The Reluctant Countess by Wendy Vella Page B

tone was deeper, words clipped, but he was still surprised when Sophie lowered both her arms toward him. Before she had a chance to withdraw them, he had swung her off the ledge to safety and onto the balcony below. Nimbly, he followed.
    For Sophie, reaching the safety of solid ground presented a double-edged sword. She was relieved to be safe, yet uncertain what the earl would do now. Straightening her skirts, she made a fuss of brushing off any dirt and repinning her hair. Finally, she could find nothing else to repair and was forced to lift her eyes. She met the intensity of his gaze and took several steps back until her bottom collided with the railing.
    Manners dictated she thank him. She would do that and leave … quickly. “Thank you, my lord, f-for you … your assistance.”
    Patrick had waited patiently while she arranged her skirts and tidied her hair. He had even enjoyed the small graceful movements. Now, however, he wanted answers. Taking the two steps necessary to bring her closer, he caught and held her glance.
    “Why were you on that ledge, Sophie?”
    Oh lord, he was close; she could smell his scent, the spicy essence that was his alone. She could also vividly remember the touch of his lips and how his hands had felt on her bottom, and … 
Oh this was not good, not good at all
. She had nowhere to run, she was trapped. Although he was not touching her, she could not move or breathe. Where was the armor she could usually pull around herself when someone or something threatened her?
    “Please, my lord, I wish to g-go back into the ballroom; Lady Carstairs will have missed me.”
    “When you have answered my questions, madam, I will let you return.”
    “You have no right t-to hold me here.”
    “Answer the question, Sophie,” Patrick said gruffly, because he was running out of patience, and being this close to her was making his body ache. Her subtle scent was teasing him, the hint of roses casting a spell over his senses.
    “I … I gave you no leave to speak so freely, my lord.”
    He did not speak, just stood there all dark and dangerous, looking at her with those deep, fathomless eyes.
    “I … the ladies …,” Sophie blurted out, and then clamped her lip firmly between her teeth to stop any further outpouring of words.
    “The ladies what?” Patrick prompted, placing both hands on the balcony railing, effectively caging her inside his arms.
    “Please,” Sophie begged, her words almost a sob, “let me go.”
    “The ladies what?”
    Sophie knew she would have to speak or risk staying here all evening. She could see the determination in his eyes; he would hold her here until dawn if necessary. Why could she not just chill him into silence like she had done with others? Why was he the man who could reduce her to a senseless idiot?
    “They were saying things I did not want to hear.” Sophie kept her eyes focused on his lips. She would tell him what he wanted and then she would leave.
    “And you care what they say?” God, she was sweet. She was nibbling her bottom lip and the gesture nearly dropped him to his knees.
    “Y-yes.”
    This vulnerable countess was at such odds with the façade she usually presented him that he felt his defenses slip further. Damn, she was a confusing bundle of womanhood.
    “Why?” he questioned looking at her mouth. She had tortured her bottom lip until it was full and rosy.
    “They do not like me.”
    “Did they threaten you?” Patrick questioned, relieved as he watched her shake her head. “Then why did you end up on that ledge?”
    Sophie felt his breath brush her lips.
    “I … I did not want to face them and listen to their vicious words. They often insult L-Letty as well and I will not tolerate that.”
    “Why do you care what they say?” Patrick leaned further forward to breathe in her soft scent, the essence of Sophie.
    “I … I.” Sophie swallowed as his lips brushed her hair. “I usually do not care, but tonight I did not