Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(7)

Pandora squirmed miserably. “I don’t give a pickle about what Dolly and Mr. Hayhurst were doing on this settee, I just want to be out of it. Will you help me now?”

“I suppose I must. The novelty of talking to an unfamiliar derrière is beginning to wear off.”

Pandora stiffened, her heart jolting as she felt him lean over her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to molest you. My tastes don’t run to young girls.”

“I’m twenty-one,” she said indignantly.

“Really?”

“Yes, why do you sound skeptical?”

“I wouldn’t have expected to find a woman of your age in such a predicament.”

“I’m almost always in a predicament.” Pandora jerked as she felt a gentle pressure on her back.

“Hold still. You’ve hooked your dress on three different scroll points.” He was pulling deftly at the silk pleats and ruffles. “How did you manage to squeeze through such a small space?”

“It was easy going forward. But I didn’t realize all these dratted swirla—that is, scrolls—were set like backward barbs.”

“Your dress is free now. Try pulling yourself out.”

Pandora began to ease backward, and yelped as the wood dug into her. “I still can’t. Oh, blast—”

“Don’t panic. Twist your shoulders to the . . . no, not that way, the other way. Wait.” The stranger sounded reluctantly amused. “This is like trying to open a Japanese puzzle box.”

“What’s that?”

“A wooden box made of interconnected parts. It can only be opened if one knows the series of moves required to unlock it.” A warm palm settled on her bare shoulder, gently angling it.

His touch sent a strange shock through her. She drew in a sharp breath, cool air swirling inside her hot lungs.

“Relax,” he said, “and I’ll set you free in a moment.”

Her voice came out higher-pitched than usual. “I can’t relax with your hand there.”

“If you cooperate, this will go faster.”

“I’m trying, but it’s a very awkward position.”

“The position was your doing, not mine,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but—ouch.” The point of a scroll had scratched her upper arm. The situation was becoming intolerable. Spurred by the beginnings of alarm, she moved restlessly within the snarls of carved wood. “Oh, this is horriculous.”

“Easy. Let me guide your head.”

They both froze as a gruff shout came from just outside the summer house. “What the devil is going on in there?”

The man leaning over Pandora swore softly beneath his breath. Pandora wasn’t certain what the word meant, but it sounded even worse than “bollocks.”

The enraged outsider continued. “Scoundrel! I wouldn’t have expected this even of you. Forcing yourself on a helpless female, and abusing my hospitality during a charity ball!”

“My lord,” Pandora’s companion called out brusquely, “you misunderstand the situation.”

“I’m sure I understand it quite well. Unhand her this instant.”

“But I’m still stuck,” Pandora said plaintively.

“For shame.” The cantankerous old man seemed to be addressing a third party as he remarked, “Caught in the very act, it seems.”

Bewildered, Pandora felt the stranger prying her out of the settee, one of his hands briefly shielding the side of her face to protect her from scratches. His touch was gentle but wildly unsettling, sending a warm shiver through her body. As soon as she was free of the woodwork, Pandora stood too quickly. Her head spun after having been held down for too long, and her balance went off-kilter. Reflexively the stranger caught her against him as she staggered. She had a brief, dizzying impression of a hard chest and a wealth of tightly knit muscle before he let go. Her loosened coiffure flopped forward over her forehead as she looked down at herself. Her skirts were dirty and rumpled. Red marks scored her shoulders and upper arms.

“Damn it,” the man facing her muttered. “Who are you?”

“Lady Pandora Ravenel. I’ll tell them . . .” Her voice trailed away as she found herself looking up at an arrogant young god, tall and big framed, every line of him taut with feline grace. The tiny pendant lamp overhead sent sunstruck golden glints playing among the thick, well-cut layers of his amber hair. His eyes were winter-blue, his cheekbones high and straight, the line of his jaw hard enough to chisel marble. The full, sensuous curves of his lips lent a note of erotic dissonance to his otherwise classic features. One glance at him was enough to make her feel as if she were trying to breathe at high altitude. What would it do to a man’s character to be so inhumanly beautiful? It couldn’t be anything good.

Shaken, Pandora shoved her hand into the pocket of her gown and dropped the earring inside. “I’ll tell them nothing happened. It’s the truth, after all.”

“The truth isn’t going to matter,” came his curt reply.

He motioned for her to precede him from the summer house, and they were immediately confronted by Lord Chaworth, the host of the ball and owner of the estate. As a friend of the Berwicks, he was one of the last people Pandora would have wanted to discover her in a compromising situation. He was accompanied by a dark-haired man Pandora had never seen before.