In a swift tackle, Ash pulled her down on top of him and rolled to one side to hide her with his body clad in black evening clothes. He clapped his hand over her mouth. She squirmed in outrage, her voice muffled against his palm. He enjoyed the novelty of the situation until she sank her teeth into his finger. He tightened his lips on a rebuke but kept a firm hold of her, longing to give her shapely derriere a good slap.
Farnborough appeared at the window. He peered out for a moment before slamming it shut.
“Be still!” he hissed. “If they see you, you’re dead.”
He would have shocked her. She went limp, her fragrant, curvaceous body still pressed against his. The drawn curtains blocked out the candlelight, and shadowy gloom descended.
“Let me up!” she demanded, wriggling pleasingly against him.
Who was the doomed man? He would need to look into the matter, but first… He drew her to her feet.
She gasped. “Who was at the window? Did…did he see us?”
“Lord Eugene Farnborough.” Ash caught hold of her hand. “Now we’ll go somewhere quiet, and you can explain just what you are doing here.”
They moved a safe distance from the window, but despite her attempts to release his grip, he kept a firm hold of her hand.
“It’s none of your business what I was doing in the garden.” She pulled away from him and attempted to order her pale hair. “It was your fault. You followed me outside.”
“I suspect you like to embroider.” He frowned and crossed his arms. “Was it your plan to overhear their conversation?”
She drew in a sharp intake of breath. “No! Of course, not!”
“You’re not hurt?” he asked, relenting.
“I am not. But surely a female can enjoy the gardens unmolested.”
“I’ve never seen a lady wandering about the shrubbery alone. Most walk in the garden on a gentleman’s arm.”
“I had no intention of wandering about. I planned to remain on the terrace. But I mistook you for someone I did not want to meet.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Your wounded dance partner, perhaps?”
“Was it really necessary to grab me in that fashion?” She eyed him suspiciously, then bent to brush her gown, huffing with annoyance when she found leaves clinging to the skirts.
“It would have been most unwise for Lord Farnborough to spot you. You stood out in that white gown. And I’m not entirely sure he didn’t.”
She shivered. “You’re saying that to frighten me.” She lifted her chin. “But I don’t frighten easily.”
“You would be wise to acknowledge the potentially dangerous position you find yourself in.”
In the half-light, they approached the terrace. She shrugged and dusted her gloved hands. “And Mr. Lewis would hardly have been wounded. My grandmama only introduced me to him tonight.”
“It’s hardly flattering to run away when a gentleman wishes to invite you to dance.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t particularly,” she said. “I hadn’t considered that. Gentlemen are so confident. They think they rule the world.”
“Some do, certainly,” he said. “While others are not so sure of themselves.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Then I shan’t do it again.”
She intrigued him. He’d never met a young lady like her. Most seemed concerned in meeting their future husband. “You don’t like to dance?”
“Never mind about that. You heard what those gentlemen said? They plan to kill someone.”
“I heard.” He wasn’t prepared to discuss it. She was far too interested.
She frowned at his unedifying reply. “Do you know this man, Farnborough?”
