Sir Reginald glared over his shoulder at her with such venom that Edith trembled from head to foot. She couldn’t even feel relief at her deliverance, knowing what such a look would mean for her. Before, she had only thought Sir Reginald would ruin her, which was bad enough, but now could see what a naïve thought that was. She had earned his hatred by spurning him, and there was no telling what he might do when in such a rage or in seeking vengeance.
Lord Radcliffe was back to her at once, and he took her shoulders in hand, giving her a very serious look.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his eyes hard.
Edith tried to nod, but her emotions were too close to the surface, and her trembling increased.
He took pity on her and ushered her to a small alcove just off the ballroom, hidden from view. He directed her to sit in the chair within, while he sank to his haunches before her and took her hands.
“Edith, did he hurt you?” His voice was rough, but surprisingly gentle, particularly for such a large man who seemed to have equally rough manners.
She shook her head, swallowing back her tears. “No, he did not hurt me.”
Lord Radcliffe raised a disbelieving brow but said nothing.
Edith sighed and tried to tug her hands free, but he held them fast. “He… he touched me,” she admitted, disgust and shame rising within her. “More boldly than he usually does. I tried to get away, but he trapped me, and I knew if I screamed, I would be ruined. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—”
“I know,” he overrode, squeezing her hands tightly. “I know, I saw you try. And I heard what he said to you, there is no need to relive it.”
A tear broke free of her eyes, and she hated herself for it. Smiling despite it, she quipped, “There’s your third time, my lord. You’ve attained hero status.”
His lips quirked, and he shook his head as he quickly wiped that tear away. “Are you always going to make light of your situation?” he asked.
Edith shrugged one shoulder. “What else can I do? I must laugh, or I must cry, and I look a fright when I cry.”
He grunted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I doubt that”, but his expression softened into a sincere look. “I am sorry I could not get to you sooner.”
“No.” Edith immediately shook her head. “You could not have known, sir. I didna even know he was here until he had me. The whole thing happened so quickly.”
“Yes, but I saw,” he said, sliding his hands from hers and rising to his feet. “I saw him there, and I did not come as quickly as I ought.”
“Are you… watching me, Lord Radcliffe?” Edith asked, her heart oddly fluttering at the thought.
His eyes were suddenly so intense that breathing was difficult, her chest clenching. “You might say that I have developed an interest.”
Edith had to swallow and clear her throat, then rose herself, though he was still very much taller than her. “Oh?” was the most brilliant reply she managed to make.
Pathetic.
He nodded once, then almost smiled again. “I’ve never been a hero in my life, and yours is the only opportunity I may have.”
The tightness in Edith’s chest eased, and she smiled up at him, delighted that he would tease her. “Well, I verra much hope I shall not have to be always in distress simply to bolster your ego,” she replied, lifting a brow so he would know that she meant it in jest.
He tilted his head for a moment. “We do always meet like this, don’t we?”
Edith shrugged a little and ducked her chin, cheeks flaming. “You must think me a helpless creature indeed.”
A gentle hand reached under her chin and tilted her face up to see a somber expression.
And what a powerful look he had!
Edith was speechless, breathless, and quite captivated, though he was not standing particularly close, and there was very little warmth in his eyes.
“Do not presume to tell me what I think, Lady Edith,” he murmured, his fingers warmer than his expression. “My thoughts at present just might surprise the both of us. Understood?”
She nodded, and he dropped his hand with a nod in return.
“So, what do we do?” she asked, somehow finding her voice. “I think I may have angered him beyond anything just now, and he will find a way to get me alone, despite our efforts.”
Lord Radcliffe made a low humming noise as he looked at her. “I have an idea, but I must discuss it with the others first.” He took her arm gently and peered out of the alcove, and then led her out and directly onto the dance floor.
Edith looked up at him in surprise. “A dance, my lord?”
“I do occasionally dance, Lady Edith,” he said with a shrug.
She laughed outright. “You do not. I might have been trying to bathe a cat last time for all I tried to get you to.”
He quirked a brow as he bowed to her. “Not bathing a cat now, are you?”
No, indeed, she was not.
It so happened that Lord Radcliffe was quite a good dancer, for all his apparent dislike of it.
She would have to remember that.
Chapter Eleven
On occasion, one must take a stand, even if it is unfashionable. But only on occasion.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 27 March 1819
It was an utterly ridiculous idea. Foolhardy, reckless, and very likely improper, considering the circumstances. But it was the only idea he had.
And it wasn’t going away.
Graham shook his head as he ambled rather aimlessly about Mayfair on this fine spring day, wishing he had a better suggestion for Henshaw and the rest. At this rate, he wouldn’t even be able to get the words out, let alone go into any great detail about it.
Why in the world would anyone want to give up the Season and come to Merrifield for a lengthy stay? Who would want to venture thus when the host was the most boring man on the planet, especially compared to his predecessor? The thrill of such an invitation had vanished entirely with Matthew’s death, and there would be no entertainment to speak of.
He could see it all now. Guests would wander the halls and the gardens with wistful nostalgia of what the place had once been and would never be again. All talk would be of the difference between the brothers, and what a disappointment it was to have this particular Lord Radcliffe rather than the other.
Edith wouldn’t know the difference, but he would have to invite others in order to have Edith come, and she would hear what they had to say.
The pretense of inviting anyone to Merrifield in order to invite Edith seemed utterly insane, but it would do. Merrifield could be a worthy retreat for her, and he could ensure the weasel never came near enough to be a bother.
The others would have to consent, however, and Edith would have to wish to venture there.
What if she hated the idea? Why did that matter?
So many questions and very few answers. Graham’s least favorite combination.
“Radcliffe!”
Turning quickly, Graham fixed his usual polite smile on his face in anticipation of whoever had called to him. The smile eased into something less forced as he saw Francis, Lord Sterling, approaching with an elegant woman some years his senior on his arm, and, of all things, a large bloodhound on a lead before them.