Chapter 3

CHAPTER3

Nancy supposed she should have guessed it was not Mr. Colby by the height of the person who had grabbed her from behind. The man muttering under his breath, in front of her, towered at well over six feet, while Mr. Colby and his unfortunate hunch made him resemble a squat sort of goblin. And this gentleman had broad shoulders and powerful arms that made his tailcoat sleeves strain, especially as he sought to see what damage she had done to his nose.

Arms that held me.

He had dark hair that fell to his shoulders in silky waves, reminding her of the fairytale princes she used to read about when she had been a child. Still read about, in truth, for she liked the comfort of those old books, using them to restore her faith in romance. Of course, she did not tell anyone she still adored those books, for they would have called her childish.

His entire face was a work of art, so sculpted and angular, that he did not seem real, particularly as the moonlight turned his pale skin silver. Had he not been grunting and groaning and saying all sorts of unpleasant things in hissed breaths, she might have thought she was daydreaming.

He seized you against your will!

With that thought, she snapped out of her momentary daze.

“What is the meaning of this?” she gasped, clasping a hand to her chest. “How dare you touch me!”

“I did not know it was you,” the man replied, gritting his teeth. “I thought you were someone else.”

“And you just wander around darkened gardens, grabbing innocent ladies, don’t you?” she retorted, outraged. “Goodness, I am glad I punched you, for if your nose is broken, other ladies like myself will be able to hear you coming whenever you breathe through it!”

His bright blue eyes watered as he gingerly prodded his nose. “You had best hope it is not broken, or you shall be receiving a request for a rather large payment from my physician.”

“Are you threatening me, when you have just grabbed me around the waist and… licked my neck?” She shuddered, trying to figure out if that was what she had felt against her skin when he had taken hold of her.

She thought it a very strange thing to do, licking someone, but he could not have been quite right in his mind if he prowled shadowed gardens in search of helpless women.

Not so helpless.

She shook out her sore fingers. The middle one throbbed with a dull sort of pain.

He scoffed, “Licked your neck? Do I look like a dog to you?”

“You have behaved like one,” she shot back.

“I did not lick your neck,” he insisted, scrunching and relaxing his nose. “It was… It does not matter what it was. It was not intended for you.”

At that moment, Nancy saw two peculiar things that prompted her to take a step back: a gauzy stocking sticking out of the man’s waistcoat, and what appeared to be a petticoat draped across his forearm.

“Where are they?” she gasped, jabbing an accusatory finger at the offending articles. “What have you done with the ladies they belong to? What manner of monster are you? Fire! There is a fire! Someone, please, there is a fire!”

He stalked toward her and clamped his hand over her mouth, glowering down into her eyes. “Would you cease yelling about a fire!” he growled. “This is a misunderstanding, nothing more, and these garments belong to someone who does not mind that I have them. A lady who is alive and well and has come to no harm.”

“I do not believe you,” Nancy mumbled against his hand, wondering if she ought to bite into the fleshy part of his palm.

He rolled his eyes. “I have neither the patience nor the inclination to explain everything to you, particularly as you seem to be the sort of lady who would faint, or punch me again, if I did.” He loosened his grip slightly. “I apologize for grabbing you like that. As I said, I did not know it was you. I do not know you, so why would I think it was you? I thought you were a… friend of mine. She is dressed similarly, and she is wearing her hair in the same fashion.”

“A likely story,” she muttered, throwing his hand off her.

“Besides, what are you doing out here by yourself?” he asked, turning the blame on her. “Where is your chaperone, if you are so righteous? I do not see anyone.”

She puffed up her chest, so infuriated by the fellow that she could have easily punched him again. “Where my chaperone is or is not is none of your concern, nor are you in any position to lecture me. Perhaps I was waiting for my husband. Perhaps I am the chaperone and I was watching my charge from afar. Whatever my reason for being alone, it does not give you the right to-to… paw and lick me!”

