The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

Silence reigned for a moment, then Charles’s expression changed and he straightened away from the door.

It opened. Tristan stood framed in the doorway.

His gaze locked on Leonora, then flicked to Charles and Deverell. “He’s all yours.” Reaching out, he took Leonora’s arm, pushing her down the corridor. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment?”

A rhetorical question; Charles and Deverell were already slipping past him into the library.

Leonora felt her heart thudding; it still hadn’t slowed. Swiftly she scanned Tristan, all of him she could see as he drew her down the corridor. His face was set and definitely grim. “Did he hurt you?”

She could barely keep the panic from her voice. Daggers could be deadly.

He flicked her a narrow-eyed glance; if anything his jaw set harder. “Of course not.”

He sounded insulted. She frowned at him. “Are you all right?”

His eyes flared. “No!”

They’d reached the front hall; Tristan threw open the morning room door and propelled her in. He followed on her heels, all but slamming the door. “Now! Just refresh my memory—what was it I warned you—only yesterday, I seem to recall—never, ever to do?”

She blinked, met his barely restrained fury with her usual steady gaze. “You told me never to go into danger.”

“Don’t. Go. Into. Danger.” He stepped closer, deliberately intimidating. “Precisely. So”—his chest swelled as he dragged in a desperate breath, felt the reins of his temper slither free regardless—“what the devil did you think you were doing by following us next door?”

He didn’t raise his voice, rather, he lowered it. Infused every last ounce of power into his diction so the words cracked like a whip. Stung like one, too.

“I—”

“If that’s an example of how you intend obeying me in future, of how you intend going on, despite my clear warning, I take leave to tell you that it won’t do!” He ran a hand through his hair.

“If—”

“God! I aged a decade and more when Deverell told me he’d seen you out there. And then we had to subdue Mountford’s cronies before we could get at the locks, and they were ancient and stiff! I can’t remember feeling so damned desperate in my life!”

“I under—”

“No, you don’t!” He pinned her with a glare. “And don’t think this means we’re not going to get married, because we are—that’s final!”

He emphasized how final with a swift motion of his hand. “But as you can’t be trusted to pay attention, to behave with a modicum of common sense—to exercise those wits God definitely gave you and spare me this torment—be damned if I don’t have a bloody tower built at Mallingham and lock you in it!”

He stopped to drag in a breath, noticed her eyes were glittering strangely. Warningly.

“If you’re quite finished?” Her tone was considerably more glacial than his.

When he didn’t immediately respond, she went on, “For your information, you have what happened here this evening entirely wrong.” She lifted her chin, met his gaze defiantly. “I didn’t go into danger—not at all!” Her eyes snapped; she held up a finger to stop him from erupting—interrupting.

“What happened was this. I followed you and Charles and Deverell—three gentlemen of not inconsiderable experience and abilities—into a house we all believed held only two far less able men.” Her eyes bored into his, defying him to contradict her. “We all believed there was no great danger. As it happened, fate took a hand, and the situation became unexpectedly dangerous.

“However!” She fixed him with a look as furious as any of his had been. “What you are doggedly failing to see in all this is what to me is the most crucial point!” She flung her hands outward. “I trusted you!”

She turned, paced, then with an angry swish faced him and drilled a finger into his chest. “I trusted you to get yourself free and come after me and rescue me—and you did. I trusted you to save me, and yes, you turned up and dealt with Mountford. In typical blinkered male fashion, you’re refusing to see this!”

He caught her finger. She locked her eyes on his. Her chin set. “I trusted in you, and you didn’t fail me. I got it—we got it—right.”

She held his gaze; a faint sheen invested her blue eyes. “I have a warning for you,” she said, her voice low. “Don’t. Spoil. It.”

If he’d learned anything in his long career, it was that, in certain circumstances, retreat was the wisest option.

“Oh.” He searched her eyes, then nodded and released her hand. “I see. I didn’t realize.”