by Jo Beverley
Clarissa let out an involuntary hiss, jerking her arm away. That voice belonged to a man who never failed to make her skin crawl.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to appear calm. “Lord Blundell, what a surprise. Have you tired of the party?”
He moved forward into a stream of light from the ballroom windows above them. Her stomach took a sickening flop when she saw a lascivious smile lifting his thick-lipped mouth. Brandy fumes wafted over her as he stepped closer.
“I was following you, my dear. I was certain you saw me as you descended the stairs, and divined my intention to speak with you. Unfortunately, that old blowhard Lord Sobey waylaid me, preventing me from joining you until now.”
She frowned, startled by his impertinent assumptions. “My Lord, I only stepped out for some fresh air, but I find it’s much too cool without a wrap. I’m returning to the ball this very instant.”
The smile congealed on his face, but only for a few seconds. Then a smug look settled on his features as he moved a step closer.
“Ah. You hope to tease me. You always were a minx, Clarissa. I remember your father warning me about that when I first proposed to you. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t take a stronger stand. By the time I realized you needed a firm hand, you had already accepted Middleton’s offer.” He cast her an oily smile. “I assure you, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
She choked, outrage closing her throat, but he ignored her reaction.
“You wish to punish me just a little for making you wait out here on the terrace, don’t you?” he asked. “But now that I’m here, surely we can dispense with silly games. There’s no need for you to keep me at arm’s length a moment longer, now that you have returned to society.”
He moved forward again, forcing her to retreat to the balustrade. Every nerve in her body shrieked at her to run, but he blocked her only exit. Unfortunately, she was never very good at putting bullies in their place. Still, she tried to muster up a cutting tone.
“You are talking nonsense, sir. Please move aside. It is most improper for us to be out here without a chaperone.”
He crowded her against the parapet, thrusting forward until their bodies almost touched. Even without looking directly down, she could see a bulge in the front of his breeches. She swallowed, willing her dinner to remain in its proper place.
“Ah,” he rasped. “Fortunately, you’re no longer a maiden, but a widow and an experienced woman.”
His queer voice scraped along her nerves. Though a bulky, coarse man, Lord Blundell spoke in a thin tone that seemed to strain his throat. When he courted her years ago, anxiety had slithered through her whenever he opened his mouth. No one had understood how she felt but Lillian. Certainly not her father, whose punishment for refusing Blundell’s suit had left her with painful bruises.
“You offend me, sir,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I am the widow of an officer who fought by your side—one of your own men. That alone should be reason enough to treat me with more respect.”
To her surprise, he flinched. Even in the dim light she could see the blood drain from his face. But he soon recovered, staring at her so intently she felt like a cornered animal.
“I do respect you, Clarissa, so much so that I intend to make you my wife.” He inspected her bosom with a lustful gaze. “Now that your period of mourning is over, you must recognize how advantageous it would be for you to marry again. If your father were still alive, he would surely urge you to accept my offer.”
Anger rose in a hot, welcome flare, infusing her with courage. “You honor me, sir,” she said coldly, “but I have no desire to marry. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Lady Montegue.”
She attempted to force her way past, but he grabbed her arms. His thick fingers squeezed her in a pinching grip.
“Let go of me,” she gasped.
She tried to yank away but he held fast. His nails dug into her flesh, sending lancing pain down her bare arms. She struggled, but he pulled her close, rubbing himself against her.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes as panic welled in her chest. She clamped down hard, forcing her vision to clear. A scream bubbled up in her throat, but a shred of reason sealed her lips. The scandal if they were found like this would be overwhelming, and there was no predicting the consequences. To be discovered alone together, in so secluded a place, whomever was finally blamed—and Blun-dell might very well accuse her of improper behavior—her reputation would be irreparably damaged.
He bent his face close, leering at her. The reek of alcohol and the disgusting grind of his hips made her want to vomit.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Clarissa. Not dressed like this. Not when you engage in open flirtation in front of half the ton. I saw you upstairs with Archer,” he sneered. “Why waste your time on a boy when you can have a man? You made that same mistake when you married Middleton. You would be wise not to do it again.”
He might as well have thrown a pitcher of ice water in her face. Her head cleared and her spine straightened.
“Unhand me, Lord Blundell, or I shall scream loud enough to wake the dead. You are a vile man, and I would rather die than marry you.”
A murderous fury darkened his gaze. He dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back. A strangled cry almost escaped her throat, but he cut it off with a hard, slobbering kiss. His lips mashed hers and his tongue invaded her mouth, choking her. Unable to breathe, she struggled with a desperation born of terror.
Blundell crushed himself against her, bending her over the hard stone of the parapet as he locked her in an unbreakable grip. Tears leaked from her eyes when she felt his hand dragging up her skirts.
But more than fear rose up in a welling tide. Fury rose, too, pushing out the fear. She had to stop him. She’d rather be exposed to all of London and shunned by everyone she knew than allow the brute to molest her.
