“Do you not see?” she asked, her breath hitching with her cries. “Your name will be in the scandal sheets by tomorrow. You can count on that. Did you not see his vindictiveness? It was plain before us as if he practically spelled it out with his own body. He will come after us both. Oh, this is too awful.”
Dorothy turned on the spot, her hands pulling at her wild hair so much that it was coming out of its updo completely, in danger of falling around her shoulders.
“Dorothy, calm yourself.” Stephen moved toward her, trying to catch her eye as she paced the room. He was wary of reaching out and touching her, in case she recoiled from him. “He will not dare do it. That man cares for his own reputation and his mother’s opinion. He will do anything to avoid the news of his bankruptcy appearing in the papers, you can count on that.”
“I cannot count on anything.” She whipped her head around to face him. “Do you not see what an enemy you made out of him? By cheating him out of the victory he so wanted, he will come after us both. Oh, God, this is awful.”
“You cannot seriously tell me you were content with marrying him?”
“Of course not!” she snapped, flinging her hands in the air. “But what other choice was there? Your name…” Her breath hitched in her throat, and she pressed a palm to her chest as it rose and fell erratically . “Your name will be in tatters by the time he is done with it.”
“I do not care.”
“Sure, you don’t,” she said with sarcasm. “Do you know, I do not think a reputation has mattered to anyone less than it does to you?”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm!”
“What else am I supposed to say?” she asked wildly. “This is bad, Stephen. Bad, indeed.” She gasped, and more tears came.
Stephen couldn’t hold himself back. He threw caution to the wind, preparing himself for the fact that she might throw him off. He placed his hands softly on her cheeks and dried her tears. She froze at his touch, her green eyes wet and staring up at him.
“Nothing will happen,” he whispered, his voice deep. “I will make sure of that.”
“You cannot know that.”
“Dorothy, you are safe from him.”
“And you?” she asked, still blinking madly.
I do not care what he does to me now.
Yet, Stephen was leaning toward her again. He was now recognizing a habit of wanting to express himself to Dorothy with a kiss instead of his words. He bent toward her, noting that she closed her eyes, too. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket.
“This is mad,” she whispered when his lips were just an inch from hers.
“Do not think of that now.”
He was about to kiss her, their lips brushing together, when the door swung open again.
The loud sound of the door creaking and hitting the wall was followed by a gasp. Dorothy jumped back before Stephen could. He angled his head around as he realized what a state they were in.
His hands on her cheeks, their heads bent together, and her palms on his jacket. What they had been about to do couldn’t be denied, especially not to the three people who now stood in the doorway, staring back at them.
Lady Charlotte and Lady Frederica stood slightly back in the corridor. Lady Frederica had her hand over her mouth, and Lady Charlotte’s jaw was slack, her eyes almost glacial, for they were so wide.
Yet, Stephen couldn’t concentrate on any of them for long. He was staring at the man who stood in front of them instead.
Allan gazed at the pair of them, his eyes flitting between them so fast, they darted about like bees. “Care to explain, Stephen?” he asked, his tone so tight, it was unrecognizable to Stephen.
Stephen released Dorothy.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Stephen struggled to decide what to do or what to say. His friend, the dearest and closest thing he had to a brother in the world, was glaring at him as if he didn’t know him.
Allan suddenly reminded Stephen of Rutherford, the late Marquess of Padleigh. He may have been a man capable of laughter, but he was capable of a good glare when he needed it, and at this moment, Stephen was withering under the power of his glare.
“Dorothy,” Allan called, his arm outstretched.
