will end,” Lord Sutherland said. “We’ll make our way to Preston, and you’ll make your excuses.”
She bristled against his commanding tone and turned her head away before he could finish. He caught her a little too quickly when they came forward next.
“Preston will summon a servant to take you to your room,” he continued. “After you’ve left, I’ll suggest that a physician be called and let it be known how ill you’ve been. At least you’ve had the presence of mind to stay in your room the last two days. That should help.”
She didn’t believe for a minute that it would. Lord or not, the man was obviously unaware of the delicacies involving a lady’s reputation. Even he could not have that much sway around here.
Could he?
Grace dismissed the twinge of uncertainty. Lord Sutherland will not disturb my plan. He’ll not threaten my peace. As she wove through the set, the walls spun for a moment, and she felt beads of sweat upon her brow. The room was crowded and warm. She was doing too much; she was unwell. Retreating to the safety and rest of her room did sound lovely.
I cannot.
“— a worse scandal if you dance with anyone else,” Lord Sutherland was saying as she joined him again. She grasped onto his words, determined to dance with as many different partners as she could tonight. To seal my disgrace most thoroughly.
But first she needed a drink and another peppermint, a moment or two with her fan. The dance was overheating her terribly; it was becoming difficult to breathe. Any second now, she would find herself coughing again.
Grace considered asking Lord Sutherland to accompany her out on the balcony. It would give the gossips plenty to talk about, and the cool air might restore her enough that she could continue on. Just now, feeling as ill as she did, she wasn’t at all certain she could.
The quartet struck a final note, and it was all Grace could do not to sag against Lord Sutherland with relief.
“Good. You look ill,” he said, staring down at her, revulsion upon his face.
Grace felt the sting of insult. For all the pains she’d taken with her appearance, he’d found nothing in her the least desirable or worthy of praise.
Nor do I wish him to , she silently scolded herself. But to be told I look poorly …
He steered her toward Mr. Preston, and she hadn’t the strength to do more than protest his grip on her arm. “You are hurting me,” she said loud enough that several heads nearby turned.
“You’re unwell again,” Lord Sutherland proclaimed, his voice equally loud. “We must get you to bed —” His mouth snapped shut, and he had the audacity to look abashed as the closest women shot looks of horror in their direction.
Had she not felt so ill, and had she not been the recipient of horrified stares, Grace might have laughed. Instead she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. “A poor choice of words, milord,” she couldn’t resist saying when they’d moved past the crush of disapproving glares.
“It was. My apology.”
His words took her off guard, as did the wave of black that blurred her vision when she tilted her head to look up at him. Grace’s arm fell limp at her side, and her knees buckled as she heard Mr. Preston’s exclamation.
“What have you done to her?”
Lord Sutherland’s answer and the room were lost as she fell backward and her mind succumbed to the dark.
“What have you done?” Preston repeated, his voice ringing with accusation.
“Nothing. She’s fainted, is all.” Nicholas looked down at Miss Thatcher, wilted in his arms like a neglected garden flower. He’d only just managed to catch her. “Get back,” he barked at the encroaching crowd. “Give her some air.”
It was hot — stifling — suddenly. If he’d had a free hand, he would have been tugging at his cravat. Those nearest when Miss Thatcher had collapsed moved in, crushing the space around them to almost nothing.
Nicholas glanced at the floor — a poor place
She bristled against his commanding tone and turned her head away before he could finish. He caught her a little too quickly when they came forward next.
“Preston will summon a servant to take you to your room,” he continued. “After you’ve left, I’ll suggest that a physician be called and let it be known how ill you’ve been. At least you’ve had the presence of mind to stay in your room the last two days. That should help.”
She didn’t believe for a minute that it would. Lord or not, the man was obviously unaware of the delicacies involving a lady’s reputation. Even he could not have that much sway around here.
Could he?
Grace dismissed the twinge of uncertainty. Lord Sutherland will not disturb my plan. He’ll not threaten my peace. As she wove through the set, the walls spun for a moment, and she felt beads of sweat upon her brow. The room was crowded and warm. She was doing too much; she was unwell. Retreating to the safety and rest of her room did sound lovely.
I cannot.
“— a worse scandal if you dance with anyone else,” Lord Sutherland was saying as she joined him again. She grasped onto his words, determined to dance with as many different partners as she could tonight. To seal my disgrace most thoroughly.
But first she needed a drink and another peppermint, a moment or two with her fan. The dance was overheating her terribly; it was becoming difficult to breathe. Any second now, she would find herself coughing again.
Grace considered asking Lord Sutherland to accompany her out on the balcony. It would give the gossips plenty to talk about, and the cool air might restore her enough that she could continue on. Just now, feeling as ill as she did, she wasn’t at all certain she could.
The quartet struck a final note, and it was all Grace could do not to sag against Lord Sutherland with relief.
“Good. You look ill,” he said, staring down at her, revulsion upon his face.
Grace felt the sting of insult. For all the pains she’d taken with her appearance, he’d found nothing in her the least desirable or worthy of praise.
Nor do I wish him to , she silently scolded herself. But to be told I look poorly …
He steered her toward Mr. Preston, and she hadn’t the strength to do more than protest his grip on her arm. “You are hurting me,” she said loud enough that several heads nearby turned.
“You’re unwell again,” Lord Sutherland proclaimed, his voice equally loud. “We must get you to bed —” His mouth snapped shut, and he had the audacity to look abashed as the closest women shot looks of horror in their direction.
Had she not felt so ill, and had she not been the recipient of horrified stares, Grace might have laughed. Instead she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. “A poor choice of words, milord,” she couldn’t resist saying when they’d moved past the crush of disapproving glares.
“It was. My apology.”
His words took her off guard, as did the wave of black that blurred her vision when she tilted her head to look up at him. Grace’s arm fell limp at her side, and her knees buckled as she heard Mr. Preston’s exclamation.
“What have you done to her?”
Lord Sutherland’s answer and the room were lost as she fell backward and her mind succumbed to the dark.
“What have you done?” Preston repeated, his voice ringing with accusation.
“Nothing. She’s fainted, is all.” Nicholas looked down at Miss Thatcher, wilted in his arms like a neglected garden flower. He’d only just managed to catch her. “Get back,” he barked at the encroaching crowd. “Give her some air.”
It was hot — stifling — suddenly. If he’d had a free hand, he would have been tugging at his cravat. Those nearest when Miss Thatcher had collapsed moved in, crushing the space around them to almost nothing.
Nicholas glanced at the floor — a poor place
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