Chapter One #3
Once, he’d warned her sister Eliza to take care with the gentleman that was now her husband, while making clear he had spoken up for Millicent’s sake.
At the next dinner he’d attended at Asquith House, Millicent’s demure mask had dropped, and she’d given him a thorough dressing-down, saying she neither wished, nor wanted, to be any man’s concern.
Especially not his.
Ever since, she’d made her disdain for him plain.
And yet, his initial feeling toward her, that deep, resonant hum, had not completely faded.
And instead of avoiding her, as any rational man would do toward a woman who clearly held him in contempt, he kept seeking opportunities to cross swords, going so far as to leave his brother John alone and vulnerable to bad influence just to take that disastrous trip to Ravenswood last summer.
Clearly, he’d failed both Millicent and his brother.
He would not repeat his errors. He had to be stronger. Watchful. Engaged. Only then could he keep Miss Millicent and his extended family from harm.
“Let’s just call off the lot draw,” Asquith suggested.
“Why?” Blackwell asked, oblivious to the history between Willard, Asquith, and Neville and so still amused.
“Neville wouldn’t have participated if he hadn’t agreed that Millicent required protection from her worst inclinations.
And the odds I gave—ten to one that she would embroil herself in a scandal before the Season was done—have just increased. ”
Neville sent Blackwell a dark look. He had participated out of concern, and only concern.
A perfectly natural concern, too. A righteous concern, when given proper consideration.
Millicent was Neville’s cousin Harbury’s sister-in-law, and so an extended by-marriage relation.
Any stain on her name would be a stain on his, too.
And if the accusations against John became public, his family would be under enough scrutiny without Millie’s harebrained behavior adding additional fuel to the gossip’s fire.
Such would have been the case even if Neville had not just drawn the smallest string from Blackwell’s fist.
“Per the terms of our agreement, I remain sworn to watch over Miss Millicent for the remainder of the Season,” Neville said. “I gave my word.”
“Heaven help us all if Willard…” Asquith’s voice faded.
“I know,” Neville replied miserably.
Blackwell cleared his throat, alerting Neville to the proximity of two Almack’s patronesses, Mrs. Drummond Burrell and Countess Lieven.
All three men politely acknowledged the ladies as they passed them by.
Neville hoped to appear to them as if he hadn’t a care in the world. In truth, everything he held dear—family, position, reputation—was on the line.
Good God. What an unholy mess.
Briefly, he thought of his brother John, lying ill in their paternal uncle Farnsworth’s vicarage, where Neville had concealed him after the young lady accused John of bribery and abduction. False charges, John swore, but damaging, nonetheless.
The lady had since gone missing, along with the ‘evidence’—John’s ring.
But Farnsworth had recently been offered the living at St. Margaret’s—a thoughtful gesture by the Duke of Harbury.
If Farnsworth accepted, John would have to move along with their uncle.
The move would require a stay at several inns along the way.
And, since the Justice of the Peace had already posted John’s description in the Brighton Chronicle and Weekly Gazette, John might be recognized.
Time was running out. Neville had no choice but to find the missing girl, discover her connection to Willard, and recover the ring. And now, by giving his word, he’d added another concern.
Neville’s gaze traveled back to Millicent. Tonight was the first time he’d seen her since that final night at Ravenswood. If anything, she’d grown more beautiful.
The dance steps sent her to a partner other than Willard.
Whatever her failings, Millicent was smart.
Too smart, he hoped, to fall as quickly and thoroughly for Willard as other young ladies were wont to do.
Neville searched her face for some sign of her sentiments, any subtle evidence she’d only taken Willard’s hand out of propriety, a sense of social obligation.
But, as the sequence brought her back to Willard, her smile sparkled just a little brighter than he’d seen on any prior occasion.
She’d never given him such a smile.
Stiffly, he turned back to his friends. “I don’t intend to cry off. If anything, what just happened only proves my earlier point.”
Blackwell raised his brows. “Which point was that?”
Neville’s mind went bewilderingly blank.
He could not recall which of his arguments in favor of safeguarding Miss Millicent he’d spoken aloud, and which he’d kept to himself.
Vaguely, he remembered mentioning her silk gown.
He might have even argued the family-by-marriage angle he’d just considered.
Anyway, did his exact point matter?
Willard was a true villain, an inarguable threat.
And, obviously enough, Millicent Wainwright was both innocent and brazen, a combination that begged for trouble.
Everything he’d learned in his search for the missing girl had only increased what he’d already known about feminine vulnerability.
A vulnerability Millicent willfully denied.
Brazen, indeed…
One thing he never would have admitted to his friends was just how much the name she’d given him, the little lordling, made him want to—. He swallowed roughly. His preferred method of mouth-to-mouth silencing was neither gallant, nor gentlemanly.
“Ahem.” Blackwell cleared his throat. “Is something the matter, Neville?”
“I said,” Asquith repeated, “leave off.”
“I need no defending,” Neville snapped. “Especially from you, Asquith. Now can you finally see the danger to your ward?”