Chapter 6

6

M eg wasn't entirely certain where her gasps began and the crowds' ended.

She was dimly aware of shocked shouts and a cluster of partygoers coming her way. But mostly she was aware of the freezing cold of the water, and the large, determined-looking Duke who was now hurtling over the fountain's edge and marching toward her in the water.

"Oh no," she moaned, too low for him to hear.

This was a disaster.

"No, no, no, no," she chanted as he waded toward her, not seeming to notice that he was knee deep in freezing, muddy water, nor the fact that his splashing was soaking the rest of his clothing.

Meanwhile, she was frozen. Some part of her thought perhaps she was literally frozen, that's how cold the water was.

Seated as she was in this pool of icy, dirty water, the coldness made her legs and bottom numb, while her chest had constricted to the point where she could hardly breathe, let alone scream.

And scream was precisely what she wanted to do, especially when Carver loomed over her, leaning down with a look of such concern it made her want to cry.

With anger, she told herself.

And maybe just a little self-pity.

To think, she'd been out in society for more than a year now, and had managed to go that entire length of time without causing undue scandal. Refusing dances was the worst of her oddities—aside from the limp, of course.

Until now.

Until she'd made the foolish decision to say yes to a dare, and then a dance, and then had agreed to attend this evening's ball.

She'd thought she was being brave.

Really, she'd just been a fool.

"Let me help you," Carver said, his voice low and oh-so-serious.

It made her want to laugh.

But of course, this was no laughing matter. What would her father say when he heard?

She'd been useless before, and now she was positively ruined.

All these thoughts were rushing toward her at once, and so it caught her unawares when Carver…picked her up.

She squeaked with alarm as his arms slid under her legs and then under her arms and she found herself hoisted into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

Oh, the crowd was loving this. She saw the shocked faces, the heads huddled together to discuss what was happening. She heard snippets of her name.

Or rather, her nickname.

All the times she'd wanted to hitch up her skirts and flash the London crowds with a view of her leg just so she could crow, It's not a pegleg, you nincompoops!

And now they'd know because the skirts of her lovely new gown were soaked through, clinging to her limbs.

So at least that rumor ought to be cleared up. But that silly nickname was the least of her worries now.

Tears weren't just stinging, they were burning hot and she had to fight to keep from burying her head in Carver's chest.

Instead she clutched his jacket and held on tight as he carried her out of the fountain. Her mind was so rattled by the commotion going on around them—what with the chatter and the laughter and the stares—she belatedly realized that Carver was issuing commands, his tone a reminder that this man, while young, was still very much a Duke.

"Fetch me blankets," he said to a man who she did not know but was definitely not a servant.

Yet the grown man rushed off to do Carver's bidding.

Because even grown men respected the great and powerful Duke.

Even if he did pick on crippled young ladies like the veriest bully.

Flames of anger rippled through her at the injustice of it all. She saw the swoony sighs as the now drenched Duke carried her toward the veranda.

Crowds parted as a fresh wave of whispers followed.

He's so strong…so capable…so brave….

Brave? Really? He'd stepped into a fountain, not a raging sea. How was he the hero here?

She wiggled in his arms. "Set me down."

"No."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"I'm not taking you inside looking like this. And…" He glanced around pointedly. "I do not feel comfortable setting you on the ground."

Anger was a relief. "Well, I do not feel comfortable being in your arms."

Which was…a lie. Suddenly she became acutely aware of just how comfortable she was. His grip was tight, and his body warm. She was snuggled against him in a way that was so oddly comforting it made her chest tight with emotion.

She hadn't felt so coddled and protected since she'd been a small child.

Oh, heaven help her, that thought made those tears she'd been battling well in her eyes. But she couldn't. She would never give them the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

"Please, don't cry." His voice was gruff, and she heard the rumble of it through his chest.

She swallowed hard. "I don't mean to." With a pitiful quivering lip, she added, "I don't want to."

"Then don't." He turned slightly, and she realized he was shielding her from prying eyes. "Do not give them that satisfaction."

Her breath caught at the emotion in his eyes, as much as at the way he'd spoken her own thoughts aloud.

Of course, when she'd thought it, Carver had been one of them.

She frowned. He still was. But somehow he made it seem as though they were on the same team.

Ludicrous .

"I am sorry, Miss Taylor?—"

"Please, just set me down. I may not be an elegant dancer, and my gait may leave much to desire, but I assure you, Your Grace, I am fully capable of standing on my own two feet."

