“Miss Thorne, aren’t you the prettiest Colonial I’ve ever seen.”
Anthony’s head snapped around, just in time to see Bonneville lead her into the library…away from prying eyes.
Anthony’s blood rushed through his veins, pounding against his eardrums like thunder as he loomed in the shadows, his quarry unaware of his existence. Miss Thorne was family. Abby would never forgive him if anything happened to Rachel.
“I’m probably the only Colonial you’ve ever seen.” Her laughter tinkled.
Anthony balled his hands into fists when Bonneville took her cup, gliding his fingers over hers…overlong.
Sir Bonneville shifted toward her, his white complexion stretched tightly over bone, like a corpse bleached in the sun.
“Did I tell you that you have the most beautiful blue eyes?”
Rachel kept stepping back until, finally her shoulders hit the bookcase. “Three times. Once when we were dancing, at the punch table, and now.”
“I cannot help it. Your eyes explore my soul and beg my spirit to enter you.”
If that wasn’t a carnal invite. Bonneville was lint on Anthony’s cuff, easy to flick off compared to the farm boys that had honed their skills on him.
“You said there was an original published text in this library by Sir Isaac Newton.”
So that was how she was lured by Bonneville. Her voice raised a pitch, her words dagger sharp. Anthony ground his teeth. No one insulted family.
“May I taste your rosebud lips?” prompted Sir Bonneville.
Anthony clenched his fists harder, waiting for her to rebuff the asinine dandy. How good it would feel to release some energy.
“Rosebud lips?” she scoffed. “I have to go.” She took a step to move around Bonneville.
Teetering with both cups dangling in his hands, Bonneville sidestepped, blocking her exit. He lowered his head, his sight pinned to her bosom.
Blood shot to Anthony’s brain.
He stepped from the shadows and came up next to them. “Is there a problem, Miss Thorne?”
Bonneville twisted his head around and caught Anthony glowering at him that roared,Steer clearas obviously as words.
“Lord Anthony, they let you out of your cage? I had the little Colonial first. Move on.”
“Miss Thorne is not a piece of property to be claimed.”
Jacked-up on sour gin, Bonneville was inspiring. Victory was won by miles but in Bonneville’s case it would be inches, as in, how many inches could Anthony slam his fist through Bonneville’s face?
“It would be a very rash presumption to think that nowhere else in the cosmos has nature repeated such a strange experiment as your birth, Bonneville.”
“You think I’m afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
“Why? Are you going to zap me with your electrical fire?”
“The idea has merit.”
Rachel put her hand on Anthony’s arm like a schoolmarm warning a recalcitrant boy. “An incident would be disastrous.” She referred to the toll on her reputation. Then there would be the consequences of his father learning of his son’s brawling at a ball.
“You’re right, Miss Thorne.” Anthony offered his arm and turned her toward the exit. She trembled. Fire hardened his muscles and licked through his veins. How he hated Bonneville for putting Rachel in a compromising situation.
Bonneville dared to put a hand on Anthony’s shoulder.