“I did not lick you!” the man practically roared, his pale cheeks darkening slightly as he swept a hand through his silky hair. “Neither did I paw you. Goodness, you really are making me sound like a beast. Admittedly, I… put a mistaken arm around you, but you need not make such a fuss. I imagine it was the most thrilling part of your evening.”

“Excuse me!” She gawped at his audacity. “I shall have you know that I have had a very… diverting evening and was watching a rather interesting eel before you crept up on me like a thief in the night.”

He chuckled tightly. “Come to steal away your boredom?”

“You are quite wretched, do you know that?” Nancy said sharply.

“Apologies. Should I ask what manner of eel it was, out of politeness? Would that make this conversation more appealing to you? Or when you say eel, do you mean something else?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made her insides squirm. “Are you only wailing at me like a banshee because I was not the eel you were waiting for?”

Nancy folded her arms across her chest and straightened up, hoping to make herself seem as intimidating as possible. “I am an honorable lady of the ton, sir, unlike whatever barrel you have been scraped from. I would not wait alone in the dark, in another Lord’s gardens, for a gentleman, for that would make his position as a gentleman rather debatable. I am a lady to be wooed properly, in a formal courtship. I would never indulge in a secret tryst with anyone, much less a scoundrel like you.”

“Ah, so you would wait alone in the dark, in your Lord’s gardens?” The man took a good look at her, making her wish she had a cloak she could shroud herself with. “Pray tell, who is your Lord?”

Nancy swallowed thickly. “My father is a Lord, and he would not be happy if—”

“As are everyone else’s inside that manor,” the man interrupted. “What I meant is, as you well know, who is your husband? I should like to speak with him directly, to explain the misunderstanding. Being a gentleman, he will understand the situation far better than you. Ladies rarely comprehend such things unless they are part of the fun.”

Nancy unfolded her arms and rested her hands on her hips. “I have no husband, but my cousin is—”

“You are to marry your cousin?” The man pulled a face.

“Would you let me finish my sentence!” Nancy cried, her face hot with frustration, though a little of the warmth had to be blamed on the way he was looking at her, as if he had seen a delicious delicacy in the window of a sweet shop and had a sudden craving for sugar.

He shrugged. “Be my guest.”

“My cousin felt unwell. She is over there at the pagoda. I was waiting for her because our chaperone—her mother, my aunt—is otherwise engaged, trying to arrange a match with Montague Harding.”

The lie felt clumsier this time, but Nancy was certain this rough fellow would believe it.

The man grinned. “Monty? You would have a greater chance of arranging a match with his beloved horse.” He paused, pretending to be in deep thought. “But if you would like me to say a good word about you or your cousin, so we might forget this whole debacle, he is a great friend of mine. I would be happy to oblige.”

Curses.

Nancy had not expected such a wretch to be acquainted with Mr. Harding. Unless this fellow was a gifted liar and consummate performer.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“Still, I hope you heed my warning. You see—and I trust you can be discreet—Monty has a temper. Generally, he uses it for good, but even he knows he cannot be trusted with a wife,” the man explained. “Although, you also seem to have a temper… and a rather impressive punch. Where did you learn to hit like that?”

Nancy scowled at him. “I do not have a temper. I have an instinct to protect myself when I am being attacked.”

“It was not an attack,” he said. “If you had been the intended recipient, you would have welcomed what I had planned.”

She snorted. “If that were true, the ‘intended recipient’ would have made herself known by now. As she has not, I have no choice but to believe that you are a common, lecherous rogue who delights in the fear of lone women.” She felt somewhat satisfied by the brief flit of his gaze, as if it had only just occurred to him that no one else had appeared. “As for my punch, my sister taught me. She used to brawl with the boys from the village, and though I never joined in, I did learn a thing or two.”

“Goodness, a brawler. Are you certain your father is a Lord and not the landlord of an unsavory inn?”

“And what manner of man are you, hmm?” she challenged. “Is that how you managed to weasel your way into this ball? By Mr. Harding’s invitation?”

