To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars 6)

And anger because a genteel young lady had been accosted in his own home. Specifically this young lady, who was Katharine’s friend and therefore deserved his protection.

Deering was clearly angry also; in fact, he was in a fury. “You … will regret this … you damned witch!” he panted, still bent over.

“The only thing I regret is thinking you were honorable enough to let me plead my case! I was fully prepared to purchase my horse back, not sell myself to you!”

She was panting as much as her suffering adversary, but her breathlessness stemmed from outrage instead of pain. Ash could practically see sparks flashing from her eyes. When she balled her fists as if she might strike a blow at the viscount’s sneering face, Ash decided it was time to intervene.

“It is time you took your leave, Deering,” he declared, striding across the terrace toward them.

At his sudden appearance, Miss Collyer gave a start, while the nobleman straightened painfully.

“This is none of your affair, Beaufort,” Deering snapped.

“It is very much my affair. You assaulted one of my guests.”

“I assaulted her?” he sputtered. “That she-devil was the one who assaulted me!”

Ash bit back a smile. “I would not advertise that fact if I were you, Rupert. You will only invite scorn and make yourself a target for the cartoonists. Do you need assistance calling for your carriage?”

“Bloody hell … no, I can summon my own damned carriage.”

“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 man of my rank, 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—black bombazine.

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. 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.”