“That’s quite enough for tonight.”
*
As Tristan guidedLady Amelia across the courtyard, through Signore Rossi’s open villa, and onto the quiet terrace at the back of the house, it occurred to him that he didn’t have the right.
After all, he wasn’t her brother or husband or even fiancé.
Or lover.
Definitely not that.
But he wasn’t doing it for her. He was doing it for everyone else. A Lady Amelia Windermere with a few drinks in her was a menace to society.
She jerked to a stop, outraged eyes rounding on him. “Who do you think you are? King of the villa?”
“A duke.”
“Yes, well, hyperbole.” She rolled her eyes toward the sky. “I know you’re a duke. Everyone knows, don’t they?”
“Everyone seems to.”
“And you don’t like that, do you?”
What Tristan didn’t like was how Lady Amelia had turned the conversation around on him.
Or how she was looking at him.
As if she could see into him.
That wouldn’t do. He needed to get her out of here. The woman was completely foxed.
“If we follow the path around the villa to the alleyway,” he said, “I can summon my coachman to drive you to your villa.”
Her brow furrowed. “To my villa? Why would I go there?”
“Because you’ve managed to insult every person you’ve spoken to tonight?”
Her head tipped back, and a smile broadened across her face. “But look at the moon.”
He didn’t need to. He was looking at its goddess, her hair shining silver in the light, her eyes the clear blue of an East Indian sea. Her beauty was nearly too much to gaze upon, as if the moon would exact a price from those who stared too long.
Possibly at the direction of her mistress, Lady Amelia backed one step away from him, then another, mischief in her eyes. Then she whirled around and vanished into Rossi’s garden. Tristan had no choice but to follow.
Ahead, an object shone white on the ground. He grabbed it and held it to the moonlight. A flimsy scrap of lace. A lady’s fichu, if he wasn’t mistaken. Lady Amelia had been wearing a fichu.
“Lady Amelia,” he called out, muted so her name wouldn’t carry to the villa.
A faintyessounded in the distance.
“Have you lost something?” Like her inhibitions, for starters.
Another sound floated across the still night air. Was that a giggle?
“Oh, I would say a few somethings.”
What on earth—
He rounded a bend of high shrubbery and beheld what on earth, indeed.
