Observing Thomas Wolcott and his pretty wife exit the dance floor, Solomon edged his way toward them, wending his way through the milling socialites, ignoring the glances of appraisal or shock.
His skin was far too thick by now to be moved by what the ton thought of him, and cared even less about how his behavior scandalized them.
“Mr. Wolcott.”
Thomas Wolcott turned at the sound of his name, a pleasant social smile in place.
The smile faded as he caught sight of Solomon approaching. His brows then furrowed, his face grew tight with loathing as Solomon came to a halt in front of him. “May I have a word with you?” Solomon asked.
Thomas bowed stiffly and his wife curtsied, her own eyes wide as she glanced between Solomon and Thomas. “No,” Thomas replied, his voice cold. “Your Grace.”
With every eye in the wide hall on them, Thomas turned his back. His hand on his wife’s arm, he guided her away and across the room where they disappeared into the mix of people.
Solomon grit his teeth in anger, his face expressionless, neutral, refusing to permit the watching cream of polite society to realize how the snub affected him.
If I didn’t need your help so badly, I’d leave you to your rancor. Solomon did need his help, however, and thoroughly understood Wolcott’s animosity. Nor did he blame the man. If Wolcott were not the best investigator in all of London – Turning, still holding his glass of wine, he slammed headlong into a young lady half his size.
Under the impact, his wine sloshed onto his shirt and waistcoat. A startled oath sprang from his lips before he could halt it, and he instinctively reached his hand out to steady the young miss before she stumbled and fell backward from the recoil.
“I am so sorry,” Solomon told her. “I fear I was not looking where I was going.”
The woman tried to smile up at him, but by the tautness in her expression, her eyes that all but bulged from her face and the red in her cheeks, he suspected she suffered from something other than being run over by the Devil Duke. Concern filled him. “I say, are you all right?”
She offered him the tense smile again and an awkward curtsey, and said in a choked voice, “I – Your Grace.”
Spinning, she all but fled from the ball room under the speculative stares of all who had witnessed the encounter, and left Solomon to wonder what was wrong. While he was used to the snubs and contempt of his fellow peers, that girl didn’t act like she was running because she despised him. It almost appeared as though she could not breathe.
He could not walk away from her. Despite the fact that she looked familiar to him, he could not find it in himself to leave her alone if she was in some kind of difficulty.
None of the well dressed and well heeled people in the room would act on her behalf, he realized. Thus, if anyone felt concern for her welfare, it would be the Duke of Thornehill.
Striding across the room in the direction she had vanished, Solomon found a short hallway with others branching off of it that led to the rest of the mansion.
He had been at the house often enough in the past to know that at the far end was a door that opened onto the spreading garden. As there were no other people in sight, he suspected that perhaps the woman had gone there.
Solomon located her by the sound of her harsh ragged gasps. The garden was lit by a few lanterns, but primarily covered by darkness and long shadows. Hoping to not frighten her by appearing out of the night wearing all black, he cautiously stepped toward her and peered around a hedgerow. “Excuse me, miss,” he said, his voice low. “I have no wish to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” he heard her reply, her own still hoarse. “I heard – your footsteps.”
Solomon strode around to find her seated on a bench, her breasts heaving as she fought to breathe. “I came to see if you are in need of assistance.”
In the faint light, he witnessed the lines of strain in her neck, her skin now waxy pale. She recognized him instantly, and rose to curtsey. More worried about her health than her show of deference, he waved her back down. “Please, that’s not necessary in your state. How might I help?”
Returning to her bench, she shook her head. “I will be – all right. In a – moment.”
Not liking how he loomed over her, Solomon took a backward step and put his hands behind his back. “I know you from somewhere, do I not?”
The young woman nodded, offering him a smile. “The boy – in the market.”
Solomon burst into a short laugh. “Ah, I remember you now. The little spitfire who was ready to rip into that shopkeeper.”
“Yes. Your Grace.”
Frowning slightly, he made a small gesture toward her. “I do not remember then that you had breathing difficulties. At the time, your lungs worked perfectly.”
