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“Eden? Are you all right?”
Bloody perfect.
The cause of her downfall appeared before her, blurry and wavering. Right down to his immaculately polished Wellingtons.
“I cannot be seen with you, my lord. I’m disgraced as it is.”
A fat tear seeped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
He stepped nearer, and the smell that was him—masculine and intoxicating and dangerous for compromised spinsters—permeated the fog engulfing her.
“Eden, what has happened?”
“I beg you. Please go away.”
She raised a shaky hand to her damp forehead. She was truly good and ill. And needed to sit at once.
Mouth pulled into a grim line, he shook his head. “I shan’t—”
Everything went blissfully black.
