“If only the privilege were mine again.” She frowned at Ottilie. “What a strange creature you are! Any girl would be grateful to have a full dance card. Stubborn, just like your mother.”
“I know, Aunt.” Ottilie smiled. “Now, do come along. I am anxious to meet the infamous Mr. Bastin.”
“I don’t like this one bit,” Lady Hudsyn said as she followed Ottilie.
Ottilie ignored her aunt’s protests and continued to move toward her cousin. As they neared him, Lady Hudsyn stopped her once again.
“Wait until there is a break in his conversation. That is the polite thing to do.”
“I know, Aunt. I wasn’t planning to—” Ottilie’s words were cut short when someone bumped Lady Hudsyn from behind and sent her reeling forward.
“By Jove!” Ottilie caught hold of her aunt, preventing her fall.
“Wench!” A shrill scream ripped through the air.
Ottilie and Lady Hudsyn froze simultaneously, and a hush fell over the room. The guests turned and gaped at the hostess, Madame Baudelaire, as she roared like an injured lioness and hurled a glass in the direction of Lady Enwick.
*
Every fiber inJack Bastin’s body sprang to attention as he focused on the object flying toward his companion. Energy surged through his veins, and he dove into action, grabbing Lady Enwick by the arm and dragging her to safety. The crystal bounced once on the parquetry floor before it shattered, sending splinters of glass and blood-red port up onto Lord Enwick’s expensive trousers. A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom. The orchestra skidded to a stop, and dancers froze mid-step.
“What in the devil?” Lord Enwick jiggled each of his legs as if he could fling off the offending stains as he would clinging beetles.
Jack looked up from the mess on the floor and Lord Enwick’s spoiled trousers to see his lover glaring at Lady Enwick. He inhaled sharply, recognizing the wrath of jealousy in Madame Baudelaire’s countenance as she manifested two vicious claws out of her hands and flew at Lady Enwick, who cringed and squealed like a trapped mouse.
Jack moved to stop the harpy, but Lord Enwick must have had the same idea because he stepped into Jack’s path. “Get a hold of yourself, Madame!”
“Villain!” Madame Baudelaire sunk her nails into Lord Enwick’s fleshy jowls.
Jack watched in stunned silence as Lord Enwick stumbled back in a bewildered daze, his cheeks a mess of red streaks.
“George!” Lady Enwick flew to her husband’s side.
“M-my word!” Lord Enwick stammered. “The woman is completely mad!”
Jack’s temper flared. She’d been drinking again, dammit! The situation called for drastic measures. He had to stop her before she killed someone. He stepped forward; Madame Baudelaire took the bait and lunged for him. With one expert flick of his wrist, Jack lightly cuffed his opponent’s neck, and she dropped like a dead man into his arms. Another collective cry ripped through the crowd, and Jack prayed that no one in the audience recognized the defensive strike he’d used to incapacitate a lady of high society.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Jack told the bystanders as he laid Madame Baudelaire on the floor. “She has merely fainted and will soon recover.” He took off his jacket, folded it, and placed it under her head. Looking at his lover’s now-peaceful face, he seethed inwardly.
What is wrong with you, Madame?
He’d witnessed prostitutes using their fingernails to inflict injury and engage in brawls, but he’d never expected a woman of high society to behave in such a manner. She knew the rules. Hadn’t he been clear from the beginning? He didn’t want a wife or a relationship of any kind. Moreover, she’d sought him out, characterized her husband as an overweight bore, and declared she wanted some fun.
“Smelling salts!” someone shouted. “Fetch the smelling salts.”
Jack glanced up to see the squat figure of Monsieur Baudelaire wading through the crowd, followed by his mother-in-law and a host of servants.
Hurry up, Monsieur!Jack muttered to himself and hoped the puffing steam engine running toward him wouldn’t have heart failure before reaching his wife.
When the family approached, Jack stepped back, eager to distance himself from the scene. The servants fluttered around their mistress like a flock of confused birds until someone placed a sack of smelling salts under Madame Baudelaire’s nose. Seconds later, she opened her eyes and clutched her chest with both hands, coughing and sputtering as though she’d been strangled. Jack exhaled, releasing the tension from his body.
Thank heavens, she’s not hurt.
Whispers filled the ballroom as Madame Baudelaire recovered her breath and fell sobbing into her mother’s arms.
“No need to worry. She’s quite well now,” Monsieur Baudelaire reassured his guests. while dabbing the sweat from his brow.
“Look here, sir! What are you all about?” Lord Enwick stepped forward, blotting the blood from his cheeks with his handkerchief. “That woman is plain as day mad! If she hadn’t fainted from hysteria, she would have cleaved Mr. Bastin in half with her claws.”
