When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden Page A
Authors: Elisa Braden
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Wallingham’s gloved hand squeeze her upper arm gently, as though willing her to remain calm. “Our rescuers are Lord Tannenbrook and Lord Atherbourne.”
As he moved to return the reins to Wallingham, James noted the man’s hat had flown off in the melee, exposing a full head of dark hair dusted with white at the temples. The hair reminded him of Hargrave, but the nose reminded him of Gregory, long and prominent with a slight hook at the end.
“Th-thank you both,” Lady Willoughby panted, her eyes darting frantically between them. “You saved our lives.” Obviously, the woman was still frightened out of her wits.
“Be at ease, my lady,” James replied, keeping his voice low and holding her unblinking gaze with his own. “All is well. The horses merely suffered a fright. They’ve calmed now.”
Her lips pressed together, and her eyes sheened for a moment before she blinked and nodded. Notably, her resistance to Wallingham’s soothing gave way, and her shoulders relaxed beneath the marquess’s protective arm.
When James and Lucien finally bid the pair good day and continued on their course along Rotten Row, James expected Luc to rib him about his habit of rescuing all and sundry. But Lucien said only, “Locating your heir suddenly seems a rather sensible thing to do.”
As they approached the barouche, now halted awkwardly in the center of the Row, James spotted one of its passengers standing in the rear-facing seat, leaning across one of her companions, her gloved hand holding the top of a dark-blue bonnet upon her black curls. The hat appeared to have white feathers on it. And beneath its brim were eyes as blue as twilight.
“Lord Tannenbrook,” she called breathlessly. “That was … astonishing.”
Her companion pushed at her hip, which currently pressed the companion’s nose. She did not move.
Beside him, Lucien leaned forward with interest. “Who is that? She is quite—”
“Nobody,” James snapped.
Lucien raised a single brow. “Well, she is obviously somebody, or you would not be so out of sorts.”
“Ignore her.”
“Now, that would be ill-bred of me. And of you, should you offer insult to one so lovely and so clearly admiring of your gigantic self.”
“Bloody hell.” James released a breath of exasperation. “Very well. We will speak to her, but only for a moment.”
James could not be certain his gritted message was received, because a grinning Lucien had already turned his mount toward the center of the Row where the carriage was parked. He felt the usual prickle of irritation beneath his skin, tightening and tingling at her presence. Swallowing it down, he followed Luc and approached the newfound bane of his existence.
“Miss Viola,” he greeted her, unable to disguise the vein of annoyance in his voice. It must be annoyance. What else could this prickling heat be?
He quickly introduced Lucien to Penelope’s mother, the chaperone with a tendency toward napping, before repeating the process with the two Darling cousins. Penelope, who continued attempting to elbow Viola’s hip away from her nose, was older, so he introduced her as the first Miss Darling. Referring to the second Miss Darling as Miss Viola forced him to turn his tongue around her given name. For some reason, saying it always sent an odd, pleasurable sensation down his spine as though he were committing an act of intimacy. Annoying, indeed.
“I daresay, I have never witnessed such bravery,” the vexing Viola said, her eyes positively glowing, her pale cheeks delicately flushed, her gloved hand moving from the top of her bonnet to lay flat over her bosom.
Drawing his eye. Making him imagine what lay beneath her bodice.
“Anybody would do the same,” he replied.
“Oh, but anybody didn’t. You did. It was extraordinary.” As usual, her gaze was fixed upon him, devouring his shoulders and thighs and face. She scarcely acknowledged Lucien’s presence. Given that Lucien nearly equaled her aesthetic
As he moved to return the reins to Wallingham, James noted the man’s hat had flown off in the melee, exposing a full head of dark hair dusted with white at the temples. The hair reminded him of Hargrave, but the nose reminded him of Gregory, long and prominent with a slight hook at the end.
“Th-thank you both,” Lady Willoughby panted, her eyes darting frantically between them. “You saved our lives.” Obviously, the woman was still frightened out of her wits.
“Be at ease, my lady,” James replied, keeping his voice low and holding her unblinking gaze with his own. “All is well. The horses merely suffered a fright. They’ve calmed now.”
Her lips pressed together, and her eyes sheened for a moment before she blinked and nodded. Notably, her resistance to Wallingham’s soothing gave way, and her shoulders relaxed beneath the marquess’s protective arm.
When James and Lucien finally bid the pair good day and continued on their course along Rotten Row, James expected Luc to rib him about his habit of rescuing all and sundry. But Lucien said only, “Locating your heir suddenly seems a rather sensible thing to do.”
As they approached the barouche, now halted awkwardly in the center of the Row, James spotted one of its passengers standing in the rear-facing seat, leaning across one of her companions, her gloved hand holding the top of a dark-blue bonnet upon her black curls. The hat appeared to have white feathers on it. And beneath its brim were eyes as blue as twilight.
“Lord Tannenbrook,” she called breathlessly. “That was … astonishing.”
Her companion pushed at her hip, which currently pressed the companion’s nose. She did not move.
Beside him, Lucien leaned forward with interest. “Who is that? She is quite—”
“Nobody,” James snapped.
Lucien raised a single brow. “Well, she is obviously somebody, or you would not be so out of sorts.”
“Ignore her.”
“Now, that would be ill-bred of me. And of you, should you offer insult to one so lovely and so clearly admiring of your gigantic self.”
“Bloody hell.” James released a breath of exasperation. “Very well. We will speak to her, but only for a moment.”
James could not be certain his gritted message was received, because a grinning Lucien had already turned his mount toward the center of the Row where the carriage was parked. He felt the usual prickle of irritation beneath his skin, tightening and tingling at her presence. Swallowing it down, he followed Luc and approached the newfound bane of his existence.
“Miss Viola,” he greeted her, unable to disguise the vein of annoyance in his voice. It must be annoyance. What else could this prickling heat be?
He quickly introduced Lucien to Penelope’s mother, the chaperone with a tendency toward napping, before repeating the process with the two Darling cousins. Penelope, who continued attempting to elbow Viola’s hip away from her nose, was older, so he introduced her as the first Miss Darling. Referring to the second Miss Darling as Miss Viola forced him to turn his tongue around her given name. For some reason, saying it always sent an odd, pleasurable sensation down his spine as though he were committing an act of intimacy. Annoying, indeed.
“I daresay, I have never witnessed such bravery,” the vexing Viola said, her eyes positively glowing, her pale cheeks delicately flushed, her gloved hand moving from the top of her bonnet to lay flat over her bosom.
Drawing his eye. Making him imagine what lay beneath her bodice.
“Anybody would do the same,” he replied.
“Oh, but anybody didn’t. You did. It was extraordinary.” As usual, her gaze was fixed upon him, devouring his shoulders and thighs and face. She scarcely acknowledged Lucien’s presence. Given that Lucien nearly equaled her aesthetic
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