But if his eyes were soft with regret as they rested on her face, his mouth was pulled into such a hard, tight line his lips had gone white at the corners. She didn’t know whether his fury was for her or for the ladies who scorned her, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was he was here. She clutched at his arm until she was twisting the fabric of his coat between nerveless fingers. Her voice was faint. “I—that is, it’s quite all right, Captain.”
Without thinking, she laid her other hand over his. He went still and his gaze dropped to their joined hands, his expression unreadable. She snatched her hand away. “I would be grateful indeed if you would escort me to my carriage.”
He drew her hand more firmly through his arm. “Of course.”
She followed on wobbly legs as he led her toward the open doors at the top of the terrace steps. She stumbled a bit, and he steadied her against his arm as she regained her balance, but then he moved forward with quick, sure steps, as if he had every expectation the other guests would shift out of the way at once to accommodate them. He was correct. The guests lingering on the terrace took one look at his grim, set face and scrambled out of their way.
Iris Somerset and her sisters stood at the doorway, their faces pale with shock. Iris opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as if she hadn’t any idea what to say. A tense silence fell over the five of them and stretched until Charlotte thought her nerves would snap.
“Lady Sutton’s swooned,” Hyacinth Somerset offered suddenly. “She nearly landed face first in a large bowl of clotted cream. Her turban saved her. The weight of it threw her to the left.”
Hyacinth flushed a little as they all turned to stare at her.
“Yes!” Violet grasped the thread of conversation. “She did, indeed. A shame, isn’t it?”
Another silence, then Iris asked, “What’s a shame? That she swooned? Lady Sutton always swoons.”
Violet shook her head. “No, that she missed the bowl of clotted cream, of course.”
There was another short silence, and then Julian let out a surprised laugh. “I can’t think of a better use for clotted cream, myself.”
Violet colored, but she gave him a sheepish grin. “Our grandmother did tell us it was too warm for a picnic. Perhaps we should have listened to her and spared poor Lady Sutton.”
Hyacinth and Violet went on for a few moments longer about Lady Sutton, careful to keep their conversation light and amusing, but Charlotte could see they were appalled by their friends’ behavior, especially Iris, who remained quiet until Charlotte and Julian were about to take their leave.
Iris slipped a hand into Charlotte’s. “Such an unexpected blast of frigid air on a warm day. I beg your pardon, Charlotte. I never imagined my friends would—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Charlotte squeezed her fingers. “How could you? It’s quite all right, Iris.”
“No, it isn’t.” Iris looked as if she were torn between fury and tears. “Thank goodness for Captain West. It might have been much worse. How fortunate he was here to save you.”
Charlotte’s heart gave a strange, hopeful surge at Iris’s words. Why had he done it? The question hardly had a chance to form in her mind before the answer was there, immediate and undeniable.
For her.He’d done it for her.
Not for Ellie, and not for Cam. Not because of a promise, or to get her to leave London, or for any other reason than one.
He’d done it because he couldn’t bear to see her hurt. And dear God, it was so familiar somehow, the way he’d flown to her, as if the Julian she remembered, the Julian she’d loved, had emerged from the past and appeared at her side at the very moment she most needed him.
“Are you ready to leave, Lady Hadley?”
She swallowed down the ache in her throat and nodded. Iris came forward to kiss her cheek, followed by Hyacinth and Violet. “We’ll call on you soon,” Iris promised. “Good day, Captain West.” All three girls curtsied to Julian, then turned their backs on the young ladies picnicking on their blankets, and wandered off instead toward the south lawn, where some of the other young people had gathered to play at bowls.
As soon as they gained the carriage Charlotte collapsed against the plush velvet seat. She stared down at her hands twisted together in her lap because she couldn’t bring herself to look at Julian. What could she possibly say to him? She should thank him, of course, but simple gratitude felt rather like offering a plaster to someone with a gaping chest wound.
He’d appeared out of nowhere to tear her free from a nightmare that haunted her over and over again, waking and sleeping, as if he were some avenging angel fallen from the sky itself.
An avenging angel, or a hero.
How could she thank him for such a rescue? A cool nod and a few words of thanks were inadequate. No, worse than inadequate. Dismissive.
And yet wasn’t a cool dismissal the safest course of action?
She couldn’t forget what he’d done for her today, either the act or the look in his eyes when he’d taken her hand and placed it on his arm, but Julian wasn’t her lover anymore. He wasn’t even her friend, and she couldn’t allow herself to be vulnerable to him. The past was the past, and while gratitude was one thing, trust was quite another. If she weakened toward him now she may well find herself back at Bellwood, or worse, Hadley House.
He could get her to do anything, to feel anything he wanted her to feel.…
He’d made a promise to Cam and Ellie, and she’d made a promise to Devon. Nothing had changed.
