But were her innocence only an act, would she be looking at him now with such fear in her eyes?
“Olivia…” Whitcombe repeated.
She flinched, and a spark of anger ignited in Charles’s heart. There was no need to be cruel toward the girl.
Fuck, I’m getting soft.
Her chest rose and fell in a deep breath, as if she summoned courage at the mouth of hell. Then she strode toward him, hand extended.
Charles darted toward her and grasped her arm, and she stumbled against him.
“I say!” Whitcombe cried. “I’ll not have you manhandle my sister as if she has no worth.”
Still holding her—Olivia—in his arms, Charles gestured toward the ground, and the broken glass that, had he not caught her, she would have stepped on.
Whitcombe glanced at the shards, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile.
“Perhaps you’re not such a total blackguard after all.”
Olivia glanced at the ground then met Charles’s gaze. The fear in her eyes lessened, and he caught a flicker of gratitude.
“Come here now, Olivia,” Whitcombe said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one evening. It’s time we returned home.”
She approached her brother, veering around the shards of glass.
“Sir, I’ll expect you tomorrow morning on time,” Whitcombe said. “Do not disappoint me. I trust you understand the consequences if you do.”
Charles nodded and bowed, remaining on the terrace as the duke exited, arm in arm with his sister and the duchess. As they crossed the threshold, the young woman glanced over her shoulder at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes, before the trio slipped back inside theballroom, leaving Charles alone with Sir Heath.
“Well, well,” Sir Heath said. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you. I’d say you’ve been well and truly hooked. It remains to be seen whether you’re also gutted. Stand me a brandy at White’s and I’ll appraise you of the young woman’s history. Best to be forewarned if you’re to marry thenatural daughterof the late duke.”
Devil’s breeches!Sothatexplained the girl’s timidity, and Whitcombe’s anger.
Sir Heath let out a chuckle. “Caught you properly, didn’t she?”
Perhaps she had, but Charles didn’t know who was worse—Whitcombe for foisting his bastard sister onto him, or Sir Heath, who took such pleasure in witnessing the misery of others.
Suppressing the urge to smash the grin from the fool’s face, Charles strode past him in the wake of the Whitcombes, taking care to bump the other man’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. Before he closed the door, he heard the very pleasurable sound of Sir Heath toppling to the ground, together with a volley of curses.
Good.Let Sir Heath fall on the broken glass. Charles had no desire to protect him, not like…
He froze.
Not like the young woman—Olivia. Natural child or not, she still elicited in him the urge to protect. When she’d been in danger of stepping on the broken glass, his instinct had compelled him to pull her to safety. And how good it had felt to have her in his arms!
He reallywasgetting soft.
And that would not do. A man who was soft was no man at all. Women, especially wives, took advantage of softness in a man. And if he were to be forced into the marriage state, he had no intention of being taken advantage of—not even by a diminutive woman with a quiet voice and soulful eyes.
Chapter Eleven
The carriage setoff with a jolt and Olivia jerked forward, almost losing her seat. Her brother caught her hand and pulled her back. She snatched it free and folded her arms.
“Olivia…” he began, but Eleanor raised her hand.
“You’ve said enough for one night, Montague,” she said, an edge to her voice that Olivia hadn’t heard before.
Eleanor was angry.
