Sophia James - Fallen Angel

‘It…it…it is not as you may think, your Grace,’ she stuttered in her haste to explain. ‘The dress was a present from Louisa, from Paris, which she insisted that I try on after making it plain no visitors at all were expected this afternoon.’ She stopped, taking a breath in nervousness. ‘It’s very flimsy and hardly me and far too…too…’

‘Revealing?’ Nicholas supplied. Green eyes glittered with a hard masculinity. ‘You do know what this house is, do you not, Brenna?’

She turned at his question and walked towards the stairs, willing him to keep his distance, willing herself to stand her ground.

Quietly she nodded.

‘Then you also realise how damaging it would be to your reputation if another had arrived instead of me? No matter what the reason?’

Again a small shake, the brittle sharpness of unshed tears welling behind her eyes. He could never know how well she understood the danger or how close to the truth he tarried.

‘Louisa has been a friend of mine for a long time, though today is the first day I have ever come here. The dress…’ she added brokenly, ‘I haven’t many and thought perhaps for your ball…’ She bit back the words as soon as she had said them, cursing her stupidity and waiting for laughter.

None came.

Nicholas stood still, fighting the pain in his heart, fighting the desperate want of her that swept through his body at her confession. In truth the dress looked stunning, but for all the wrong reasons. And she still did not have a dress for his ball.

His mind flicked to the countless clothes most ladies of his acquaintance had the choice of, worn once and discarded, and it was on his tongue to offer again the gift of a more suitable gown, but he kept silent, seeing the intrinsic pride in the lift of her chin and in the anger of her own admission.

‘Come, Brenna,’ he whispered softly. ‘Let me see you home.’

She hesitated, bewildered by his gentleness and her own lack of alternative. ‘And the other man with you,’ she said. ‘You will explain?’

He nodded, watching her carefully, the man in him hard pressed to act the gentleman she expected. God, if he had any sense he’d seduce her here and now and be damned with the consequences. Already he could hear the muffled noises of lovemaking in the salon below. Francis and his mistress seemed to have settled their differences in passion, he surmised, wishing it could be that easy for him. His loins ached with the want of her.

‘I think we should leave,’ he said huskily, stepping back as she preceded him down the stairs, unwilling to speak further until they were outside, so little did he trust himself.

Brenna frowned and did as she was bid. Suddenly he seemed angry and withdrawn. Would he let it be known that he had found her in such a compromising position, or worse, would he withdraw his money from the orphanage altogether?

Concerned violet eyes raised up to his as they came outside into the drizzle of a late afternoon. Taking a deep breath, she began in earnest. ‘I realise my behaviour today was inexcusable, my Lord, and the dress—’

He let her go no further.

‘You looked beautiful.’ The words came harsh and ragged and hardly like the Duke of Westbourne. In consternation she looked up to find darkened eyes boring down into her own. ‘Thompson will deliver you to Greerton, Miss Stanhope,’ he said unevenly, opening the door to his carriage to let her in and stepping firmly back as she seated herself. ‘And I will see you at my ball.’

She could only nod, watching as he signalled to his driver to leave, watching as he turned back to Louisa’s house, a desperate dread beginning to form about her mind as she realised his intentions. Would Louisa be savvy enough to deflect his curiosity? She hoped so. How she hoped so.

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