The man laughed, smoothing his hands down his lapels, drawing Nancy’s eyes to his broad chest and the loosened cravat beneath the collar of his shirt. An exposed triangle of sun-tanned skin glistened with perspiration, revealing a deep, muscular line down the center of his chest. Indeed, if he had undone one more button, she was convinced she would have been able to see the top of his abdomen.

“Unseemly!” her mind chided, while a little voice in the back whispered, “But not unpleasant.”

“Do I seem like a commoner to you?” he asked.

She sniffed, forcing her gaze away from that exposed flesh. “You seem very common, yes.”

“Then allow me to introduce myself, and let us see if we cannot dull the sharp edge of your tongue,” he said, smirking. “Nameless waif with the punch of a brawler, I am the Duke of Stapleton. I would say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but my nose cannot allow it.”

Nancy’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in horror.

The Duke smiled and lifted his fingertips to her chin, pushing her jaw up until her mouth closed. “I do not want you to catch flies, Miss, lest you choke on one.”

At that unwarranted touch, a bolt of alarm splintered through Nancy, sending her stumbling backward before he could attempt to touch her again. In her haste, she had forgotten that she was standing on a slope and had not realized that the hem of her skirts had caught under her feet.

All at once, she was falling toward the treacherous water that hid monsters beneath the surface, her arms flailing in a vain attempt to keep her balance. She stared wildly at the Duke, torn between needing help and not wanting him anywhere near her.

His arm shot out, his hand grabbing one of her flailing wrists. With a powerful tug, he pulled her toward him, doing the very opposite of helping her to keep her balance. She fell into his hard, broad chest, bumping her chin and knocking her teeth together. And as she struggled to find her livid voice, too shocked to do anything but suck in ragged breaths, his arm slipped around her waist, teasing her.

“I sense you might be one of those clumsy girls,” he purred. “Do you trip in front of gentlemen in the hopes they might sweep you off your feet and fulfill your every innocent desire?”

She glowered at him. “And you seem like one of those gentlemen who enjoy startling people for their own amusement.” She lowered her voice and grasped his lapel, curling the fabric into her fist. “If you touch me again, even the slightest accidental graze, I shall reveal the other things my sister taught me about combat.”

In truth, she still did not know how she had managed to punch him so hard and so well, for she had never hit anyone in her life. And when her sister used to fight with the boys from the village, she could never bring herself to watch, terrified by the mere thought of blood. So, if the Duke did touch her again, she had nothing left in her arsenal.

And the screaming did not work. Not even Marina was drawn by the sound—Where is she?

Glancing toward the pagoda on her left, Nancy’s gaze skimmed the lakeshore, her heart twinging in fear that something might have happened to Marina. A second later, her heart lurched into her throat, for there was someone standing there, a short distance away, half-hidden by bushes, but it was not Marina.

“Mr. Colby,” Nancy rasped, her throat choked.

She would have recognized the cretin anywhere, even without the glint of oil upon his thinning hair, shining like a beacon.

The Duke snorted. “That is not my name.”

“No, Mr. Colby!” Nancy hissed, jabbing a finger in the direction of that wormy little wretch.

The Duke followed the tip of her finger, and as he laid eyes on Mr. Colby, the slimy devil ducked back into the bushes with a violent rustle of leaves and branches. A low growl rumbled in the back of the Duke’s throat, and though the moonlight had already made him very pale, indeed, his face turned ashen.

“We have been seen,” the Duke said, grimacing. “Find your cousin, if there is a cousin out here, and gather your chaperone. You ought to leave. Immediately.”

Nancy gulped. “What?”

“Duck your head in the lake if you need to wash out your ears. You heard me,” he said curtly, before releasing his hold on her. “Forgive me, Miss Brawler, I have a snake to catch.”

With that, he sprinted off, charging into the same bushes where Mr. Colby had disappeared. And as she watched him go, Nancy clasped a trembling hand to her heart, praying with all her might that the overly familiar stranger with the surly attitude would take Mr. Colby down like a hunter diving upon a stubborn boar.

For if the Duke could not, Nancy dreaded to think what tomorrow might bring, if not the rest of her life.