LITMIR.BIZ

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making that assumption, or to exposing her to speculation and gossip. If he were wrong about Drusilla, the consequences would be awful.

      ‘Behind us, just up the slope with Lady Harrison,’ he said lazily. But even as he spoke he knew he was wrong. She wasn’t there, that sensation of being watched had left him. Max rolled round on to his elbow to look up the hill. There was no sign of Bree.

      ‘She has probably gone into the ladies’ retiring carriage,’ he murmured, nodding towards the vehicle with its drawn blinds that had been set up for the comfort of the ladies, who could not be expected to vanish into the surrounding shrubberies as the men could.

      Nevill blushed. ‘She isn’t. I glanced that way just now and Miss Collins was entering it.’

      ‘Why do you want to know?’ Max rolled over until he was facing up the slope and could survey all the scattered groups. A sense of unease gripped him, which was ridiculous; they were in the middle of a civilised English park, surrounded by friends.

      ‘I wanted to ask her if I could visit their breeding stables. I asked Mallory, but he said his sister was a little concerned about their uncle’s health and might not agree.’

      ‘Yes, she is anxious about him.’ Max got to his feet and climbed up to where Lady Harrison was sitting, spotting Rosa admiring someone’s sketch book as he passed. ‘Did you see where Miss Mallory went?’ he asked, as Melinda Harrison favoured him with her cool smile.

      ‘She went off with Latymer, about five minutes ago.’

      ‘Alone?’

      ‘As far as I can see. That young lady is a sad romp.’

      ‘In which direction?’ He was not going to waste time defending Bree’s good name, or asking why a supposedly responsible matron had let her wander off unchaperoned with a man; time for that when he was assured that she was safe and sound.

      Lady Harrison waved vaguely towards the east. ‘That way, I think.’

      Max strode off, his eyes scanning the ground ahead as the grass sward curved around, out of sight behind the big stand of trees. Surely she would not be so imprudent as to actually enter the woodland?

      The sound of a scuffle ahead made him break into a run; as he rounded the bend he found himself in a small clearing in the side of the wood. Bree was hard up against a tree, Latymer holding her and kissing her, despite her frantically kicking feet.

      Max heard a snarl, realising with a jolt that it was coming from his own throat. He was across the clearing without being conscious of moving, then his hand was on Latymer’s shoulder. He heaved the other man back, turned him and let fly with his left fist.

      Latymer sprawled on the ground at his feet. Across his prone body Max met Bree’s wide eyes. The pupils were almost black, her face white, her hair disordered and her bonnet fallen to the ground. Very slowly she slid down the tree trunk until she was sitting on the short grass, her eyes never leaving his face.

      Max found he had stopped breathing and drew in a deep breath. Then he saw that the neckline of her bodice was dragged down, that the delicate upper swell of her breast was exposed, and this time he had no trouble knowing where the snarl was coming from.

      ‘Max!’ It was Nevill, hanging on to his arm. ‘You can’t hit him, he’s down.’

      ‘That can be remedied.’ Max stooped, seized Brice Latymer by the neckcloth and hauled him, choking, to his feet. ‘Have you any objections if I kill him now?’

      ‘You must not.’ Nevill, with more courage than Max knew his cousin possessed, was hanging on to his arm like a pitbull terrier. ‘You will have to call him out,’ he stammered. ‘I’ll be your second.’ He looked as white as Bree, and as though he were about to cast up his accounts.

      Max released his grip on Latymer’s neckcloth. ‘Name your friends.’

      Brice staggered back, clutched a low branch for support, and croaked, ‘I apologise. Completely. Miss Mallory …’ He turned to Bree, who met his gaze squarely. Her eyes were chilly, although her lower lip quivered. Max wanted to hug her. ‘My feelings got the better of me. I apologise a hundred times over. My behaviour was inexcusable.’

      ‘ What? You have the brazen nerve to even attempt to apologise to the lady after mauling her like that?’ Max felt his fists clenching. ‘Name—’

      ‘You cannot.’ It was Nevill again, tugging at his sleeve. ‘You really can’t, Max, not if he’s apologised.’ He frowned, biting his lip. ‘Can you?’

      ‘No one I’ve called out has ever apologised before,’ Max admitted, glaring at Latymer in furious frustration. ‘But you are probably correct, not if the lady accepts his apology.’ He looked across at Bree. ‘I cannot imagine for a moment that she will find it acceptable.’

      ‘Someone said to me, quite recently, something that is apropos to this situation,’ she said. Her voice shook a little and he forced himself to stand still and not to make matters worse by going and dragging her into his arms in front of witnesses. ‘Let me see, what was it?’ She frowned. ‘Oh, yes. It is a sad fact that a lady, incautiously without chaperonage, may find herself kissed, or worse. Not that I am excusing Mr Latymer’s behaviour, but I should have been more cautious.’ She shot Latymer a hard look. ‘I accept your apology, sir, but I hope never to find myself in a position where I have to exchange a single word with you, ever again.’

      ‘You are most generous, Miss Mallory.’ Latymer was red in the face, his usual pose of cool, languid indifference shattered. ‘Believe me, it was the passion of the moment, the effect of your—’

      ‘Latymer, if you are not out of my sight in one minute, and out of this park in ten, I will call you out for being a chicken-hearted coward in front of the entire club.’

      Latymer bent to pick up his hat and walked away without another word, his gait stiff, the back of his neck crimson.

      ‘Nevill, go and find Miss Mallory’s companion.’ Max hardly dared move to touch her. He was so angry that he was afraid that if he did, if he felt her tremble, he would go after Latymer and kill him.

      ‘No. No, please do not tell Rosa.’ His heart ached at the courage it must be taking for her to keep her voice steady and to smile reassuringly at Nevill. The lad was shaking with reaction now, appalled to his chivalrous core by what he had seen.

      ‘Mr Harlow, would you be very kind and find Miss Thorpe and tell her that I have taken a walk with Lord Penrith to see a good view of the Thames? It will be the truth, it is what I thought was going to happen when I agreed to walk with Mr Latymer. I will tell her what happened later, but I do not want to have any—’ Her voice wavered and she got it back under control with a visible effort. ‘Any fuss,’ she finished, rather desperately.

      ‘Of course.’ With a job to do that did not involve the hideous etiquette of the duel, or the sight of a lady battling tears, Nevill rose to the occasion with aplomb. ‘I will see if Miss Thorpe has had any dessert yet, and if she has, I will see if she would like to take a stroll in the opposite direction.’ He bowed, with all the formality of the ballroom and strode off, pausing at the edge of the clearing. ‘And if Latymer hasn’t gone, I’ll see that he does.’ He marched off, a young knight, ready to do battle for a lady’s honour.

      ‘Oh, dear,’ Bree said faintly. ‘He isn’t going to get into a brawl, is he?’

      ‘No,’ Max assured her. ‘Latymer will be gone too fast for that.’ He wanted to go to her, hold her, kiss away the taste of Latymer’s mouth on hers, smooth his palms over every bruise on her body. And he knew if he did that he would reveal his feelings for her as clearly as if he had handed her his soul to read.

      He could not be in any doubt now: he loved this woman, he wanted to marry her and he had to protect her. Max drew in a deep breath. He could do this. He could fight his own feelings, do the right thing, take her hand and help her to her feet, escort her to the ladies’ retiring carriage so she could put her

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