“Doesn’t everyone?” But then he moved closer. “Let me see…” Sizable hands landed in her hair and she stiffened. In all the years she’d been acquainted with the viscount, he’d never gone out of his way to be overly friendly or flirt with her. Nor had any of Westerley’s other equals.
No doubt this was mostly due to the fact that she’d been intended for one of their closest friends.
The viscount stood tallest amongst the group of cocky gentlemen; his shoulders broader, his neck thicker. With his face only inches from hers, he seemed even more enormous.
“Ouch!” She jerked away, catching herself on another branch.
“Hold still.” His breath warmed her cheek when he issued his command.
“I am.” She wasn’t going anywhere. “Thank you.”
“I don’t want them digging deeper into your skin than they already have,” he explained.
He wasn’t annoyedather; he was annoyedforher.
His soothing words, his gentle touch—was the very last thing she needed. She was already on the verge of tears again. He must find her quite pitiful, indeed. “I’m fine, you know.”
“Of course, you are,” he agreed. “Can you tip your head forward?”
At least he would free her.
“Yes,” she barely managed to whisper. Westerley’s betrayal, and now—this—had her feeling heavy and… broken. Her arms ached, her throat hurt, and her legs were cramped beneath her.
Allowing herself a moment of weakness, she dropped her forehead onto the warm wool of his jacket.
It was a large shoulder, and she would only rest for a moment while he worked at the brambles in her hair. She doubted he even noticed.
“I saw you leave. After Westerley …” He extracted a pesky twig. “How are you?”
“I’m not upset,” she sniffed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“You’re going to be all right, Felicity.”
“I know. I’m happy for them.”
“Of course you are.”
“Iam,” she insisted.
Like every other guest who’d attended the ball that evening, Lord Manningham, no doubt, had either witnessed first-hand or been told that Westerley had chosen another woman to become his wife. Hundreds of friends and acquaintances had been spectators to the most humiliating and painful moment of her life. Felicity had no choice but to accept it with grace and dignity.
“I must return inside,” she whispered.
“Not with your dress torn like this.”
“I’ll go first to the retiring room.”
“I don’t think…” He began, but then seemed to swallow whatever it was he’d meant to say.
“If I don’t return soon, people will think I’m hysterical—or some other nonsense.” Losing control was unthinkable, despite the tears threatening to overflow. “I—"
“No one expects you to be unaffected.”
“But—"
“Let’s get you free of this rosebush first, shall we?”
Felicity sniffed, her face all but buried in his sizeable chest. “Yes.” She couldn’t very well return to the ball while trapped outside, now, could she?
