Page 15

Including, God help her, Maxwell and Gabriella.

They must’ve heard the shouting.

Gulping, she closed her eyes.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

Stanford skidded to a halt. Little bits of dirt and debris pelted her ruined skirt. It didn’t matter. Dampness beneath her knees told her they bled as well, and the gown was probably beyond repair.

“Ophelia?” Ragged and uncertain, his voice was the merest whisper of sound. “Ophelia?” he said again.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

He crouched before her, his eyes crinkled with sorrow and yet still flashing with restrained raged.

“Are you hurt?” His attention fell to her bloodied gloves, and he flexed his jaw. “I’ll kill him.”

He spoke the words matter of factly.

“No, Stanford. He’s not worth it. I wouldn’t have that on my conscience or yours for that matter.” Ophelia shifted her focus over his shoulder, and she bit her lower lip. “I fear we have a far more inconvenient problem.”

She tried to smile, but her lips refused to curve upward. In fact, they began to tremble uncontrollably. And then, to her horror, big tears slipped from her eyes.

“Oh, darling. Please don’t cry.” Stanford kneeled and gathered her into his arms. And it felt marvelous and safe and as if she belonged there. “Shh, I’m here. All shall be well, my little dove.”

“No,” she mumbled into his delicious-smelling shirt, refusing to look up. “It shan’t. Look behind you.”

Stanford glanced over his shoulder. His muscles grew taut, and she knew he’d realized the peril of their predicament. Though entirely innocent on their part, it appeared otherwise.

“Damnation,” he murmured beneath his breath.

Damnation indeed.

“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” he whispered into her ear.

For swearing or for the quandary they found themselves in?

“Fee Fee,” Gabriella cried, rushing forward as Stanford helped Ophelia stand. “Oh, dearest, please tell me you are all right. I’ll never forgive myself if you are hurt.”

“I’m fine now, Gabby. Just a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises.” She permitted her sister to enfold her in a fragrant hug. “The Duke of Asherford rescued me.”

“Yes. Yes. We saw everything.” Gabriella’s voice held an odd inflection. “And heard, aswell.”

What did she mean by that?

A buzz of whispers accompanied her declaration, and Ophelia wished the earth would part and swallow her.

“Asherford,” Maxwell said in a low, urgent tone as he stepped near and turned his back to provide a small degree of privacy from the animated audience gathering behind them. “I hope you were serious when you claimed for all and sundry to hear that Ophelia is your betrothed. She’s ruined if that isn’t true.”

Ruined?

It was dashed unfair.

Stanford glanced at Ophelia, a question burning in his blue eyes.

“Are you?” he silently asked.

Swallowing the lump of shock and angst clogging her throat, Ophelia stood stock-still as she felt the color drain from her face.