“You may not.” That didn’t require thought.
He made a strangled sound. “Look here, you’re out here, alone with me, in the gardens, and you were the one who wanted to come into the gazebo—you chose to come here.”
“Hmm.” She looked the other way, narrowing her eyes in an effort to pierce the shifting shadows.
“See here.” Gordon was growing belligerent. “The least you can do is pay attention to me.”
Why?“Tell me about your horses.” Gentlemen always wanted to talk about their horses.
“I already have! I use hired hacks—I mentioned that before.”
Now, he sounded petulant.
She squinted. Was that movement on the path?
“Look, I know we haven’t had time to learn much about each other, but I’m sincere when I say”—Gordon’s large hands closed about Melissa’s shoulders, and he forcibly turned her to face him—“that—Ow!”
She’d stamped hard on his foot; as she was wearing hard-soled dance shoes, that had hurt enough to be effective. Her features set, she shoved his hands off her shoulders, stepped into him, and thrust a warning finger in his face. “Don’t you ever—ever—presume to lay hands on me or any other young lady!”
Her nerves were stretched taut, her senses skittish, her wits fragmented. The compulsion to keep her eyes trained on the path was a physical thing—and now, she had to deal with Gordon!
“Presume?” He limped a little as he backed away. “But why did you come out here with me if not to”—he gestured between them—“further our acquaintance?”
Her temper ignited. “I have no interest whatsoever in furthering my acquaintance with you! I came outside—thinking to claim your protection as a gentleman—because I needed to get out of the ballroom and get some fresh air!”
His expression turned ugly. “Well, damn it, we’re here now.” He lunged for her.
She hadn’t expected that, but her brother, Christopher, was only a year younger than she, and years of wrestling with him had taught her a few tricks.
Slamming her elbow into Gordon’s sternum gave him pause and stopped him from hauling her completely into his arms. She kept her head back so that he couldn’t kiss her, narrowed her eyes and trapped his gaze, and in a tone vibrating with fury, succinctly stated, “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
He froze, but didn’t immediately obey.
She smiled chillingly. “If you don’t—if you do not instantly behave in an appropriately gentlemanly manner—on my return to the ballroom, the first people I will speak with are your mother, my mother, my grandmother, and my godmother, Lady Connaught. I will describe your puerile behavior in detail. I’m reasonably certain you will then find that you are persona non grata in all the best ballrooms for the rest of the Season at least—and just think of how your peers will laugh when that news gets around.”
He paled. Then his grip eased, and his expression aggrieved and somewhat puzzled, he released her and stepped back.
“An excellent decision.” The minor triumph was a welcome distraction from her earlier panic.
Frowning, he complained, “You’re supposed to be biddable.”
Incredulous, she all but spluttered, “Biddable?Who told you that?”
“You’re always quiet. Quiet girls do what they’re told, don’t they?”
She stared at him. “Gordon, you’re delusional. For your information, quiet often means stubborn and, most likely, thinking of other things. You’ve met my mother and my grandmother. In what universe would I bebiddable?” Her voice had risen. For some reason, she found the suggestion deeply insulting.
Even in the poor light, she saw Gordon blush. “Well,” he said, jaw setting, “we’ll just have to manage this regardless.”
To her surprise, he started determinedly toward her. But then his gaze went past her, and he halted. All color drained from his face. “Carsely.” Shock wreathed Gordon’s features. “What are you doing in London?”
“At this moment, I’m saving Miss North from you.”
Melissa closed her eyes and bit back an oath; thanks to Gordon, she’d taken her eyes off the path. Julian’s voice was deeper, more resonant, than she remembered it; the sound strummed across her taut nerves and set them twanging. Her awareness and every one of her senses flared.
Gordon blustered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She blinked, then stepped sideways and turned. Julian was standing, loose-limbed and taller than she remembered him, just inside the gazebo. She hadn’t heard him approach and climb the steps; the sight of him sent frissons dancing over her skin and down her spine.
