Princess Charming (Legendary Lovers 1)

“Then pray do so. You are no longer welcome here.”

The viscount shot Ash a look of extreme dislike. “This is no way to treat a peer, Beaufort, ordering me to leave while taking that witch’s side.”

“Spare me your protests. You got exactly what you deserved. I would have hurt you myself if she had not.”

Deering’s expression only darkened. After another fierce glare at Miss Collyer, though, he limped off in the direction of the ballroom.

Alone on the terrace with her, Ash turned and found his gaze arrested by the enchanting picture she made. Maura stood with her fists still clenched, her cheeks flushed with anger, her bosom heaving softly. In the candle glow spilling from the ballroom windows, she looked fiery and beautiful, her honey-colored hair only a few shades lighter than the gold-embroidered amber silk gracing her tall, lithe figure.

He was not accustomed to seeing Miss Collyer so stylishly garbed. Her ball gown was an elegant confection, with short puffed sleeves and a low décolletage that offered meager coverage for the ripe swells of her breasts. Usually she wore plain muslin or kerseymere or—since her father’s unexpected death from heart failure two years ago—the black bombazine of mourning.

Her long white kid gloves shielded her arms from the cool night air, but she was still shaking, no doubt in the aftermath of rage rather than from the chill.

Seeing all that trembling intensity, Ash could imagine her in his bed, shuddering in the throes of passion.

Aware of the primal surge of lust streaking through him, he tamped down on his inappropriate urges at the same time he noticed that one sleeve of her gown had been pulled down to bare her pale white shoulder.

Stepping close to Maura, he straightened her sleeve, trying to make his helpful gesture appear casual and brotherly.

Her flush deepened, as if she suddenly recognized that he’d witnessed the entire event, including the viscount’s ignoble sexual advances.

When Ash finished repositioning her sleeve, she turned quickly toward the French doors. But he stayed her with a light touch on her gloved arm. “You should remain here for a moment. You cannot return to the ballroom looking so disheveled and distraught.”

“I am not distraught! I am furious.”

“Don’t quibble,” he said humorously. “It amounts to the same thing. You are breathing fire. You will frighten all my guests.”

She grimaced in frustration, but apparently agreed with him, for after a short hesitation, she went to stand at the balustrade, her gloved fingers clutching at the gray stone. “Why are you even out here, Lord Beaufort? You are supposed to be hosting your sister’s ball.”

Joining her at the railing, Ash answered honestly. “You roused my curiosity when you followed Deering here. I thought you might be having a liaison with your lover.”

“With Lord Deering?” She sounded appalled, disgusted. “I would sooner take a snake as a lover—not that I would ever take a lover of any kind,” she hastened to add. “Or that it would be your concern if I did.”

Ash let her intriguing denial go unremarked. “I realized your dislike of him when I overheard your conversation.”

“Did no one ever teach you that it is impolite to eavesdrop?” she muttered.

He smiled at her question. “Any number of people have tried to teach me polite manners, but I fear little of their instruction took hold. In your case, however, it was not rudeness that led me to eavesdrop.”

“No?”

“No. I relish a mystery, and I was suffering a near fatal case of ennui. When you slipped away, I was delighted that finally something interesting was happening this evening. And then I remained here on the terrace because I thought you might need my protection.”

She shot him an irritated glance. “I did not need your protection. I can defend myself.”

“Obviously,” Ash said with dry amusement. Her hazel eyes were still shooting daggers. “If looks could kill, Deering would be six feet underground by now. As it was, you temporarily unmanned him.”

“I wish it could have been permanent,” Maura said through gritted teeth.

Her agitation was still visible, and she seemed intent on shredding her kid gloves against the rough stone.

Just then, voices from the ballroom grew louder, wafting through the open doors behind them. Not wanting an audience, Ash reached out on impulse and peeled Miss Collyer’s fingers away from the balustrade.

“Come with me,” he ordered, catching her hand in his. Turning toward the terrace steps, he tugged her behind him.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, trying to pull back.

“Only down to the garden so you can cool off. You need time to recover your composure.”