The blighter only laughed. “A miss with sauce, eh? Just the way I like ’em.”
“I don’t care… what you like!” Thea dodged his slobbering lips. “I want nothing to do with you!”
Why, oh why, had she ignored her instincts and allowed him to take her out for some air? She’d been so intent on turning a new leaf and putting Tremont out of her mind that she’d acted rashly. Traded one disaster for another.
“You need to be taught some manners,” Rathburn said, smirking.
“I shall scream if you don’t let me go,” Thea warned.
“I don’t think so. Not unless you want to ruin your reputation. Now be a good girl and we’ll have some fun and games with none the wiser—”
Panic flared as he groped her bosom. She struggled, his grip tightening like a noose. When she tried to push him away, the sudden tearing of fabric snapped her to her senses. She couldn’t stop him; she needed help. Her virtue was more important than her reputation. She drew a breath to scream—
“What the—?”
The shriek came from Rathburn, his expression startled as he flew backward away from her. He landed against a hedge, groaning; it took her shocked faculties a moment to register that a stranger cloaked in darkness was beating her attacker, his fists connecting with lethal force. The baron flailed, his attempts to fight back ineffectual, like that of a housecat batting at a lion. When her rescuer’s knuckles smashed into Rathburn’s jaw, the crunch of bone jolted Thea out of her daze.
Dashing over, she grabbed onto Tremont’s drawn-back arm. The muscles were rigid, vibrating with elemental power. From behind the black mask, stormy grey eyes sucked the air out of her lungs. Awareness crackled between them.
“Stop it. You’ll kill him,” she said desperately.
“He deserves to die,” he growled in a voice she’d never heard from him before. “Hetouchedyou.”
The violence in his eyes made her swallow. As did the blood dripping from his hands.
“I’m fine. Truly,” she said. “Please, let him go.”
She didn’t care so much what happened to Rathburn, but she didn’t want Tremont committing murder because of her. The wrath in his eyes told her that he was fully capable of tearing her attacker from limb to limb. Gone was his skin of civility. With the façade ripped away, he exuded primal power, ferocity barely leashed. Her heart thudded with fear… and devastating attraction.
The admission rushed through her, bringing equal parts resentment and relief. She couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. What had been staring her in the face all along.
I want him and only him. If I have to risk getting rejected, then so be it.
If she was facing life on the shelf, she’d rather go with a splat than rot away never knowing what could have been.
“I let the bastard go, you do as I say,” Tremont rasped.
Slowly, she nodded.
Tremont loosened his grip on Rathburn. The baron slid down the hedge, slumping on the ground. He appeared unconscious and bloodied—but alive, thank goodness.
Tremont raked his gaze over her, a muscle leaping in his jaw when he saw her ripped bodice. Stripping off his domino, he slung the velvet cloak over her shoulders. He straightened her mask.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said.
“But I came with Emma and Strathaven—”
“I’ll leave them word. We’re going straight to my carriage. Now,” he ordered.
One look at Tremont’s fierce expression told her it was prudent to obey. He led her away, his hand proprietary on the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, the potency of his touch sizzled through her. He navigated them through the townhouse, shielding her with his large frame. They arrived at his carriage, the door parting to a dark, plush threshold.
As he handed her in, her belly fluttered with nerves... and anticipation.
***
As the carriage rolled off, he told himself,Remain calm. Keep your temper under rein.
Thea sat on the opposite bench. She’d removed her mask, and, in the faint light of the carriage lamp, shadows played across her fine-boned features. Her neck was white and graceful above the ties of his domino, red feathers peeking through the black velvet. Pins had loosened from her coiffure, her honey tresses tumbling all the way to her waist.
