Eyes wide, she glanced over her shoulder—and met his amber eyes.
Close, so close, those eyes saw too much; they searched hers, then passed slowly over her face…lingered on her lips.
Time stopped.
Stretched.
Her lips throbbed.
The sounds of others approaching reached them.
Gervase glanced back; his hands briefly gripped, enough for her to sense their steely strength, then he urged her on.
Her feet moved, one in front of the other; his hands fell from her.
By the time she reached the end of the passageway and stepped out into the open, she’d managed to subdue her traitorous senses enough to haul in a breath.
There wasn’t anything she could say, any comment she wanted to make. His initial action had been nothing more than gentlemanly courtesy—an escort’s steadying touch. It was her reaction that had precipitated the rest.
Just the thought of being so susceptible to a man’s touch made her mind reel.
She glanced over her shoulder. Gervase was scanning the area around the horses and carriages, his expression the same as when he’d looked at the importuning trio. Forbidding, protective…possessive.
She blinked, looked for one last instant, then faced forward.
Protesting that he didn’t have the right to behave so over her was, she suspected, no longer even an option.
She was, absolutely and definitely, in much deeper trouble than she’d thought.
Chapter 4
Two evenings later, Madeline followed Muriel into Lady Porthleven’s drawing room. By an exercise of will she kept her gaze on her ladyship’s face, waiting while Muriel greeted their hostess.
She’d had two days to recover her equilibrium. On leaving the vicarage, Gervase had ridden alongside her gig until she’d reached the lane; she?
?d deftly turned into it, flourished her whip in farewell and escaped at a good clip, leaving him to ride on to the castle. She hadn’t looked back.
In the intervening hours, knowing she’d come face-to-face with him tonight, she’d endeavored to recall what their previous relationship had been—how they’d interacted, addressed each other; as far as she could remember she’d always treated him just as she did the other local gentlemen.
She’d come here tonight girded for battle, determined to get their interaction back on its previous tack, well away from the increasingly personal, increasingly intimate level they’d been broaching.
“Madeline.” Turning from Muriel, Lady Porthleven clasped her hand warmly. Her ladyship’s protuberant eyes widened as she took in Madeline’s gown. “That’s a delightful shade, my dear.” Raising her quizzing glass, she examined the rich, bronzed silk. “It matches your hair wonderfully, and does very nice things for your skin. You should wear it more often.”
Madeline smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.” With a nod, she started to move on to make way for the Entwhistles.
Mrs. Entwhistle reached forward and tapped her arm. “Lovely gown, Madeline, dear.”
Acknowledging the compliment with a confident smile, head high, she swept into the room. The compliments were welcome; she rarely paid much attention to her gowns—where was the point?—but it appeared she hadn’t forgotten how to shine when she wished.
Still smiling, still confident, she made for the circle of older gentlemen she customarily joined before dinner; as usual they stood before the French doors, tonight open to the terrace and the balmy night beyond. At no point did she glance around. She was not going to look to see if Gervase was present; he was just another gentleman to her.
Stationed inside the door chatting with Mrs. Juliard, Gervase saw Madeline sweep by. He blinked, looked again, then had to stop himself from staring, from turning to track her progress as she swept across the room.
With her back to the door, Mrs. Juliard hadn’t noticed the Valkyrielike vision. “We’ll definitely need a tent for the embroidery displays.”
“I’ll make a note of it the instant I reach home.” Gervase clung to his politely interested expression, although the urge to follow Madeline was a tangible thing. “If you’ll excuse me, I must have a word with Ridley about the contests he’s organizing.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Juliard patted his arm. “It’s so wonderful that the festival will be back at the castle this year. There’s a great deal of excitement brewing, I assure you.”