‘Lady Sarah!’
The Earl’s daughter started. ‘Y-yes, my lord?’
‘If you have come to assist us, be so good as to fan Miss Lovejoy’s face. She appears to have been overcome by the heat.’
Lady Sarah moved forward, but thrust her fan into Jane’s hand. With a wry flick of her eyebrows at Dominic, Jane wafted the fan, the breeze lifting the curls on Liberty’s forehead. Her colour was already less hectic, but Dominic’s hand still twitched with the urge to touch her forehead and check her temperature. He curled his fingers into his palm and stepped back, yet he could not tear his gaze from her luscious figure. The fabric of her gown—the colour of spring leaves—moulded softly to every curve and hollow, revealing far more than it should: her rounded thighs; the soft swell of her belly; the narrow waist above generous hips; and above that...good Lord...those gorgeous, bountiful breasts...
Dominic quickly shifted his gaze to Liberty’s face, uncomfortably aware of both Lady Sarah and Lady Amelia watching him closely.
Liberty’s lashes fluttered and her lids slowly lifted to reveal two dazed eyes that gazed in confusion into his before flying open in horror. She struggled to sit and Dominic instinctively pressed her back down. Her skin was like warm silk, smooth and baby soft and he longed to caress...to explore...to taste... The hairs on his arms stirred as his nerve endings tingled and saliva flooded his mouth. Good God...how he wanted to—he buried that thought before it could surface.
‘Lie still!’
She collapsed back at his barked command, eyes wide, and he snatched his hands away.
‘Who should I request to attend to you, Miss Lovejoy?’
‘Mrs Mount.’ Their eyes met and his heart thudded in his chest as his throat constricted. ‘She is our chaperon. Thank you.’
She half-raised her hand and he began to reach for it before recalling their surroundings. Their witnesses.
‘My Lord Avon, you may safely leave Miss Lovejoy in our care.’ Lady Amelia inserted herself gracefully between Dominic and the sofa. ‘This is no place for a gentleman.’
Our care?
He controlled his snort of derision—he’d seen precious little care from either Amelia or Sarah—but he knew she was right. This was no place for him and Liberty would be safe in Jane’s hands, he knew. Jane, still gently fanning, caught his eye and again flicked her brows at him, clearly sharing his cynical reaction.
‘I have hartshorn here.’ Lady Sarah, on his other side, reached into her reticule.
‘Good. Good,’ he said, retreating. ‘Make sure she remains lying down. I shall send a footman to alert Mrs Mount. Jane, is there anything else you need?’
Both Amelia and Sarah shot resentful glances at Jane. Mentally, he scratched their names from his list although he would still pay them some attention, if only to divert the gossips from identifying the three names that remained.
‘No, thank you,’ said Jane. ‘I am sure Miss Lovejoy will soon recover.’
Dominic strode for the door, every step between himself and all that temptation lifting a weight from his shoulders. He had purposely avoided her tonight. He had seen her across the room with a spare-framed woman in her mid-forties and he’d taken care to keep his distance—partly for propriety’s sake, when they had not, officially, been introduced, and partly through guilt because he still had not fulfilled his promise to speak to Alex. And the reason for that, he knew, was because his innate cautiousness was screaming at him to keep his distance from Liberty Lovejoy. But, try as he might, he had been unable to entirely banish her from his thoughts and he knew he must remedy his failure as soon as possible.
For the first time he wondered if she had seen him, too, and had purposely swooned to force him to catch her. He cast a look over his shoulder. Eyes like midnight-blue velvet followed his progress from the room. No. He did not believe her swoon was faked—she hadn’t even glanced his way as she stumbled blindly through the group that surrounded him and, if he was absolutely honest with himself, there had been half-a-dozen fellows closer to her than him, any one of whom could have caught her when she swooned.
Except... His jaw clenched as he reviewed his actions. He might not have consciously recognised her but, by the time she collapsed, his feet had already moved him to her side, putting him in the perfect position to catch her.
He paused outside the room, still thinking. His head began to throb. Good grief...he rubbed his temples. He hadn’t even known she existed three days ago, but she’d been on his mind ever since and now here he was—the instant he saw her again—playing the hero like an eager young pup in the throes of first love. He scowled as he scanned the landing. All his life he had avoided any behaviour that might give rise to gossip or speculation. He had always been far too conscious of his position as his father’s heir and the expectations he placed on himself.
He beckoned to the same footman he had spoken to before.
‘Please find Mrs Mount and ask her to attend Miss Lovejoy in the parlour at her earliest convenience.’
He was damned if he’d take the message himself—the more distance he kept between himself and the Lovejoys the better.
The sooner I make good my promise and speak to Alex about her dratted brother, the better.
His enquiry as to Alex’s whereabouts had elicited not only the information that his younger brother had taken a set of rooms at Albany, St James’s, but also that he often frequented the Sans Pareil Theatre, on the Strand, in the company of a group of young noblemen, the new Earl of Wendover among them. He felt a twinge of envy at Alex’s ability to make friends so easily—a trait that had somehow always eluded Dominic.
He returned to the salon. He had no particular urge to rejoin his earlier companions, but he must—he could not allow the other guests’ last sight of him to be of him carrying a swooning female from the room. He made polite conversation for twenty minutes or so and, once he was confident enough people had noted his return, he took his leave.
Too restless to go home and prompted by the events of the evening, he headed for Sans Pareil in search of Alex, determined to discharge his promise to Liberty as soon as he possibly could. From the floor of the theatre he scanned the boxes, finally spotting his father’s close friend, Lord Stanton and his wife, Felicity, Dominic’s second cousin. He ran up the stairs and slid into a vacant seat behind them.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Felicity’s head whipped round and a huge smile lit her face. ‘Dominic! Of course. We’re delighted to see you. But you have missed the play, you know. There is only the farce left.’ Her eyes twinkled. She knew very well that most people preferred the farce to the serious drama, which was why the theatres always showed the farce last in the programme.
‘I’m not here to watch either—I’m looking for Alex. Have you seen him?’
Stanton leant forward, searching the pit below. He pointed. ‘There he is,’ he said, ‘with Wolfe and Wendover.’
Felicity also leant forward. ‘Wendover? Is that the new Earl? Oh, yes. I see—the man with the golden hair? I’ve never seen him before, although I have, of course, heard the gossip.’ She settled back into her seat. ‘Such a dreadful thing to happen—the previous Lord Wendover and his entire family perishing in that fire.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s frightening.’
Stanton took her hand. ‘Try not to think about it, Felicity Joy. You mustn’t upset yourself.’ Then he twisted in his seat to face Dominic and lowered his voice. ‘The entire house was gutted, I hear. It is beyond repair. Wendover will have to rebuild.’
Was that why Liberty was so anxious about money? The knowledge that the family seat would need to be completely rebuilt?
‘Have