Rawden Voss stepped closer just as loud voices sounded at the doorway. In a flash, he grabbed hold of Grace and dragged her into the bushes.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried.
‘Saving you from scandal. A man touches a lady’s hand out of wedlock, and it is a terrible liberty, enough to send a shudder through the heart of the ton,’ he hissed. ‘I declare it a ridiculous notion, for men and women should touch each other, and often. It amazes me that men lie butchered on muddy battlefields all over Europe, and the ton concerns itself with convention. The crows feast while these dandies do likewise. Have you any idea what a body looks like when it is turned inside out by cannon fire?’
‘No...I….’
‘It is not a pretty picture. I doubt you could render it faithfully in your embroidery.’ He sneered with so much bitterness her breath caught.
‘I know that there is much suffering in war, Sir,’ she offered, ears straining for the sound of the voices fading so that she could escape this angry man.
‘Oh, there is much suffering everywhere, and it seethes out in the darkness just where the candlelight fades beyond these opulent halls. It is the stuff of nightmares – thieves, whores, hunger, famine and debauch. If only your pretty little head could begin to comprehend it. But how could an ornament comprehend anything?’
Rawden Voss seemed to have forgotten he held her tightly, for his fingers dug into her flesh.
‘You are hurting me. You must unhand me now,’ whispered Grace. ‘Please.’
Voices carried across the grass. ‘No,’ he snarled. ‘If they spot you, you are doomed, for these old matrons are desperate for gossip. We cannot be seen. Stay and take the air. No one knows we are here, so you are quite safe from those who would surely name you a harlot for speaking to a man in a dark corner alone.’
The way he said ‘we’ suggested they were almost intimate acquaintances, which felt wrong. She was in danger of being discovered alone with a man. The ton would jump to the worst conclusion – that she was engaged in some tryst.
Rawden Voss softened his grip but did not let go. His face was all shadow and moonlight, giving it a ferocious, predatory look. ‘I would not wound you, Miss,’ he whispered, but his words belied his actions as he glanced around and suddenly dragged her further into the shrubbery. ‘Come. Let us hide here where we cannot scandalise society.’
‘I cannot, and you must release me.’
‘I must do nothing of the sort, and those fools will be a while with their cigars, so you must stay hidden. You know I am right,’ he added, with utter male authority.
Grace turned from his penetrating gaze and tried to still the gallop of her heart. He had eyes so brown they were almost black, and striking, arched with a sweep of black brows. His mouth was full and wickedly sensual, curved into a teasing grin. Grace had to look away from his intense gaze.
Silence fell between them, broken only by the faint waft of buoyant male conversation from the terrace.
‘I watched you tonight, you know,’ he said.
‘Why ever would you do such a thing?’
‘Because I was bored, and you seemed out of place in your company. Such a pretty face you have on you, a Helen of Troy if ever I saw one, a shy beauty. Yet on this smooth countenance, I saw only disdain for your company and hopelessness too.’ He slid the side of his hand slowly down her cheek as he spoke, and Grace jerked away, so startling was his touch. ‘I saw it cross your face when you realised no gentleman present would deign to show interest in you.’
Humiliation sparked anger. ‘You are right. I was snubbed, but I am accustomed to it, being of a lowly station in life.’
‘Fools, the lot of them, for you were the most splendid woman in that room, all smothered fire waiting to break out.’
‘You cannot speak to me in that manner. It is too….’ Grace swallowed hard. ‘It is too familiar.’
He bowed his dark head. ‘My apologies for complimenting you. Tell me, Helen of Troy, have you ever been to war?’
‘No.’
‘Yet you talked of battle as if you understood it.’
So he had heard Lydia and her friends insulting him. How could he not when she brayed like a donkey? ‘You were eavesdropping on a private conversation,’ said Grace.
‘Nothing is private in a packed room, and as I just said, I was bored. Do pay attention, Helen, else I will think you as vacuous as all the other young ladies who think I should not be in company having fought for king and country. Their foolishness piqued my anger, so I managed an outflanking manoeuvre and lurked behind a company of rather ample matrons. Answer my question. What do you know of war?’
‘I make it my business to read the papers, Sir. Anyone with half a brain can see that Napoleon is still a great threat.’
‘Indeed he is - the most ruthless and talented military man of his generation.’
‘I regret any offence from our comments, Sir.’
