She spun on her heel, intent on escaping this nightmare.
“Don’t you dare take another step,” a deep male voice snapped in command.
Elowyn froze on the spot, shivers erupting all over her body. To make things infinitely worse, two other women appeared, their gaze jumping from her to the couple at her back.
Clarity instantly dawned.
She’d interrupted a snare of wedlock.
“Florence! Matilda!” A thud followed the exclamation, and Elowyn wished she could be anywherebuthere.
She turned, grimacing at the scene that met her. Lady Gabrielle on the floor, clutching her chest as one of her sleeves hung askew, tears streaming down her face.
Stars.
Lady Gabrielle’s sobs grew louder, echoing through the drawing room like a medieval trumpet announcing a sordid scandal. “Mandeville took advantage of me! He . . . he . . . touched me!”
Elowyn grimaced.
This woman belonged in a theatre.
Then her eyes shifted to her.
A cold chill spread down Elowyn’s spine.
Lady Gabrielle pointed a finger directly at her. “She witnessed it all!”
I witnessed nothing! Nothing!
And worse—which she really didn’t believe there could be aworse—all eyes turned squarely onher. Elowyn could only describe the sensation as ants crawling all over her body. She didn’t like it one bit. In fact, the urge to run had never been as overwhelming as this moment.
Her hands instantly shot up. “Do not involve me in this matter.”
“You’re involved whether you wish it or not,” Lady Matilda snapped.
No.
No.
She’d come to this ball with a purpose. To dance her first dance. Not be dragged into some scandalous manipulation! The words spilled from her before she could stop them. “What are you talking about? I was here for a tour of,” her gaze swept the room, “this magnificent drawing room and now you are crying foul? Absurd!”
What are you even saying, Elowyn?
But honestly, what else should she do?
Lady Gabrielle’s sobs caught in her throat and her friends’ faces crumpled with displeasure. The duke remained silent. Elowyn dared not meet any of their gazes, sensing the calm before a raging storm. But this had nothing to do with her. They should sort out their messy affairs on their own.
She’d had enough. Turning on her heel, she hurried off as fast as her trembling legs would muster while their wits had momentarily left them at her outburst. She’d just turned the corner when chaos erupted—raised voices, accusations, the theatrical wailing.
She broke into a run.
Dancing would have to wait for another ball.
If she stayed here, those women would hunt her down and drag her to the hosts with their grievances.
Drat it.
All she wanted was to purge her mind of this horrific turn of events, to escape back home, make a new plan of action, and avoid these troublesome characters for the rest of the season.