When he took a breath, she bit down hard on his lower lip. He gave a shocked cry and jolted back, letting her go so suddenly she could barely keep from toppling over the barrier behind her. Quickly righting herself, she slipped past, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab her.
“Come back here, you bitch,” he spat out in a snarling voice.
She dashed for the doors leading into the darkened study, only to collide with a rock-hard body coming through them. A pair of strong arms snaked around her, keeping her from crashing to the ground.
“Clarissa,” exclaimed Christian, holding her close. “What the hell is going on out here?”
She stilled in his arms, gazing up at him, trying to see his face in the dark. Her brain went blank as relief wiped out every other emotion. She sagged, her limbs weak and trembling. He cradled her in a gentle embrace, one hand splayed securely across her back.
With an effort, she managed to calm her pounding heart, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him. Her brain stopped tumbling around in her skull and her reason returned.
“Better?” he asked in a quiet voice as he rubbed a soothing hand down her spine.
She nodded.
“Good. Then please explain why you were running as if your life depended on it.”
A painful rush of blood heated her cheeks. How could she explain without causing a scene? Christian would be furious, and God knew what he would do then. She had to defuse the situation before a scandal erupted right there in the middle of the largest ball of the Little Season.
“Ah … nothing … nothing was happening,” she stuttered. “I was just …”
She trailed off as he arched his eyebrows in disbelief. Then he lifted his gaze and stared out at the terrace, where Blundell still stood, muttering curses under his breath. Christian’s face grew stern, anger tightening his features into sharp angles.
“Never mind,” he said in a quiet but lethal voice. “I see the problem.” His flinty gaze switched back to her face. “Did that bastard hurt you?”
Clarissa loosened her fingers from where they c
lutched the front of Christian’s coat and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice. She gave his chest a gentle push, forcing him to let go. He did, but reluctantly.
“It was nothing,” she continued. “Really. I ’d be grateful if you escorted me back inside. I ’d like to find Lillian.”
He ignored her request, his eyes narrowed on Blundell. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. What happened to your lip, Blundell?”
“That is none of your business,” sneered the other man. “And you will address me as Major Blundell or my lord, Captain Archer. If you know what’s good for you.”
Christian appeared unmoved by the threat. In fact, he took a menacing step toward Blundell, despite Clarissa’s attempt to pull him in the opposite direction.
“If I find you laid a hand on her,” he said in a harsh voice, “I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”
Blundell stopped dabbing at his lip—Clarissa was very glad to see it was bleeding quite profusely—and glared back at Christian.
“Fancy her for yourself, do you, Archer? Well, I suppose you’re welcome to her. I’ve already had a taste, but I’ve discovered that aging widows aren’t really in my line, after all.”
A growl rumbled up from Christian’s throat. Then, in a blur of motion, he surged forward and drilled his fist into Blundell’s face. The man went crashing to the ground with a muffled cry of pain. Christian reached down with one hand and took hold of his collar, then hauled Blundell up as he cocked his fist again.
Clarissa leapt forward, grabbing Christian’s arm and tugging on it with all her might.
“Are you insane?” she hissed. “You can’t do this in the middle of a ball. Think of the scandal! Your mother will be mortified.”
Sluggishly recovering from Christian’s devastating punch, Blundell began to struggle and thrash. Clarissa dug her fingers into Christian’s arm and shook it.
“Let go, Christian,” she commanded. “I don’t want this.”
He glowered at her even as he continued to hold the struggling Blundell at arm’s length—apparently with very little effort, since the other man couldn’t break loose.
Clarissa glared back. “I mean it,” she said in the same voice she’d used when he was a disobedient little boy. “Let him go.”
Shadows played over his stone-hard face. His lips twitched. Opening his hand, he dropped Blundell to the terrace pavement.
“Very well. But in return, I want you to explain what happened out here,” he said.
“I will not,” Clarissa retorted, taking his arm. “Now, will you please escort me back to the party?”
One corner of his mouth curved into a lazy half smile, replete with a masculine sensuality that stole the breath from her lungs.
“Will you dance with me if I do?”
She huffed. “Your sister was right. You really are the most impertinent boy. But yes, I will. Now take me away from here.”
He glanced back at Blundell, who had crawled over to one of the benches and hauled himself onto its seat.
The banked anger in Christian’s eyes flared back to life. “Are you sure about this, Clarissa? I won’t have him bothering you again.”
“I feel sure he won’t,” she said earnestly.
He didn’t look convinced.
She sighed. “And if he does, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
He gave a reluctant nod as he took her elbow and began to lead her away. And not a moment too soon, as far as she was concerned. The longer they stayed on the terrace, the better the chances of being discovered. Then the gossips would truly have something to say.
She scampered across the paving stones, trying to hurry Christian along. As they stepped inside the study, Blundell’s nasal voice—even more nasal now, thanks to Christian’s punch—halted them in their tracks.
“Stop right there, Archer,” he barked. “Don’t think you can run away from me.”
Under Clarissa’s fingers, the muscles in Christian’s arm turned to iron. She stifled a groan. Could things get any worse?
