Which was why he found himself standing on the edge of a ballroom that evening and watching her dance with another man. Not just any dance—a waltz.
Since they weren’t wed, he wasn’t able to remain at Lucy’s side. Because of that, he found himself standing on the opposite end of the ballroom when he heard the opening strains of the waltz. He sought her out, of course, but it was too late. She’d already accepted another’s invitation, and the man was leading her onto the dance floor.
He tamped down his frustration and resisted the urge to barge between them and drag Lucy away. He was courting her, yes, but they hadn’t made any promises aside from agreeing not to have physical relations with anyone else. And waltzing could hardly be seen as a betrayal of that promise.
He didn’t recognize her partner, which meant he was probably a second or third son. Even if they weren’t personally acquainted, he knew most of the titled gentlemen on sight from those endless sessions in Parliament. There were a few who didn’t take their responsibilities seriously, ignoring their duties to the House of Lords, but he knew those gentlemen as well.
He supposed the younger man could have been a baronet, but his position in the ton didn’t really matter. He was dancing with Lucy, bringing her body a little too close to his and all but leering at her.
It would be unbearably rude to interrupt and drag her away from the impudent youth, but Holbrook might be able to carry it off. He inched closer to where they were moving together. The ball was crowded, and it was possible he’d be able to come between them and whisk her away before anyone realized what he was doing.
And even if anyone witnessed his churlish behavior, it certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen in the midst of a crowded ball. No worse than the handful of men who were even now pressing themselves crudely into their partners.
He saw the stumble that proceeded Lucy’s wince and he had no doubt the youth—was he even of age? He seemed ridiculously young to be there—had caused it. Having danced several times with her, he’d never seen her falter in such a manner.
He was considering pushing his way through the middle of the dance floor when he saw her take a step back and curtsy.
They were leaving the dance floor early. Relieved, he continued his circuitous route around the room. He was so close, but waltzing couples kept passing between him and his target and he lost sight of them.
When he reached the side of the room where Lucy and her partner had been headed, he didn’t see her. The young man was also missing.
His eyes darted to the open garden doors that were only a few feet away. He couldn’t help but remember the Clarington ball when he’d worried needlessly that someone had spirited her away into the gardens. He’d been mistaken that time, but Lucy wasn’t in her own home now. His instincts were telling him to head outside.
He quickened his pace and exited onto the terrace, his eyes roaming across the outdoor space in search of her.
He found Lucy at the bottom of the terrace steps. Her back was to him, but he recognized the gown she’d been wearing. It was yet another blue gown, this one so light it was almost white. He’d come to realize that blue was her favorite color.
She was standing at a strange angle, leaning forward a fraction. Not wanting to draw the attention of those standing just inside the garden doors, he crossed the space that separated them without a word.
A masculine curse had him breaking into a run and dashing down those stairs. But when he reached the bottom, he froze in place, shock taking hold as he took in the astonishing scene before him.
The young man was lying on the ground, face down. Lucy held the arm closest to her at an awkward angle behind his back. One slippered foot rested between his shoulder blades, and every time he struggled to get up, she twisted his arm further.
He must have made a sound because Lucy’s head whipped around. When she saw him standing there, she gave him a strained smile.
“I was wondering what I should do next. Are you here to offer assistance, my lord?”
Another jerk of the young man’s arm had him uttering a string of epithets. She dropped his arm and stepped back quickly, out of his reach.
“You belong in Bedlam,” the man hissed as he struggled to his feet. He cradled the elbow of his abused arm in his other hand.
Lucy remained in place, her arms folded across her breasts and a fierce scowl on her face. “I may be a widow, but that doesn’t mean you can take liberties with me. A gentleman asks first, and he takes no for an answer.”
The man’s immaculately coiffed hair had flopped down over his forehead. Holbrook didn’t see any reason to mention the dirt that covered the front of his waistcoat. And his cravat was soiled beyond repair.
The youth made to brush past them, but Holbrook clamped a hand on his injured shoulder. Satisfaction surged through him at the youth’s grunt of pain. “Leave now and I won’t call you out tomorrow morning. And if you possess even an ounce of self-preservation, pray that I never see you near Lady Mansfield again.”
He released his grip, and the youth scurried off. He was smart enough not to return to the ball, choosing to circle around the side of the house so he could make his exit.
Holbrook turned to stare at Lucy. He would have thought he’d imagined the entire incident, but she was still glaring after her would-be assailant.
“What…? How…? I don’t understand.”
She shifted and met his gaze. “Excuse me?”
Somehow he managed to gather his wits enough to speak. “I rushed out here in case you were in danger, but you had the situation in hand. How did you even know what to do? He could have overpowered you…” He shook his head, refusing to dwell on what-ifs.
Lucy grinned. “I’ve been taking lessons.”
