Page 9

Her heart did not turn over from excitement or from a rush of sensation. It was a fear of being dumped unceremoniously onto the ground that caused the irregular fluttering and flitting about behind her ribcage.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Still holding a whimpering Bella, Jane turned on her heel and rushed away, her cloak flapping about her ankles.

Flabbergasted, Nicolette stared after her.

Why, she’s abandoned me.

“Your Grace,” Nicolette objected, flames licking at her face and all too aware the onlookers had yet to disburse completely. “Do put me down at once,” she hissed into his ear, clutching at his entirely too broad and muscular shoulders for fear of taking another tumble.

Westfall, was after all, well over six feet tall.

She might’ve also have caught a delicious whiff of his manly scent. And she did not lower her nose a fraction to inhale his cologne. She’d simply adjusted the angle of her neck.

Liar.

“Shh, relax.” His rich voice held a playful note. He gave her thighs a little squeeze, and a pulse of desire trilled through her.

Relax? Was he utterly mad?

“This is most inappropriate,” she said under her breath, forcing calm and modulation to her tone. She couldn’t very well screech like a harpy even if it would be ever so satisfying. “Whatever will people think, Your Grace?”

Another few strands of hair escaped her pins, and he grinned as they cascaded down her back.

This assuredly wasn’t the type of adventure she’d wished for no more than ten minutes ago.

“I can hardly permit you to hobble home on your injured ankle, Miss Twistleton.”

He glanced down, and once again, she was taken by the shade of his blue eyes and the annoyingly perfect lines of his well-defined face. It was much easier to resist a man if he had bad breath, body odor, or a razor rash.

“I am inadvertently responsible for your injuries,” he continued. “And therefore, it is my duty to ensure you arrive at your residence and are examined by a physician.”

Everything he’s said was practical and, in truth, correct.

“But—” she started to protest.

He flashed that sinful grin again, and she swore he was enjoying himself.

“Besides, your maid just left you in my care.” His voice took on a rather thrilling and oh-so-naughty timbre, and she trembled.

“It wouldn’t do at all for you to be seen walking without a chaperone, my dear. Think of your reputation.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from his conciliatory tone, and he had the ballocks—the absolute ballocks!—to waggle his eyebrows.

Nicolette wanted to hit him.

She really and truly did. And she wasn’t given to violence or aggression.

She couldn’t help think he took liberties because of their mutual friends and their long acquaintance. That didn’t sit well, and Lord knew the ton would be in a dither over the day’s events.

Why he, of all men, should stir such a primal response baffled her to no end. Instead, she pinched his neck, though, with her gloves on, it scarcely counted as a real pinch.

“Ow! You little hellion.” He shot her a surprised look, a spark of something undefinable but, nevertheless, tantalizing shining in his eyes. “Out for your pound of flesh, eh?”

“You, Westfall, are compromising my reputation,” she said through clenched teeth as she peeked over his shoulder, positive she’d see people staring after them.

She was right.

“Oh, Lord.” Closing her eyes, she groaned. “They’re still watching us, Mathias.”

“Mathias?” he murmured suggestively, his eyes smoldering. “May I presume to call you Nicolette?”