Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,34

up in a group she was in, he would be polite and cool. He would not under any circumstance whatsoever touch her.

And yet…

He’d failed to consider what he’d do if he needed to protect her. He’d not considered to what lengths he might go, rules he might break. But as he approached Lilias and the man who dared to take such a liberty as to brush her cheek and place his hand too low on her back, Nash understood with utter clarity to what lengths he would go—any. And he knew what rules he would break: every damn one of them. If he were a king, Lilias would be his kingdom, and he’d do whatever it took to protect her. But he had to do it without breaking his vow to Owen. If he did, he would not survive the guilt. If he did, his heart would be just as black as his mother acted like it was. He would be officially unredeemable.

“Kilgore, I’m Greybourne. Pleasure to meet you,” he said by way of greeting as he sidled up next to them and stuck his foot in front of the man, forcing him to come to a halt.

“Greybourne, what are you doing?” Lilias demanded.

What the devil could he say?

“Blackwood needs you.” It was the one thing he knew for certain would get Lilias to follow him and leave this man behind.

“Is he all right?” she asked, already breaking away from Kilgore and moving toward Nash. Concern was etched on her face.

“Yes, yes,” he replied, taking her by the elbow to get her away from Kilgore, whom he shot a warning look, one that he hoped relayed that he would gut the man if he did not stay away. “I, well, let’s just go find him to see what he wants,” he said, not waiting for her to agree.

He gripped her gently, amazed that an elbow could be so enticing. His body was throbbing with awareness of his fingers on her warm skin. It was a good thing he’d never get the chance to touch her anywhere else. He’d likely devour her with how much he wanted her. He should release her now, but it would be just like Lilias to dash away from him.

He scanned the crowded ballroom looking for Owen but still saw him nowhere. Bloody typical. What should he do now? A glance over his shoulder showed that louse Kilgore stalking them. Nash increased his pace, propelling Lilias before him through outraged dancers and matronly mothers standing at the edge of the dance floor, and onward until they were through the terrace doors and outside in the crisp night air under the bright twinkling stars Lilias had once promised to teach him about. And they were alone. He would not look at her. He would think of a brilliant lie to compel her to stay here while he went to fetch Owen and ordered the imbecile to offer his hand to Lilias this very night.

Nash’s feet didn’t move, but his gaze did, right to her full lips and then upward, torturously slowly, until it felt like he stood in Hell instead of outside on a cool winter night. He wanted to kiss her. His gut told him he’d never want anything more. He wanted to feel her lips on his one more time. This was definitely hell, and he was the proper imbecile, not Owen. He’d led her out here into the fiery pit of temptation.

“Nash?” She looked at him questioningly in the achingly beautiful, frank way only she possessed. “Why are we out here? I thought we were going to find Owen.”

“We are.” His brain felt slowed by her. She made time stand still. If only she could reverse it right back to the day he’d betrayed Thomas.

“You are not moving,” she pointed out. Then she gasped.

Why was she gasping? Her warm breath fanned his face, and he stilled, cold fear going straight through him. He’d leaned his head down close to hers. So very close. Nearly face-to-face, a wicked hairsbreadth. He could not control his own body when it came to her. No. That was wrong. He could.

“Stay here,” he choked out but still didn’t move.

The questioning look on her face became more pronounced, and then her lips parted as if she were considering something. Possibly him? Possibly his intentions?

Let her move away.

But she seemed to press closer, or maybe his feverish brain imagined it. Good Christ. It didn’t matter. Seven years of lust and yearning