“Deerhurst... Explain yourself.”
*
Deerhurst nearly sputteredat the unexpected command coming from the woman before him.
Explainhimself?
By Jove, she better explainherself.
He still cursed the bloody bastard that had knocked him to the ground. And then when he’d shot to his feet, he’d tripped over his own damn boots. Seven seconds. Seven deuced seconds and she’d slipped through his fingers.
A terrifying prospect.
Not only had she disappeared from his side, it had felt like a lifetime as he frantically searched the dance floor for her. Never in a thousand years had he imagined he’d find her dancing—dancing!—with one of the bloody rancorous devils that had separated them. Fury had overtaken him almost instantly.
Rule number one and two—ashes.
Rule number three—dust.
He’d all but fought his way through the dancers on the floor, which had turned into something of a circus, those men testing every last ounce of his patience, only to then catch a glimpse of Phaedra drinking from a cup before he lost them again.
Rule number four—vapor.
But anger over those rules fell far short of the feeling that followed. Deerhurst’s chest still burned at the sight of her being carried off by another man—one second away from disappearing from his sight completely. Perhaps even forever. He had wanted to slap his own face in the hope that he’d been hallucinating, but no, the heat in his chest had spread through his body, touching every nerve he possessed—down to the very pit of his soul.
But he couldn’t—didn’t—blame her. He should have been quicker to remove her from the party. He should have held on tighter and not allowed them to be separated.
So, yes, hedidneed to explain himself. He had brought her here. He had been caught off guard. He had let those bastards separate them.
But none of that stifled the fire in his heart. “What the bloody hell happened? Why didn’t you run away?”
“I tried...”
“Christ,” he dragged a hand through his hair. “Do you know what could have happened to you tonight?” The rage that tore through him at the image that question evoked ought to have shaken the heavens. Though in the back of his mind, he realized her actions didn’t fit. Whywouldshe allow a stranger to carry her off? The woman he knew would have fought tooth and nail to break free and escape.
Deerhurst inhaled three long breaths in order to reign in his temper. By the third, she leaned forward and gave him such a pitiful look, Deerhurst had to blink twice.
“Are you all right? You seem a bit out of sorts. Did I do something wrong? I tried to follow your rules.” She tugged at her cloak. “It’s so hot.”
Bloody hell.
“What are you doing?” Deerhurst demanded when she reached down and removed her slippers and lifted her skirts. “Are you undressing? You cannot undress.”
“Aren’t you hot? I’m so hot.”
He cursed. “Phaedra.” What the hell was wrong with her? And... “Why are you sitting that way?”
She was pulling her skirts up, showing off a pair of beautiful legs, but her slouching position had her falling over repeatedly.
He stilled.
If he didn’t know any better...
“Phaedra,” Deerhurst asked urgently, shifting to the edge of his seat. He grabbed her hands, stopping her from raising her skirts to her knees. “What was in the cup I saw you drink from?”
“The cup?” Her brows knit together before her eyes lit up. “Oh, that ugly goblet? Wine. Apparently the best wine in the country. Imported from Italy.”
“So you drank it?” Deerhurst let out another oath, this one fouler than the last. “Did you forget my rules so easily then?”
