His eyes snapped unerringly to hers.
He sensed that she wanted to look away from him but instead was helplessly caught in his gaze, just as he was in hers.
Had she come to give him the cut direct, as Lord and Lady Frank had done?
Wouldshe do such a thing?
Alex supposed it would be a sensible action. Show everyone, once and for all, that there was nothing more than air between them.
He should likely bow and take his leave from her.
He should.
Hewould.
But something in her gaze would not let him go. Would not release the part of him that felt bound to her. He saw her, and the world
Simply.
Stopped.
He could feel eyes turning their way, heads swiveling.
He needed to go. They had to avoid igniting a bonfire of gossip.
Alex gave Lottie one last, intense look, committing the slope of her elegant jaw and the petal-pink of her lips to memory.
Lottie swallowed, chest heaving, blinking rapidly.
Alex paused.
And then frowned.
Something was not quite right.
She was too pale, was she not?
Lottie continued to blink rapidly, her breathing coming in quick rasps.
Wait—were her eyes dilated?
Was the flutter of her pulse in her throat too rapid?
“Lady Charlotte?” He took a step toward her.
“I think . . .” She took in a stuttering breath, lifting a hand toward him. “Alex . . .”
Her eyes rolled back in her head.
Alex barely caught her as Lottie fainted dead away.
The next day, Lady Gardner eagerly sped from house to house, describing the moment to all and sundry in excruciatingly florid detail.
How Dr. Whitaker gazed upon the beautiful Lady Charlotte as if the sun rose and set on her smiles.
How Lady Charlotte—overcome at seeing her beloved and distressed by their star-crossed devotion—swooned at his feet.
How Dr. Whitaker leapt into action, attempting to revive her. The man, after all, was a doctor. One of the best, they said.