“I suffer – anxiety – when in crowds,” she answered, her breathing still labored but appeared to be smoothing out. Her color took on a more normal hue, he noticed. “I try to stay calm, but I cannot always manage it. I am so sorry I spilled your wine on you.”
“Bah, hardly worth commenting on.” He smiled briefly. “One advantage to wearing black.”
At last, she took a deep breath, and stood up. “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace. And your company.”
“You have the advantage it would appear.”
“I am Teresa Wolcott.”
Her name jolted him, and he kept his facial muscles still with an effort. “A pleasure, Miss Wolcott. Ah, excuse me, but you do not seem overly worried about being seen with me.”
“That is quite true. I am not afraid to be seen talking to you.”
“May I ask why that is?”
Her smile widened into a grin. “I am a witness to your kinder side. Besides, I am no stranger to the gossips. They talk about me almost as much as they do you.”
“How so? You seem a proper young lady to me.”
“I wear my hair down in public and do not hesitate to air my opinions.”
“Neither of which is gossip or scandal worthy in my book. How often do these, panic episodes, occur, Miss Wolcott?”
She glanced away. “More often than I would like, Your Grace.”
“I would like to share something I learned in my travels,” Solomon said, glancing around for any potential witnesses. “It may help in such future events.”
“Something that would stop me from panicking when too many people are around me?” she asked, her voice eager.
“Yes, that is the intent. However, I must touch you. Do I have your permission?”
Miss Wolcott suddenly flushed. “Well, it is improper, Your Grace. But if it helps I’ll try anything.”
His hands open, his palms out, Solomon stepped toward her. “It is a simple thing, really, to massage the neck and shoulders. It does not just relax the muscles, but can assist in many aspects of stress. May I?”
“Yes.”
He ambled behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. Immediately, he felt the tense knots under her flesh, and worked them with his wrists and thumbs. “When one is stressed,” he murmured, “the body tightens, which in turns adds to more stress. Release some of that, and the rest follows.”
“This is – wonderful. I cannot believe how good this feels.”
“I traveled in Asia,” Solomon went on, gently yet firmly massaging the knots and kinks from her neck and shoulders. “They make a study of the human body, and practice a medicinal use of needles.”
“Needles?”
“Yes. I do not remember what they called it, however. The needles release energies that make the body ill.”
“That is fascinating, Your Grace.”
Letting his hands drop, Solomon gazed down at her as turned around, flexing her neck and shoulders. “Perhaps we might make a test of this treatment?”
“How?”
“Come back inside and dance with me.”
Do you want to know how the story continues? Click here to find out!
http://lucindanelson.
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About Lucinda Nelson
Lucinda Nelson has grown up and now lives in Concord, New Hampshire.
She has studied and worked as a librarian and her meticulous research in History inspired an everlasting love for Historical Romance.
She discovered Bronte Sisters at her early teens and she has been fond of heroines like Jane Eyre, ever since.
She finally got the guts to participate on a writing contest on 2017. From right then she decided that plotting romances with rakish men and smart, feisty women, was an excitement she couldn’t stay away from. Except the times she is chasing down her two young boys.
Other than writing, Lucinda delights in watching theatrical plays, reading mystery novels and her latest discovery is cake decoration, something that she owes to her sons and her weakness for sweets.
A Short Note About Starfall Publications
Starfall Publications has helped me, like so many other successful Romance writers to extend my writing to you.
Quality is the company’s main focus and I’m honored to be able to publish my books under their name.
With that said, I would like to thank Starfall Publications for giving me the opportunity to work with them, making it possible for me to make my dream come true.
Also By Lucinda Nelson
Book 1: The Roguish Ways of a Hopeless Duke
Book 2: An Earl for the Broken- Hearted Duchess
Book 3: A Marquess’ Forbidden Desire
Book 4: A Wicked Scandal for the Bluestocking
Book 5: Seducing the Vengeful Marquess
Book 6 : His Devilish Grace
The Sinful Secret 0f A Broken Earl (Historical Regency Romance) Page 31
