Rebel Marquess by Amy Sandas Page B

flushed through her limbs. “Thank heavens. I am afraid—” Her words stuck in her throat as she froze in renewed panic. She could feel something tickling down the length of her spine. Her gaze locked with the marquess’s in terror. “Oh no, he’s in my gown!”
    She wrenched free of his hands and reached behind her to tear away at the buttons of her dress. Only one thought was in her mind. The spider was in her dress and her dress was keeping him there. She needed to get the thing off. She was no longer mindful of anything else and terrified whimpers and shrieks escaped her lips as she tried to reach the tiny row of buttons down her back.
    Finally, Rutherford grasped hold of her again and turned her around. Very adeptly, he loosened the back of her gown while she jumped from one foot to the other.
    “Oh please, get him out. Get. Him. Out,” she muttered mindlessly, hoping the many-legged thing hadn’t gotten too far into her underclothes.
    “Calm yourself,” he ordered. “I cannot search with you flailing about like that.”
    Eliza bit her lip and tried to keep from jumping out of her skin as Rutherford examined the folds of her open gown and then the bared skin of her back. He ran his hands over the curve of her shoulders and down her spine, smoothing away the raised goose bumps. He was thorough in his investigation for the wayward arachnid. The gentle but purposeful sweep of his fingers reached lightly along her sides and up to the sensitive skin at her nape.
    He ran his palm along the curve of her spine and his calm and assured touch caused a spread of warmth through her body that went bone deep. It weighed down her limbs and created a disruptive flutter in her belly that had nothing to do with her fear of spiders.
    “Oh, my word,” the whispered exclamation came from the doorway.
    Eliza and Rutherford turned together to see a small crowd had gathered around the entrance to the gazebo. Hot embarrassment and ice-cold panic flooded her system together as she realized the picture she and the marquess created for the shocked observation of the growing mass of guests. Her panicked shrieks must have drawn the attention of the party.
    No, no, no. This was not happening.
    She couldn’t even look at the marquess, though she felt his hands carefully pulling the back of her gown closed as he stepped in front of her as if he would shield her from the gawkers. But then one particular gawker pushed her way to the front of the crowd and Eliza had to fight back a groan at the full realization of what was occurring.
    “Lizzie?” Lady Terribury’s mouth gaped and her eyes were round as the moon as she looked over the scandalous scene that should have had her dancing for joy. In her shock, she seemed to have been rendered utterly senseless, and after damning Eliza by announcing her identity, she seemed incapable of forming any other words.
    A new kind of panic had taken hold of Eliza and she struggled to find some explanation that would make it all right. But words failed her completely. There was nothing she could say. The image she and the marquess presented was far too damning. No one would believe any attempt at explaining away what they would see as clear evidence she had been compromised.
    Lord Terribury came forward to stand beside her mother and Eliza nearly crumpled in dismay at the fierce expression on her father’s face.
    “My lord,” Lord Terribury said sternly as he looked at the marquess with the indignation of a protective father. “You will make amends.”
    No!
    Eliza turned wild eyes to the marquess. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. Surely, he would refuse.
    He still held the back of her gown closed with one hand as he looked out over the crowd. His posture was rigid with all the arrogance and pride his social position afforded him. His scowl was the only indication he was the slightest bit perturbed by the present predicament.
    But then again, he always scowled.
    Eliza closed her eyes. He would