Mordaunt’s fingers tightened by a fraction on Eleanor’s wrist.
Eleanor did not flinch.
“Leave?” Mordaunt echoed. “So soon? But the night has only just begun.”
Eleanor’s voice was silk. “And you always insist the best entertainment is brief.”
Mordaunt’s smile sharpened. “I insist the best entertainment is mine.”
Graham stepped closer, angling his body between them with the ease of a man used to shielding.
Mordaunt’s eyes glittered. “You do realize, Lord Rathbourne, that I know what was passed tonight.”
Eleanor’s chin lifted. “If you did, you would not be speaking of it.”
A pause—tiny, telling.
Then Mordaunt laughed softly. “You are very bold for a young lady who has only just learned how costly boldness can be.”
Eleanor’s smile did not waver. “My father taught me that reputation is currency. Sometimes it is worth spending, if the purchase justifies it.”
Mordaunt’s gaze cooled. “Brave, then. But not bulletproof.”
“Bullets I can see coming,” Eleanor replied. “It is the whispers that require a keener sense.”
Mordaunt inclined her head. “Very well. But do remember, my dear, I am always listening.”
She released Eleanor’s wrist and drifted back into the party as though she had merely adjusted a bracelet.
Graham took Eleanor’s elbow in a firm, decisive grip, and guided her toward the service corridor. “Now,” he murmured.
Eleanor kept her expression composed as they moved, but the moment the door shut behind them, her breath shuddered.
“Ashdown,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Graham said.
“I saw the ring,” Eleanor added. “He wanted you away from me.”
“And he wanted you with Mordaunt,” Graham replied. His jaw tightened.
At the rear of the house, Graham paused and listened.
Nothing.
The mews behind Mordaunt’s townhouse were slick with rain, empty except for their carriage, a single lantern, and the distant echo of hooves.
Graham hurried Eleanor into the waiting carriage and climbed in after her. When the wheels turned and the townhouse lights began to recede did he allow himself a full breath.
Eleanor reached for his cheek, handkerchief already unknotted. “You are bleeding,” she said.
“Do not,” Graham snapped, then regretted the harshness the moment it left him.
Eleanor ignored him. “If you let it clot, it will scar.”
“Scars are the only proof I did anything tonight,” he muttered.
She paused, then sat back, gaze steady. “You saved me.”
