Chapter 6 #2
Gasping, she gripped the viscount’s thick forearm as it locked around her waist. Her heart felt as though it would lodge permanently in her throat.
An ashen gentleman in a bottle-green frock jumped down and came skidding toward them. “My apologies, miss—” he cried.
“Go.” Lord Kerr needn’t shout; the low rasp of his baritone was the only threat needed.
The shaken rider muttered a fresh round of incoherent apologies and offered a clumsy bow. Instead of mounting up to gallop away, the gentleman took his horse by the reins and continued on foot, leading the animal slowly behind him.
While he made his slow—undeserved—march of shame, Andromena’s heart hammered against her ribs. After two near-death escapes, dread was the only suitable response. Desire the wickedest. And, naturally, since she was a McQuoid-Smith, her body chose the latter.
His presence was overwhelming: tall, muscular, and weathered by years at sea. Crucially, he made her feel entirely dainty. She stood nearly a head shorter than him, dwarfed by his size.
“Do you not have a damned brain in your head, Miss Smith?” Edgar raged.
It was hard to say at the moment.
“No answer necessary, Miss Smith. Clearly, you don’t.”
It was one thing for her to think it, but quite another for this lummox to say it.
“You rattle-pated gobble-cock. Surely you aren’t insisting this was my fault?”
The mocking set of his handsome mouth pulled a squeal from her.
“Release me at once!”
Not only did he not release her, but he also gave her a little shake. “Dashing directly into the path of a deuced runaway carriage and nearly getting your neck broken twice? Who should be blamed?”
Years of dealing with men-children prepared her for a moment such as this.
“You, my lord, have earned us a fresh audience,” she said calmly.
The viscount followed her stare to the shopkeepers with their noses pressed to their storefront windows.
Oh, Edgar was not compelled to release her. Why would a man who managed to chase away every passerby down New Bond Street ever be compelled to do anything?
A single black look from the devil brought blinds slamming and curtains snapping shut.
Edgar picked up precisely where he’d left off—a bullying brute.
“And for what would you risk your life?” Another shake—this one gentle. “Some goddamned frippery?
Andromena favored him with a patronizing smile. “It is more than a bag, my lord.”
He stared at her and waited for her to elucidate. Naturally, she didn’t.
Naturally, the big, proud man hated that even more.
Edgar snatched the precious bag that held her uncle’s even more precious artifact from her and tossed it to the side.
A flash of metal sailed through the air—
No!
Andromena leapt, but Edgar held her back.
London fell away. Even big-shouldered, big-tempered Edgar Hollis, Viscount Kerr, managed to fall away.
For there, the once clear Ditcham of Alexander the Great sailed into the drain.
No. No. No. No!
She cried out. “Let me go this instant!”
He held her tighter.
Andromena planted the toe of her heeled boot into his shin and only hurt herself. Tears smarted behind her lashes.
He released her quickly, no doubt knowing she’d go spiraling back, which she did—and then he caught her for a third time.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she inclined her head. “As much as your concern touches me, my lord, you needn’t be distressed on my behalf.”
“I don’t get distressed.” Not over you.
She didn’t know if his horrid temper put those unspoken words there, or if she felt so small she made them up herself, but they were there regardless.
Andromena dropped her hands on her hips. “If you are so annoyed, then next time don’t come to my aid.”
And she didn’t realize how badly she wanted him to deny she was a burden.
How desperately she wanted him to say she could come to him for help should she need it, so then she would have someone to confide in.
A man who inspired terror in men of all stations and backgrounds to stand for her against the one determined to hurt her.
But he said nothing.
And his silence didn’t just sting; it cut to the core.
Everything did.
Her chest, arms, and legs from where his body had broken her fall. Her pride, most of all. Her…reputation.
A fresh watery sheen blurred her vision.
“Tears, next?” he scoffed. “Over some silly sack?”
Andromena bit her lip to keep it from trembling and started for her reticule. “It is not silly, and it is not a sack.” Nor did the bag in question account for her misery.
She did not want to cry. No, she did. She just didn’t want to do it here in front of Edgar. Maybe Edgar of old. Not this new, mean version of him.
Andromena collected her bag.
She didn’t remember standing.
She didn’t remember saying anything more to Edgar; thought he might have called out to her, after her, but that didn’t make sense; he hated her as much as she hated him.
She didn’t know how she got round to returning to her carriage and climbing inside to join her maid.
Only that she did.
And when she did, she had nothing but a silent carriage ride back to think about the trouble she had gotten herself into.