His brows drew together. "I know that."

She hated the sympathy in his eyes. Hated even more that his arms around her were so strong that she wasn't just comfortable in his arms, it was starting to feel downright lovely.

And that was not all right. She did not need to know that the handsome Duke smelled like heaven, or that his chest was as hard as it was broad, or that this close she could see a five o'clock shadow starting, and the place where a blade had nicked his skin. And somehow those little imperfections made him that much more attractive.

He'd seemed outrageously perfect before she'd had the misfortune of interacting with him, and now he was only growing more appealing up close.

Except for his abysmal personality, of course. That had only grown worse.

To think she'd ever thought him charming.

He shifted her slightly, making her even more comfortable. "Someone will be here shortly with blankets."

She narrowed her eyes. "And you must continue to hold me until then because…"

She'd drawn out the last word, her tone nothing short of caustic.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his gaze flickered over her features as if cataloging her every freckle. "Because I want to."

She blinked in surprise and was rewarded with a small, lopsided smile as he held her gaze.

Her breath caught, and her words came out uneven. "Even now, you tease me, Your Grace?"

His eyes flared wide, the laughter fading. "No. I never intended for any of this, Miss Taylor."

She looked away. But this was a mistake because the crowd was inching closer for a better view of the peg-legged spectacle.

"I can stand, Your Grace." Her eyes stung and her cheeks burned. "Surely you can tell by now that my nickname is erroneous."

His hands shifted beneath her legs, the movement subtle but so intimate it brought a rush of heat coursing through her.

She did not need a mirror to know her cheeks were a bright pink. "Please. Everyone is watching."

She hated how weak her whisper was, hated even more how vulnerable she sounded.

His throat worked and this close she could see his Adam's apple bob and a muscle in his jaw tick.

But he set her down on her feet at last, so gently it made her knees go weak.

Or maybe that was just her blasted leg.

Water pooled at her feet and her gown felt so heavy she wasn't sure how she could walk in it even if her leg was fully able.

She felt ridiculous.

And she likely looked even worse than she felt.

Carver repositioned himself so now his whole body was blocking her from view. Her gaze settled on his chest, which was wet along with the rest of him.

It was abundantly unfair that he did not look ridiculous as well.

While she no doubt resembled a drowned rat, his clothes molded to his muscles like a second skin.

She was a joke, and he was a Greek statue.

Wonderful.

"I'll never be invited to another ball," she muttered.

"Nonsense. This was my fault." He paused, his wince full of chagrin. "All of it. I will make this right?—"

"Please don't."

"Pardon?"

She sighed, all at once weary beyond belief. Maybe it was the weight of her water-logged gown, but she felt weary to the bone. And she was starting to feel immune to whispers as a servant reached them and began to fuss.

The Duke took the blankets from the girl and gave her a quiet, "Please find Miss Taylor's parents."

The girl ran off and now it was the Duke who took great care in wrapping her in warmth, making a show of tucking the material under her chin.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

His gaze met hers. "Making this right."

She drew in a sharp breath, torn between confusion and anger and a helpless frustration that made her want to run away and weep.

"Are you joking? Is this another joke at my expense?" She hated that she had to ask. But truthfully, she couldn't make sense of it. Of him. How could a man with such kind eyes be so cruel?

"This is not a joke." He shook his head with a frown. "I want to undo the damage I've done to your reputation?—"

With a humorless laugh she pulled away from his touch. "My reputation…"

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The sound that escaped was a mix of both.

"I was hopeless before you came along. Only my dowry and my father's status gave me any hint of a prospect. All I had to look forward to was a marriage of convenience. And now…now you've ruined even that for me."

"I only meant to apologize?—"

"Which you did," she said, her tone sharp. "To my father. He forgave you for making a mockery of me then, and he will undoubtedly do so again."

"But—"

"So fear not, Your Grace. You will continue to be admired and respected for the sheer fact that you are young, handsome, titled, and wealthy. And I…"

She took a step back, ignoring the pain in her leg as she evaded him when he tried to block her path. "I will continue to be pitied or mocked for my flaws."

"Miss Taylor?—"

She pulled away when he touched her arm.

"If you wish to make amends, then do me the courtesy of staying away from me."

"I cannot do that, Miss Taylor because…"

He muttered an oath when she pulled away from him and took off as fast as she could for the house. But she heard him behind her.

"I promise you, I will make this right."