors. ‘Let us avail ourselves of the terrace. There are tables out there and waiters.’

      For a moment he thought she might baulk. Again, she glanced over at her cousin, who was not looking their way. ‘We can ask her permission,’ he suggested. He was after all a wolf in sheep’s clothing and seeking permission was what a sheep would do.

      She squared her shoulders. ‘No. I was out there once already. My cousin did not object.’

      Her voice sounded grim. Who was the idiot who had annoyed her? Whoever he was, Jaimie could only thank him for sparking her spirit.

      He ushered her to one of the tables on the terrace, seating her where the light from the nearby lantern would fall on her face while leaving him in shadow. He set her drink in front of her before sitting down.

      ‘Warm enough?’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      Too bad. He’d had a notion to put his cape around her shoulders and let it absorb some of her perfume. The scent of lavender had lingered in his office all day. Serenity, grace and calmness in the language of flowers, along with that disturbing underlying meaning of distrust. All but the last seemed too milk and water for this spirited lady, though she had certainly shown calmness when she visited his office. Dianthus, for boldness, would suit her better. Though she had been veiled, so perhaps lemon flowers should be in the mix... His mother had made a great study of the language of flowers and her notes were one of the few items he treasured.

      She sipped at the punch and made a face.

      ‘Terrible as usual?’ he asked, amused.

      ‘Awful.’ A smile curved those full lush lips. ‘It is all right at first and then...’ She gave a little shudder.

      The movement did something to his blood. Made it run faster. Hotter. Not something he wanted in regard to this particular female. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Putting her at her ease so he could extract the information he wanted.

      ‘How are you enjoying the Season?’ A safe topic when it came to young ladies on the town. He sat back and waited to hear about all her conquests and gowns.

      ‘It is as bad as the previous one,’ she said with a small laugh.

      How devastatingly honest. The hairs on his nape stood up. It was the same feeling he got when he started to get close to a criminal he was chasing. A sense of anticipation. It didn’t make any sense that he should feel it now, with her. ‘Why is that?’

      ‘I beg your pardon. You will think I am an ungrateful wretch after my cousin’s kindness in giving me this opportunity.’

      ‘Speaking the truth is not always a bad thing.’

      She chuckled, a small rather painful sound. ‘It is if you are seeking a husband. Men expect a woman to be biddable and modest and not speak out of turn.’

      ‘I see.’

      She twisted the stem of her glass, gazing down into the liquid. ‘My father encouraged me to offer my opinion, but to some I am ill-schooled.’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully and he experienced an urgent need to see if they tasted as exotic as they looked. ‘And here I am doing it again. If I’m not careful I’ll find myself packed off to Yorkshire.’

      ‘Why Yorkshire?’

      ‘My cousin has an aunt who lives there. She’s a—’ She stopped and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Why on earth am I telling you this?’

      ‘Because I’m a good listener? She is a...?’

      ‘She is an unhappy elderly lady who has already worked three companions into the ground.’

      She had modified what she intended to say, but the meaning was clear. ‘You see yourself as number four.’

      ‘I will be if—’

      He waited in silence. She would either tell him or she would not. For some strange reason, he really hoped she would.

      The notion of hoping anything in regard to this forward young woman took him aback. Her worries were nothing to him. He was here for quite another purpose. The sooner he remembered that the better.

      She glanced up at his face briefly, or at least into the darkness of his hood, yet somehow he sensed that she could see him when logic said she could not. Finally she dropped her gaze, staring down at her gloved hands. ‘This Season is my last chance to oblige my family.’

      Was it not every well-bred girl’s duty to oblige her family? And yet she sounded so weary, so defeated, his skin tightened with the urge to rush to her defence. As infuriating as she had been at his office, this hopelessness was far worse.

      Really? What nonsense. He didn’t know what he was thinking. He sipped at his drink and almost gagged when it hit the back of his throat. ‘Why so?’

      She put her glass down with a little click. ‘It is not something I should be discussing with a stranger or anyone else for that matter.’ There was a forlorn note to her voice, though she tried to hide it with a smile.

      ‘Is there no one in whom you can confide?’ Now why had he asked that question? Of course, he knew why. He knew how alone he had felt growing up without his family. With only servants for company and a gruff guardian who came once a month to check on his progress. A surprising and unwanted flash of memory recalled a cousin who would now be around this young woman’s age, were she alive. Had she survived, she also would have been alone growing up. Because of him.

      A pang squeezed the breath from his lungs. Regret for what might have been. For the loss. He forced it back where it belonged. Nothing could be gained by such maudlin thoughts. The cases were not at all similar. This girl clearly had a caring family who gave her everything she could possibly need. Young women loved their drama. It was likely all a storm in a teacup.

      She shook her head. ‘There was someone,’ she said, with a small sad smile. ‘Not any more. He—’

      He? A twinge of something unpleasant tightened his gut. Interesting. He would never have imagined feeling anything that hinted of jealousy. He waited. And waited. Would she say more? Reveal her innermost dreams and wishes. God, he hoped