Christian carefully disengaged her hand and turned to face Blundell. “Are you calling me a coward, Major?”
Blundell staggered to his feet, his thick features distorted with rage, his eyes burning with hatred. Clarissa shivered, her insides pulling into a knot. She’d always known Everard Blundell had a vile temper, but now something sick and disturbing seemed to emanate from his hulking figure.
She tore her gaze from him and looked at Christian, who was inspecting the other man with a mild curiosity.
“I’ll have my satisfaction,” Blundell barked.
Christian replied as calmly as if he were ordering ices from Gunter’s. “Name your seconds.”
Clarissa’s heart crashed into her ribs. A duel? Over her? She detested dueling—the very idea of men shooting at each other in a senseless display of violence, all for their so-called honor. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“You will not,” she interjected, stepping between the two men. “I absolutely forbid you to engage in that barbaric, outdated, illegal practice.”
Christian expelled an impatient breath, reaching for her. She evaded him.
“It’s not up to you,” he said. “At this point, it has nothing to do with you.”
She stiffened. “It has everything to do with me. I don’t want it. I won’t have it.”
He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to argue with her.
Blundell beat him to it. “I won’t be insulted without redress.”
He put his head down like an angry bull and stalked toward them. Clarissa took a hasty step back, fetching up against Christian’s chest. His hands settled at her waist, resting lightly but possessively on the curve above her hips. Somehow, that felt right, even though she knew how wrong it was.
“I suggest you not come closer, my lord,” drawled Christian. “You’ve distressed Mrs. Middleton quite enough for one night.”
Blundell’s lips peeled back into a taunting sneer. “Hiding behind the lady, Archer? Wonder what your fellow officers in the Fifth will have to say about that?”
All along Clarissa’s spine, Christian’s body went rock hard. Tension and anger radiated from him, enveloping her in a hot wave. In front of her, Blundell glared at Christian with murderous intent. So much belligerent male energy crackled around her, it was a wonder her hair didn’t stand on end.
She had to do something.
“And what will your fellow officers do when they hear you tried to force yourself on me, Lord Blundell? What will your father, the marquess, do when I recount your behavior tonight?”
Christian’s fingers dug into her hips and she flinched. He loosened his grip, murmuring an apology in her ear.
Blundell’s sneer twisted into an ugly grimace. “I doubt anyone would believe you. After all, I’m the son of a peer. And perhaps you forget that my father is a member of the government.”
At one time, she would have accepted that. But with Christian at her back, his strength surrounding her like a shield, her courage returned. “I assure you, sir, I am quite convincing when I put my mind to it.”
Blundell shook with rage. “I will have my satisfaction, I tell you!”
“You’ll have nothing of the sort,” Clarissa retorted. “Please leave, my lord, or I will be forced to relate this unfortunate incident to our host. You may consider yourself untouchable, but I will make it my business to tell everyone about what transpired here tonight. Your father, I suspect, will not be happy about that, no matter how powerful he is.”
Clarissa wouldn’t have been surprised if Blundell had started foaming at the mouth, but he managed to throttle back his rage. He stormed to the French doors, giving the two of them a wide berth. But before he disappeared inside, he rounded on them.
“This isn’t the end of it, Archer. Be sure of it.”
Behind her, Clarissa felt Christian shrug, his hands still clasped lightly on her hips.
“I’ll
look forward to our next meeting, my lord,” he said in a bored voice.
Giving them a last, enraged look, Blundell stomped across the floor of the study, and then the door to the hallway slammed shut.
Clarissa stood frozen in Christian’s embrace, trying to quell the trembling of her limbs. Muted sounds from upstairs—the chattering of voices, the scrape of violins—began to filter into her consciousness. She heaved a sigh as life began returning to normal.
With a reassuring murmur, Christian turned her in his arms. She couldn’t look at him. Now that the crisis had passed, shame was fast replacing outrage. Her cheeks flushed with the knowledge that her urge to flee from Christian had placed her in this humiliating situation.
With a gentle hand, he tipped her chin up, and she met his gaze. The rugged angles of his face, only partly obscured by the shadows of the night, emanated masculine authority and determination. She had no doubt he was going to be overly protective and pigheadedly male, when all she wanted to do was go home and forget this night had ever happened.
But then he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, sending tingles racing across her skin. When he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, it sucked the air out of her lungs.
Clarissa realized with a blinding flash of insight that life had most certainly not returned to anything approaching normal.
Christian studied her, his eyes warm and full of concern. His penetrating sapphire gaze held her captive, and the glow she had felt earlier in the ballroom—when he first looked at her that way—surged through her veins. A foolish part of her wanted to stand there all evening, absorbing the heat of their silent exchange.
Blinking, she looked away, determined to break the mysterious connection that had sprung up between them. It frightened her, but she couldn’t worry about that now. A more pressing problem had to be dealt with, namely, preventing Christian from challenging Blundell to a duel.
She braved a look at his face. No trace of anger remained on the clean lines and sharp-cut features. But that didn’t fool her.
He caressed her cheek again, and she repressed a delicious shiver.
