Untrustworthy.
Handsome.
Whywas he so handsome?
She pulled her hands from his shoulders as if he had burned her, for he may as well have done. “Thank you for your gallantry, but I can stand upon my own two feet now.”
“That is hardly the thanks I deserve for saving you from breaking your lovely neck, my darling betrothed.”
Oh, he was truly terrible. A complex blend of beautiful and despicable. A handsome rake who did not shy away from gallantry, and yet one who also was using her in cruelest fashion. He wanted his revenge upon her. And she merely wanted to be left alone.
She wanted to visit with her dear friends, take in the country air, and then resume her life. She wanted to be a matchmaker, someone who facilitated happiness for others when she knew it was impossible to achieve herself. That was how she found contentment, settling others upon the path to marriage. The path fate and her betrothed’s death had so cruelly denied her.
She said the first thing that came to her mind. A denial.
“I would not have broken my neck.”
“So certain. What if I had not been here to catch you?” he asked.
Indeed. What if he had not been there to save her from landing upon the unforgiving floor? What if she had been injured, or worse?
From this perspective—held suspended in the Marquess of Dorset’s arms for the second time—she could admit that she had been reckless with the ladder. She should have taken more time to make certain it was planted firmly on the floor. Instead, she had ignored her every instinct and gone plummeting to earth.
To Dorset.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “The rest of the company has gone on a walk. I presumed you had joined them.”
“And leave my beloved betrothed behind?” He sent her a rogue’s unrepentant grin. “I could never.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Put me down, you scoundrel, and cease referring to me as your betrothed.”
“A scoundrel now, am I? Your gratitude is markedly short-lived, madam.”
“As is your gallantry,” she reminded pointedly, thinking of the bold manner in which he had referred to her lack of drawers.
Her cheeks stung anew at the memory.
“You are flushing quite prettily, Lady Clementine. Which makes me suspect you are thinking of what I saw beneath your elegant skirts.”
Good God.Her face went hotter still. She had hoped he had seen nothing. And curse Charity for this disaster…
“How dare you make mention of something so indelicate?” She moved, attempting to free herself from his hold. “Put me down, if you please.”
“I must admit I grow rather fond of having you in my arms.” His gaze dipped to her lips so fleetingly she may have imagined it.
Except for the tingling that told her his brilliant stare had indeed been upon her mouth.
This would not do.
She planted her palms on his chest and pushed. “I am decidedlynotfond of being here. I have two perfectly functional limbs to aid me.”
“And yet you declined to accompany the rest of the guests on today’s walk.” Once more, his tone was smooth. His expression bland.
Despite his pointed response, he set her on her feet again. Relief swept over her. She was freed of his heat, his strength, his scent.
“Thank you.” She stepped away from him, needing the distance, and shook out her skirts, trying to calm her jagged nerves. “Of course I declined.”
“Why?”
