She looked quite elegant, she didn’t mind saying so. “I danced and took a walk on the terrace to cool down afterward.”
Lady Withnall eyed her shrewdly. “Twice, I believe.”
“Perhaps. I wasn’t paying close attention. I had a full dance card. The ballroom was quite crowded.” Dillie began to breathe heavily.
Ian sighed.
Dillie’s mother shot her a worried glance. “You didn’t eat sardines today, did you?”
“No.” She was now panting as rapidly as a dog on a hot summer’s day.
“Your Grace...” Lady Withnall said, her attention now trained on Ian, her eyes small and narrow as though she were aiming down the barrel of a musket.
Dillie cringed, waiting for her to mention the lies Ian’s mother had spread last night. Her hands curled into fists. It isn’t fair. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’d been wonderful to her last night.
“Your Grace,” the old harridan repeated. “I hear that—”
Dillie shot out of her seat, knocking over the tea tray and spilling cups, teapot, and cakes onto the very expensive carpet. “Mother, I’m so sorry!” She cast a scowl at Lady Withnall, who returned the glare with an innocent gaze of her own. Too bad there were only dull butter knives at hand. She would have neatly dispatched the old troublemaker had she a real knife at her disposal.
“Dillie!” her mother cried in a fluster. “Summon Pruitt! Be quick about it. Goodness, what’s wrong with you today? I’ve never seen you so out of sorts.”
Dillie dashed into the entry hall in search of their ever reliable butler. He must have heard the crash of silver and china, for he was already armed with a dustpan and had two maids in tow. “Pruitt, it’s all my fault. I’ve destroyed the carpet and overset the tea table.”
His expression was achingly gentle as he said, “We’ll set it back in order, never you worry.” Then his gaze moved beyond her. “Your Grace, oh dear.”
Dillie turned to look behind her. Ian had followed her out. The sleeve of his elegant gray jacket was soaked with tea. She grabbed his hand. “Come into the kitchen with me. We need to get those stains out fast.”
She had led him as far as the dining room before realizing that all she needed was his jacket. “Oh.” She stopped and tried to release his hand, but he held fast. She liked the enveloping warmth of his fingers entwined in hers.
“I’ll let go in a moment,” he needlessly assured, for she was in no hurry to separate from him. “I’d like you to calm down and tell me what has you so overset. Did something else happen to you last night? Anyone hurt you?”
“No.”
He let go of her hand—drat—and then gazed searchingly into her eyes. Crumpets! Eyes like his ought to be outlawed. “Then why are you as jumpy as a frog? Lady Withnall was merely making polite conversation.”
“She was not! Did you see the way she was looking at me? Then she looked at you in that same beady manner.” She squinted her eyes to show him, but he merely chuckled. “It isn’t funny. Didn’t you notice? I’m certain she saw us together last night.”
He sighed. “So? We were merely speaking to each other.”
“In the garden. Under the moonlight. I rested my head against your shoulder. You warmed my hands.”
He was still reveling in his amusement, his mouth curved in a delicious grin. “Sounds rather romantic.”
It was. You should have taken me into your arms and kissed me. Have you no pride? Why didn’t you uphold your rakehell reputation? “Give me your jacket, Ian. I only need it, not you.”
He shrugged out of it. Dillie leaned against one of the dining chairs, certain her legs were about to give way. His shoulders ought to be outlawed as well. And his broad chest. Banished from the kingdom! “Oh, the tea soaked into your shirt sleeve.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to take my shirt off as well?”
“No, you idiot.” Her heart would stop if he did. Perhaps it would explode. Shirtless Ian would do serious damage to her bodily organs. Not to mention her eyeballs. They might never settle back into their sockets. “I suppose I’ll have to take you with me after all.”
She turned and walked ahead to the kitchen, doing her best not to think of him or look back as he followed her. Mrs. Mayhew and her scullery maids looked up from their preparations and smiled, mildly surprised when she walked in, and then began to buzz and flit like bees about a hive when Ian strode in behind her.
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Mayhew bobbed a curtsy as did the scullery maids, who wouldn’t stop bobbing until Ian urged them to ignore him and apologized for the intrusion.