No matter what she did, she could not free herself as his grip only tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her side as he continued to push her forward.
Then suddenly she was released and stumbling to catch her balance as Fallbrook was tossed in the opposite direction. She was aware of her attacker falling against the stone wall of the house as another man passed like a shadow between them. Shielding her. Protecting her.
In an instant of rushing heat, Lily recognized who had come to her rescue.
“What in hell is wrong with you, Harte?” Fallbrook growled as he righted himself, squaring his shoulders toward the earl.
“I do not believe the lady wished to accompany you.” The earl’s tone was dark and disturbingly calm.
“That is none of your bloody business,” Fallbrook sneered, tugging the collar of his coat back into place and smoothing his waistcoat.
“It would appear I just made it my business.”
Lily’s heart tumbled into a frantic rhythm. Steeling herself to step forward, she could practically feel the tension emanating from Lord Harte. His back was to her and the broad strength displayed in his posture was terribly intimidating. She wondered how Fallbrook had the courage to face him down at all.
“You will regret that you did, Harte,” Fallbrook retorted before he sauntered arrogantly back into the ballroom. He never even glanced toward where Lily stood behind the earl, her hands pressed against her stomach to still the wild fluttering awareness that had erupted the moment she realized she had been saved.
“My lord,” she said quietly as she stepped up beside the earl and placed her hand gently on his arm to draw his attention.
The instant her hand made contact with his sleeve, his entire body stiffened sharply. His features were more harshly defined beneath the moonlight and his gaze was far darker than it had been in ballroom as he turned to look at her.
This time, she had no doubt it was anger she saw in his eyes. Anger, and revulsion. A chill claimed her and her breath caught on a gasp she could not contain.
Her hand fell away from his arm while her heart squeezed painfully at his reaction to her.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, wishing she could think of something more eloquent to say.
He glared at her for a moment longer. Long enough for Lily to feel all the ways her body reacted to him. The rush of blood through her veins, the tingle across her skin. The way he made her breathless and hot and so very uncertain with a single hard stare.
Then, before she could form a clear thought let alone something she might say in response to his obvious hostility, he turned away from her and strode down the stairs to the garden, where he disappeared in the shadows.
Avenell Slade, the Earl of Harte, stalked through the darkened garden, ensuring each stride took him as far from the young lady on the terrace as he could manage.
His arm still burned where she had touched him. Her touch had been gentle, barely more than the flutter of a butterfly wing, but he felt as though he had been branded.
It had been years since Avenell had experienced such an uncontrollable reaction. What was it about her that nearly erased every bit of self-control he had developed?
Earlier in the evening, when he had glanced up from his conversation with Lord Michaels to find the young woman staring at him from across the ballroom, the poignancy of her gaze had stunned him. Her wide-eyed expression suggested she had been caught off guard, yet when he glared back at her, she did not look away.
She was not a striking beauty to assist in setting her apart from the multitude of other ladies in the room. She was small in stature, and though she was in possession of generous feminine curves, she did nothing to put them on display. Her gown was virgin white, her hair was a common brown, and her features, though pleasant, were not exceptional.
Yet in those brief seconds of connection, Avenell had experienced something he could not explain. Something unnameable had surged through him, altering his existence at an elemental level.
Avenell rarely interacted with ladies of his social circles and certainly never considered an intimate involvement with any of them. Yet, when Lord Michaels had noted the direction of his interest and suggested an introduction, Avenell had been unable to refuse.
It had been a dreadful error on his part.
Miss Lily Chadwick was not for him.
His chest compressed, shortening his breath as he recalled the expression on her face when he had flinched from her touch. She had not been able to conceal the hurt in her dove-gray eyes, or the confusion.
He wished he regretted intervening between her and Fallbrook, but he didn’t. Something had come over him when he saw her struggling against the cad’s hold. The thought of what Fallbrook likely planned to do if he had succeeded in getting her alone made Avenell ill.