The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(7)

“Where is your protector, sweet?” he drawled, not at all embarrassed of the husky tone his voice had suddenly taken. Surely a woman of this type was accustomed to this sort of attention.

“My protector?”

“Yes, the man who… Well, the gentleman who pays for your protection and other things.” He waved his hand in her direction, waiting for her coy response.

“Sir, I do not know what you mean.” Her eyes took on a fiery glint. “I assure you I’m here with my aunt.”

“Oh?”

“Yes!” The mask on her face shook as her face fell into a tight nod. “Furthermore, it’s entirely improper for me to be discussing such things.”

“Because you’re a lady?”

“Exactly.” The innocence of her answer made his knees go weak. If she didn’t belong to anyone, and she truly was accompanied by her aunt, then he was flirting with danger. Yet he couldn’t curb the impulse to reach out and touch her smooth skin. As his fingers reached the delicate curve of her neck, she stiffened.

Yet he continued, determined to feel. The air seemed to still between them as his fingers gently caressed the delectable area. Her sigh was all he needed to press further. Allowing his body to close the distance between them, he brought his other hand to her shoulder and pulled her closer.

“I should be going,” she whispered, but her eyes never left his. The invitation was easy to read. She was as entranced as he was.

Praying someone would stop him before he thoroughly ruined the girl, he paused, then without any further thought, he brushed his lips against hers. The response he received was undeniably innocent, weakening his grasp on reality. He pulled loose a few tendrils of hair, rubbing them between his fingers. It was like spun silk. And his mind swam with the mere thought that all he need do was compromise the poor thing, and he could spend the rest of his days and nights running his fingers through her hair.

His nagging conscience was the only thing keeping him from pushing further, for the poor girl seemed to be melting in his grasp. And then her back stiffened.

He recoiled, expecting a slap. Instead she gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth and let out a whimper so pitiful he wanted to be shot on the spot. Really, somebody should have held a gun to his head for taking such advantage.

She looked blankly at him then shuddered, “I don’t know what came over me. I apologize, my lord.”

Perfect. Now she was apologizing for being attacked. He was an absolute cad.

“I must go, I’m—” She turned away breathlessly, then glanced back. “I’m terribly sorry, I—” Her hand rested on her heaving chest making his knees go weak all over again. “—must be going. I apologize. Please don’t tell my aunt. Please don’t tell anyone.”

And before he had a chance to speak, she was running down the hall into the ballroom, and Sir Belverd was bellowing toward him like a prize bull. “Who was that delicious creature, Renwick? You wouldn’t happen to be…cavorting around with the girl?”

A blinding anger burned though Nicholas unlike he’d ever experienced. How dare anyone try to ruin the poor girl’s reputation!

Apparently you just tried, nagged his inner voice. He shook out the thought and slapped Belverd on the back. “Imagining things again, old man? I’m celibate, remember? And, need I add, extremely competitive?”

Belverd chuckled and followed him into the ballroom. Though he searched, Nicholas never found the girl again, and that night she plagued his dreams. He had to get out of London before he went crazy. A trip to the country was just what he needed.



***



He awoke the next morning with a blinding headache, thanks in part to the beautiful siren who played in his dreams all night long. Whiskey would have been a good breakfast, except Lady Fenton, his distant cousin, was apparently already waiting for him in his study. What she could possibly want, after all these years, was beyond him.

Nicholas bounded down the stairs as loudly as possible, disregarding his own cranial pain, because Lady Fenton was the second loudest person he had ever known. He always took great personal pleasure in making her eardrums ring as badly as his own did whenever she addressed him.

“Ah, my dear boy. How are you?” Lady Fenton greeted him with a fa?ade of kindness and kissed him on the cheek as if they had been in constant association since the incident.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, cousin?”

“Straight to the point, I see.” She twisted an innocent handkerchief in her skinny hands. The unfortunate object of her frustration would be lucky to make it out of his study in one piece. “I need your help.”

Had he been drinking, he would have spit out the liquid in a coughing fit. Help? She needed help? Since when did Lady Fenton need anything? It was always he who had needed her, until that dreadful day when they had chosen to discontinue their association outside of ton events. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

“A favor.”

“Fine.” Trying to keep his voice calm, he went to sit at his desk. “What would you like me to do?”

“My niece is in town for a while, and I’m to launch her into society. After last night, I realize she is in dire straits to acquire etiquette and an ability to interact with the people of the ton. Frankly my dear, without your help she’ll more than likely follow some young man down a long hallway and ruin herself. She’s quite innocent, you understand, and has spent the whole of her life in the country.”