To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,98
turned to Lord Ceastre. ‘My lord—’ she began, but then a harsh voice interrupted her.
‘There you are your lordship!’
Emilia and Alice cried out as the dreadful man shoved past them to confront the earl.
Something flashed in the ruffian’s hand—a knife?
Emilia screamed.
***
The knife flashed again as the man threw his arm up. Max caught his wrist, preventing him from stabbing back down. With a twist Max yanked his attacker’s arm forward, trapping the wrist under his own arm. He dug his fingers into the villain’s wrist, forcing him to release the weapon. It fell to the ground and Max kicked it away.
The man struggled free and rounded on Max, his fist connecting with Max’s ear, making Max’s head ring. Max clutched the lout’s thick collar, struggling with him. The sound of scraping rocks and dirt filled the night, punctuated by Miss Whitmore’s cries of distress.
A thwack sounded and the man wheeled away from Max. Miss Whitmore had hit him in the head with her shoe. The tough spun round and lunged at her wildly. Enraged, Max flew at him, grabbing his sleeve. He yanked hard as Miss Whitmore scurried out of reach.
Throwing all of his weight into his other arm, Max swung and landed a heavy blow against the man’s chin. The ruffian collapsed, senseless.
His breath coming in gasps, Max stood over his opponent, distrustful of the man’s apparent loss of consciousness. The brute, however, remained still.
Max looked up, finding Miss Whitmore in the dim allée beyond, her companion Miss Bromley clinging to her.
‘Are you unharmed?’ he asked.
‘I am well,’ Miss Whitmore called back. ‘That—that detestable man, is he...?’
‘Insensible,’ Max replied. ‘We shall have to send for a constable, I daresay.’
Several grooms were fast approaching, and Max gestured to them.
‘We must bind this fellow’s arms, if you please,’ he said to them. They quickly closed the distance and two of them set about dragging the ruffian with them to the stables.
Miss Whitmore and Miss Bromley were slipping away down the allée. Max hurried after them, falling in step beside Miss Whitmore.
‘Are you certain you were not injured in that scrape?’ he asked anxiously.
She turned her lovely eyes, dark as the night sky above, to look at him, and she smiled. ‘I thank you for your concern, Lord Ceastre, but I am unhurt. And most happy to see that you are also safe.’
Max offered her his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you to the ball. You must be exhausted after everything that has transpired. Shall I call for a carriage to bring you home?’
Miss Whitmore hesitated, and then took his arm. Her eyes moved from his face up to the lighted windows of the house. He could not read her expression.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Now that all has been put to rights at Ceastre, I suppose’tis time I left.’
The sadness in her tone gave him a pang and he stopped walking. Miss Bromley’s gait hitched, and then she shuffled on quickly.
Max guided Miss Whitmore to turn and face him.
‘Miss Whitmore,’ he said, staring into her eyes. ‘I am indebted to you...such a debt as one can never repay.’
The lady gazed up at him, a small smile curving her lips. ‘‘Twas my honour to assist you in clearing your name, Lord Ceastre,’ she said. ‘No matter what the future holds for me now, I know I have done a good deed, and I shall cling to that knowledge, come what may.’
How he longed to kiss that smile. To hold her tightly in his arms and promise her no harm would ever come to her—that he would make her future full of joy and promise, not ominous dread.
‘Miss Whitmore...’
‘I suppose this is goodbye, however,’ she said softly. ‘Our reason for seeing each other was your scheme. It is concluded now, and we have no call to continue our acquaintance. You are the earl, and I, a simple gentleman’s daughter...tainted by my dealings with Mr. Dassel.’
Max caught his breath on the ache her words sent through his heart.
‘You needn’t concern yourself,’ she continued. ‘I have no expectation of you.’
‘Miss Whitmore, you mustn’t speak so,’ Max said. ‘Of course I must see that you are taken care of—’
‘Impossible, Lord Ceastre—’
‘Nonsense,’ Max said. ‘I shall see to your estate—your lands—’
Miss Whitmore lowered her eyes and turned away. ‘I simply could not allow you, my lord—’
‘And music lessons,’ Max said, panic making him babble. ‘I should desire lessons on the pianoforte—’
Miss Whitmore gave a bell-like laugh. ‘You are too sweet,’ she said, her eyes merry.