“Was that what happened? I thought there must have been a fire I was unaware of.”
It was, thank God, the right thing to say, because after one frozen instant her shoulders relaxed, and a soft chuckle left her lips. “No, just a shamefully spineless lady.”
Spineless? Was that how she saw herself? “I hope you aren’t referring to yourself. You’re many things, Miss Templeton, but you’re far from spineless.”
“I just fled the entire length of a ballroom because people whose opinions I should care nothing about were staring at me. I’d call that spineless.”
Except they hadn’t just been staring. They’d been whispering and smirking and laughing, as well. “I suppose you could have told them all to go to the devil. You didn’t hesitate to unleash that sharp tongue of yours on me the other day, so why not the snickerington?”
“I scolded you on Lord Gilbert’s behalf.” She dropped her gaze, staring down at her hands. “I’ve, ah… I’ve never been quite as brave at defending myself.”
“It is harder to speak up in one’s own defense, yes.” Particularly if one didn’t believe they deserved defending. Was that the case with Euphemia Templeton? Did she imagine that she somehow deserved theton’s scorn, because she’d championed her younger sisters’ right to marry whom they chose?
He studied her profile— the elegant cheekbones, the hint of stubbornness in her jaw, the moonlight toying with the dark locks of her hair, and all at once the one thing he wanted more than anything else was to take back the comment he’d made to her in the ballroom and replace it with something else.
Something true.
That she looked beautiful tonight. That he’d never seen anything as lovely as her in that gown, with her midnight blue ribbons in her hair. That she was no coward.
But all he said was, “It’s a shame you left the ballroom. I intended to invite you to waltz.”
She cast him a glance from under her lashes. “That’s kind of you, my lord, but I… I don’t think I’ll return to the ballroom tonight.”
He wanted to argue with her, but he didn’t. Instead, he rose to his feet. “I’ll escort you back to Fosberry House, then.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes wide. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that, Lord Fairmont.”
“You didn’t ask me, Miss Templeton. I offered. Come.” He held out his arm. “I’ll return to the ballroom and tell my aunt and Harriett you’re unwell, and then I’ll take you home.”
Chapter
Eleven
James had intended to return to his lodgings in St. James after he took Euphemia home, but instead, he ended up wandering around Fosberry House, fragmented images from the evening muddling his head.
Like the way his heart had quickened when he’d seen Euphemia enter the ballroom, a dazzling vision in midnight blue. Then her face, not ten minutes later, eyes downcast and cheeks scarlet with humiliation as she fled the ballroom, and the defeated slump of her shoulders as she sat at the edge of the fountain, drops of water falling from her fingertips.
What was he meant to do with himself, after such an evening as that?
Nothing felt right to him now.
Eventually, he found his way to the study, and that was where Harriett found him several hours later. “I suppose Phee’s gone off to bed?” she asked, leaning a shoulder against the door frame.
“As soon as we returned home, yes.” She’d disappeared up the stairs as if she believed she could outrun her demons if only she ran quickly enough.
“Theton chasedher out of the ballroom tonight, James. It couldn’t have been any worse if they’d been wielding torches and pitchforks.”
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it possible.” There were a dozen different reasons to despise theton— their avarice, their heartlessness —but he’d never imagined even the worst among them could behave with such cruelty.
Harriett crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from him with a sigh. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever get Phee to attend another ball, after tonight.”
He’d been staring into the fire, watching the flames dance in the grate, but now he looked up. “She must, Harriett. She can’t run from them forever.”
Then again, perhaps she could. Once this season was over, she had no reason to ever return to London again, if she didn’t wish to.
If Euphemia had only been running from theton, it might be just as well, but she wasn’t.
She was running from herself, too.
