Leaving her alone and disconnected. A giant void spread from her heart to her limbs and then threatened to swallow her completely.
“Don’t leave me!” Her last shred of composure broke, and she reached out to him like a drowning person. “You can’t leave me!”
One kiss
Mantis froze. Comforting distraught women was not something with which he had any experience.
“Please?” Her eyes, which were almost the color of the Mediterranean, implored him.
She was fragile and beautiful and she needed…
“Hold me?” Tears rolled down her perfect complexion, one of them catching on the scratch carved out by the branch of thorns.
How could he deny such a request? Damn it, none of this was her fault.
He would sit with her, allow her a good cry, and then search out her maid.
He moved toward the chaise, and as he lowered himself, tiny hands locked onto his with a surprisingly vice-like grip.
“I’ll stay.” Even knowing her and Westerley’s fathers had all but trapped the earl into the betrothal, Westerley ought to have treated Lady Felicity with more care for her feelings.
“Closer,” her voice choked on a sob.
Mantis folded her into his arms. Carefully.
“Shall I send for Lady Bethany?” Indeed, she’d want to confide in a woman—one of her friends.
“Don’t leave me.” Her knuckles were white from clutching the lapels on his waistcoat.
“Shhh… I won’t.”
“I need…” She tilted her head back, her arms sliding around his neck. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Her sweet breath teased his senses. It had just a hint of scotch, but it was mostly feminine and delicate and…
Her.
To distract himself from her mouth, he rubbed one hand comfortingly down her back.
He’d seen the misery in her eyes while Westerley proposed to Miss Jackson. Lady Felicity’s lips had tilted upward in what she’d no doubt intended to be a smile, but he’d not been fooled.
Westerley’s public declaration had shattered her.
Couldn’t the blighter have waited to pledge himself to another woman in private? Over the years, in all their carousing, Mantis—as well as Blackheart, Greys, Chase, and the Spencer brothers—had watched their friend’s casual disregard for his betrothal to Lady Felicity Brightley. Westerley had acted as if it didn’t exist.
They ought to have seen it coming.
For all his own father’s animosity, at least Crestwood hadn’t promised Mantis to a woman who wasn’t of his own choosing.
Mantis focused on these and other practical matters to distract him from the lovely curves pressing against him.
He’d known Lady Felicity for nearly as long as he’d known Westerley. She had grown up right alongside the earl’s sisters.
Which likely had been the problem with Westerley’s betrothal to her all along.
But in all that time, Lady Felicity never once lost her composure. He had never seen her cry, lose her temper, or act in any way that might be considered undignified.
What was a man supposed to do in this situation? Another tremor rolled through her slender frame, followed by more silent sobs.
