Eyes wide, Rea nods and steps back. “Of course.”
I take the first step into the crowd. Livingston isn’t taking any chances of me slipping away as he presses his chest against my back. The second his body makes contact with mine, I gasp. I can’t help myself. My reaction is instinctive.
The moment we reach the hall, I shove him away. I breathe deep through my nose and try my best to ignore Livingston’s presence behind me. My footsteps are fast down the corridor. I don’t stop until it’s dimly lit and private.
I lean against the wall, cross my arms, and wait for Livingston to speak.
With his hands on his narrow waist, he stands in front of me. “For someone who’s supposedly sick in their room, you look remarkably well,” he says.
I grab the material of my dress, creating an elegant waterfall of blue around me. “We all have our vices of self-care. Lookin’ nice and goin’ to a party is mine.”
He follows the action. His eyes hot. “Since you feel better, can we leave?”
“You can,” I say pointedly.
With his head tilted to the side, he angles his body closer. “You’re upset with me.”
“Now why would I be upset with you?” I say, ending my question with a sickly sweet smile.
Livingston narrows his eyes. “I have one good calf left. I would like to keep it that way. Now tell me, why are you so heated?”
I mirror his movements until we’re a hair’s breadth away. “I’m not heated,” I enunciate slowly. I pull back quickly because even when I’m hurt and angry with him, there’s the undeniable attraction between us.
Livingston groans and drags his hands through his hair. “Rainey, just tell me what’s botherin’ you.”
“Nothin’. But what did the telegram—”
“Telegram? What tele—” His voice fades as he begins to understand. “Are you speakin’ of the telegram Étienne sent? Why would a telegram make y—”
I watch as the realization that I was there to hear his conversation with Nat sinks in. Eyes marginally widen, lips part. But at once, his face becomes a mask of cool indifference. “Rainey, I don’t know what—”
“There you are,” a man’s voice says, interrupting what Livingston was about to say.
Livingston and I turn at the same time and see Loras standing in the hall. If Loras found us a minute earlier, I would’ve been relieved, but then Livingston spoke. But now, the smallest part of me wanted to know what Livingston had to say.
Livingston straightens, his body subtly blocking mine. “Yes, we needed some privacy to speak on a matter of great importance.”
Loras is silent, then says, “I hope everythin’ is all right.”
“Unfortunately, we need to be on our way.”
“Rainey?” Loras asks, waiting for my confirmation.
I could stay here all night, but so would Livingston. He’s not leaving until I do. Regretfully, I nod at Loras. “Yes. I’m sorry. But I’m afraid we must be gettin’ back.”
Before Loras can reply, Livingston places a hand on my lower back. “You were a gracious host, and your home is lovely. Have a pleasant evenin’.”
In a matter of seconds, Livingston took every polite farewell and thrusted them into one clipped good-bye. We brush past him, and I attempt to give Loras an apologetic smile.
As we walk down the hall and out the front door, I’m aware of footsteps behind us the whole time.
“I think you should let her go,” Loras says quietly.
At once, Livingston’s posture straightens. His shoulders stiffen. Those words, as calmly as they’re spoken, cause Livingston’s chest to begin to rise and fall rapidly.
Slowly, Livingston turns to Loras. “What?” His voice is deadly calm.
My gut told me this wasn’t good. I place a hand on his arm, as though my touch can convey the danger of this situation.
We need to leave. Now.
“I said I think you should let her go,” Loras repeats.
Livingston walks back to the house, breaking away from my hold.
What I was attempting to avoid all along has begun to happen. Guests from the party begin to find their way onto the porch to find out what the noise is all about.
Shaking my head, I can’t help but groan. This is quickly turning into a disaster.
“She doesn’t need you.”
I can’t see Livingston’s face, but I see the outline of his body. The set of his shoulders. They drop for a moment. Maybe he realizes how foolish this is and will walk away. But then, without warning, he charges Loras like a bull. His head meets Loras’s stomach, taking the wind out of Loras. The two of them fall to the ground with a giant thud.
In a flurry, they become a tangle of limbs. Their boots scuff against the gravel, and grunts sound from them. Some guests on the porch appear horrified but most are fascinated and can’t look away.
I rush forward and then stop, unsure of how to intervene. “Livingston, stop! Stop it!”
His eyes are wild as he fights for top position and to get as many hits in as possible. I dig my feet firmly into the ground, wrap my arms around his waist, and pull him back. On the opposite side, I can hear Rea shouting at her brother to stop it and go inside. A crowd has gathered, and over Livingston’s panting, I can hear their whispers.
As hurt as I am by him, the need to protect him is stronger. I don’t want these strangers to see him this way. I don’t want his actions to be the talk of Savannah. They don’t understand him.
I shove him once more and hurry forward, holding his face between my hands so he’s forced to look at me and only me. “Stop it.”
He breaks eye contact with Loras, and I’m finally able to make eye contact with him. Some of the fight goes out of him. His chest moves up and down rapidly as he sucks in air. But his eyes continue to swing between Loras and me.
“Let’s go,” I urge and begin to guide us away from the house and the crowd that’s gathered around us. I need to get him away from here.
Before I get into the car, I look back at Rosemound Manor and see Rea on the porch. It’s too dark for her to see the regret in my eyes, so I lift both shoulders. In return, she waves and walks back inside.
I slide into the back seat, next to a furious Livingston, and slam the door behind me.
“Brignac House. Please,” Livingston says to the driver, his voice brusque.
For several minutes, all that can be heard is the sound of the car motor. I’m still hurt and slightly confused by what happened at the Breymas’s home.
Livingston shifts back in the seat, and faces me. I pointedly stare out the window. “Rainey, I know you’re upset, but you have to understand—”
“Not here,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
“Then when?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, wishing the driver would go faster. I shouldn’t be in close quarters with Livingston. I don’t know whether I’m capable of slapping him or kissing him. Perhaps both. After everything, I’m emotionally bereft. I want to pack my belongings and leave Savannah immediately, and then lick my wounds in Charleston.
Thankfully, the driver pulls into the Brignac driveway. I nearly sigh with relief and place my hand on the door handle, waiting until I can make my getaway.