spine and the jittery aftermath of over-tried temper in his brain. At the same time, exhilaration fizzed like champagne in his veins.
“I must thank you,” she went on, eying him with some trepidation. “And I would, if I did not have the strangest feeling that, whatever you may have done in the heat of the moment, it was for reasons of your own.”
He reached her then. Catching her forearms in his strong hands, he dragged her nearer. Giving her a slight shake, he said through gritted teeth, “Lady, you need a keeper.”
“Because I wouldn’t sit and wring my hands while Satan was hunted down like—like vermin?” she said with unsteady defiance. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You could have been killed. You could have been caught between the dogs and that great damned cat and slashed to ribbons.”
She flung her head back. “But I wasn’t. And now Satan is safe, and that’s all that matters.”
“Satan may be safe, but I’ll be damned if you are,” he answered, his grasp tightening.
“My only danger—” she began, and then stopped. She glanced at his hands on her arms, stared up into his set face while her eyes widened in wonderment. In abrupt concern, she said, “You’re shaking.”
His gaze meshed with hers, sinking into the pools of her eyes until he felt as if he were drowning. She was right, he saw. It was a fine quivering that ran through his hands and arms and down to his toes. Clattering his teeth together, it threatened to loosen his grip on his temper.
He had felt something of the same thing after his first duel. Cool and calm while it was taking place, he had descended into rattled nerves when he had discovered it was over and he was alive and unharmed. It was a natural response to the keyed-up state necessary for facing death. Still, it had never troubled him again. Until now.
He loosened his grasp to rub his hands up and down along her arms. His voice husky, he said, “You’re trembling, too.”
“Am I? Oh, yes,” she agreed, as she was shaken by an especially strong rigor. “But you—” A tiny frown appeared between her brows and she reached to touch his face with quivering fingers. “You came rushing in to protect me; you risked your life, but are used to that. It was not yourself you were afraid for, I think.”
He made no reply; he could not while she brushed her cool fingertips along the plane of his cheek and traced the hard muscle in his jaw in delicate exploration. It was so very pleasant, so devastating in its offer of heart’s ease.
There was the amazement of discovery in her tone as she went on. “You don’t like death, do you? It gives you no pleasure. Rather, it offends you. You despise it.”
“Doesn’t everyone,” he answered in ragged tones.
She shook her head. “Some are terrified of it, some are fascinated, some indifferent and others accepting. Few fight it as you did.”
This was cutting too close to the bone. Releasing her abruptly, he stepped back. “The mare,” he said, clutching at the first thing that came to mind for a distraction. “I had better see after her. Will Satan follow if I return you home now?”
“Yes—yes, I’m sure he will.” She still searched his face as if there were some secret hidden beneath its flesh and bones.
“Come, then,” he said, holding out his arm while he turned his face away from her.
She hesitated a moment longer, but accepted the support he offered at last and allowed him to lead her back to the buggy.
The big cat followed like a faithful dog, gliding after them through the edge of the woods, keeping pace until they reached the house once more. Satan disappeared, however, when they stopped on the front drive.
The eyes of the butler who opened the door to them widened as he saw their disheveled state. Too well trained to comment, he directed them to the salon in answer to Lucien’s request for Madame Decoulet .
Anne-Marie’s stepmother lacked that discretion. Rising up out of her chair as they
“I must thank you,” she went on, eying him with some trepidation. “And I would, if I did not have the strangest feeling that, whatever you may have done in the heat of the moment, it was for reasons of your own.”
He reached her then. Catching her forearms in his strong hands, he dragged her nearer. Giving her a slight shake, he said through gritted teeth, “Lady, you need a keeper.”
“Because I wouldn’t sit and wring my hands while Satan was hunted down like—like vermin?” she said with unsteady defiance. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You could have been killed. You could have been caught between the dogs and that great damned cat and slashed to ribbons.”
She flung her head back. “But I wasn’t. And now Satan is safe, and that’s all that matters.”
“Satan may be safe, but I’ll be damned if you are,” he answered, his grasp tightening.
“My only danger—” she began, and then stopped. She glanced at his hands on her arms, stared up into his set face while her eyes widened in wonderment. In abrupt concern, she said, “You’re shaking.”
His gaze meshed with hers, sinking into the pools of her eyes until he felt as if he were drowning. She was right, he saw. It was a fine quivering that ran through his hands and arms and down to his toes. Clattering his teeth together, it threatened to loosen his grip on his temper.
He had felt something of the same thing after his first duel. Cool and calm while it was taking place, he had descended into rattled nerves when he had discovered it was over and he was alive and unharmed. It was a natural response to the keyed-up state necessary for facing death. Still, it had never troubled him again. Until now.
He loosened his grasp to rub his hands up and down along her arms. His voice husky, he said, “You’re trembling, too.”
“Am I? Oh, yes,” she agreed, as she was shaken by an especially strong rigor. “But you—” A tiny frown appeared between her brows and she reached to touch his face with quivering fingers. “You came rushing in to protect me; you risked your life, but are used to that. It was not yourself you were afraid for, I think.”
He made no reply; he could not while she brushed her cool fingertips along the plane of his cheek and traced the hard muscle in his jaw in delicate exploration. It was so very pleasant, so devastating in its offer of heart’s ease.
There was the amazement of discovery in her tone as she went on. “You don’t like death, do you? It gives you no pleasure. Rather, it offends you. You despise it.”
“Doesn’t everyone,” he answered in ragged tones.
She shook her head. “Some are terrified of it, some are fascinated, some indifferent and others accepting. Few fight it as you did.”
This was cutting too close to the bone. Releasing her abruptly, he stepped back. “The mare,” he said, clutching at the first thing that came to mind for a distraction. “I had better see after her. Will Satan follow if I return you home now?”
“Yes—yes, I’m sure he will.” She still searched his face as if there were some secret hidden beneath its flesh and bones.
“Come, then,” he said, holding out his arm while he turned his face away from her.
She hesitated a moment longer, but accepted the support he offered at last and allowed him to lead her back to the buggy.
The big cat followed like a faithful dog, gliding after them through the edge of the woods, keeping pace until they reached the house once more. Satan disappeared, however, when they stopped on the front drive.
The eyes of the butler who opened the door to them widened as he saw their disheveled state. Too well trained to comment, he directed them to the salon in answer to Lucien’s request for Madame Decoulet .
Anne-Marie’s stepmother lacked that discretion. Rising up out of her chair as they
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