A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

‘Discipline,’ he replied with a grin that was very close to a leer. ‘I have no doubt you keep our stiff-necked earl in line, what?’

She bridled at that. ‘Colonel, I—’

Somehow he had manoeuvred her into an alcove and when she stepped away from him she found her back against a wall. To her dismay she realised she was out of sight of the crowded room.

‘Oh, yes,’ he continued, ‘I would like to try a little of your discipline, Miss Endacott. A taste of your whip acro

ss my buttocks. Feel ’em.’ He moved closer, trapping her against the wall as he grabbed her hand and pulled it around him and on to his backside.

‘Let me go!’

‘All in good time.’ She turned her head as his mouth came towards her and she felt his lips against her cheek. ‘Just a little kiss first.’

Mary struggled to free herself, but he was too strong, his body pressing against her, holding her prisoner. He smelled of brandy and hair oil and some sweet, sickly perfume that made her retch. She felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing aside the silk gown while his wet mouth pressed kisses on her neck. She shuddered with revulsion. Why did no one come to her aid? There were dozens of people, she could hear them, laughing and talking. Surely one of them would step into the alcove? She tried to look past the colonel, but his body hid everything from her sight. He was pressing closer, his knee moving between her thighs.

Mary took a deep breath and was about to scream when Randall’s voice cut through the air like a whiplash.

‘What the devil do you think you are doing?’

She was free, she could breathe again. Bennington Ffog had been yanked away from her by Randall’s hand on his collar. The earl subjected him to a furious glare.

‘You had best apologise to the lady. Immediately.’

The icy fury in his tone made Mary wince. Her legs felt so weak that she dare not move away from the wall, but she managed to pull her gown back on to her shoulders with hands that trembled.

‘Now, now, Randall, be reasonable. If you will bring your—’

‘My what?’

The earl’s voice was dangerously quiet and the colonel backed away.

‘It, it appears I have made a mistake, then.’ The colonel ran his hands nervously over his body, straightening his uniform, his eyes never leaving Randall’s stony face. ‘I beg your pardon—’

‘To the lady, Bennington Ffog. I will not accept your apology, and if she will not, then I swear you will meet me for this.’

The colonel’s cheeks, flushed before, now turned beetroot. He swallowed, drew himself up and turned to Mary. She almost heard his heels click together as he bowed.

‘Madam, my sincere apologies. It seems I mistook the matter.’

Mary’s hands pressed against the wall as she looked at the two men before her. Randall’s blue eyes blazed. There was murder in his face. If she said the wrong thing now he would challenge Bennington Ffog to a duel and heaven knew what repercussions that would have.

‘I fear you have indulged in too much wine this evening, Colonel,’ she spoke coldly, relieved that her voice was not shaking as much as the rest of her. ‘I am willing to overlook your behaviour, this one time.’

His relief was almost comical, if Mary had felt at all like laughing.

‘You are very good.’ He bowed again.

‘She is,’ growled Randall. ‘And more forgiving than I would be. You had best leave now, sir, before I take you to task for your impudence.’

Without another word the colonel walked off. Mary could hear the laughing chatter in the main reception, but she and Randall were alone in the alcove, screened from the crowds, and the air was taut as a bow string.

‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked at last.

She shook her head, not daring yet to move away from the wall that supported her.

‘No. I am a little shocked. I did not expect—’

‘You should not have been subjected to such gross impertinence.’ The angry light in his eyes faded, replaced by concern. ‘You are very pale; shall I fetch you a glass of wine?’