her way round obstacles, she eventually came to the French windows that led out on to the terrace. Stepping out, she crossed to a low wall and placed her hands on it for support, breathing hard. The terrace was dimly lit and she did not see the tall dark-haired man, a thin cheroot he occasionally enjoyed clamped between his even white teeth, his features in shadow, quietly conversing with Henry Channing until it was too late, otherwise she would never have ventured outside.
‘I say, are you all right?’ Henry remarked, having watched her come outside. He was concerned when he saw her place her hand to her forehead.
Eve swayed, seeing the look of unconcealed disgust on Lord Stainton’s face. Before she could reply, his icy voice said,
‘I believe the lady is completely foxed, Henry. You can expect to have one hell of a hangover in the morning, Mrs Brody.’
‘I would expect it had I been drinking, but I haven’t, and if I had it would be none of your business. How dare you?’
‘I dare say a lot of things to you, Mrs Brody, but I won’t waste my breath.’ Catching her by the arm as she rocked to one side, he thrust her rudely down on to the wall. ‘Sit there while I summon your friends. I think they should take you home before you disgrace yourself and them with your undignified behaviour.’
Eve raised her head and stared up at him, unable to focus properly. ‘You don’t understand…’
‘I understand all too well,’ he said scathingly, his accusing eyes dropping to the damp stain on the front of her dress.
‘I resent that,’ she gasped, trying to get to her feet but falling back and having to close her eyes when her head began to spin in a dizzy whirl.
‘She’s going to swoon,’ Henry predicted.
‘I am not,’ Eve protested, defying her pronouncement by almost toppling off the wall.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Lord Stainton thundered, casting the cigar to the ground. Grasping her about the waist, he scooped her up into his arms and headed for a bench further along the terrace. ‘Find Mrs Seagrove, Henry, and ask her to come at once—and find some hartshorn or whatever it is that brings one out of a swoon. And for heaven’s sake be discreet. Should anyone come outside and find me with a senseless woman in my arms, gossip will be raging through London like wildfire before breakfast.’
Henry rushed off to do his bidding while Lord Stainton carried his helpless burden along the terrace.
Coming to her senses and blisteringly aware of her close proximity to Lord Stainton’s broad chest, fury and indignation shot like red-hot sparks through Eve’s body. ‘How dare you?’ she cried, squirming against him, trying to break his hold. ‘Will you put me down? No matter what you think, I do not deserve such treatment.’ Her struggle only seemed to make him angrier.
‘Be quiet and keep still,’ he ordered, going a little further before dumping her unceremoniously on to a bench.
Eve fought the lethargy that was stealing over her and snapped her head up, intending to launch into a tirade, but looking past her tormentor she saw a figure in a pale pink gown rushing towards her.
‘Beth,’ she cried. Never had she been so relieved to see anyone in her life.
‘What on earth has happened?’ Beth bent over her friend, her face creased with concern. ‘Is your headache worse, Eve?’
‘No, no, it isn’t, and none of this is my fault. Beth, will you please tell this puffed-up lord who has the manners of a barbarian and who is bent on assassinating my character that I am suffering nothing more serious than an overdose of your headache powders and not over-indulgence of champagne.’
‘Headache powders?’ Instead of looking guilty because he’d made a mistake, Lord Stainton looked infuriatingly amused. ‘You are prone to headaches, Mrs Brody?’
‘No, as a matter of fact I rarely suffer minor ailments, but earlier today I had the misfortune to meet you, Lord Stainton.’
‘Then what can I say?’
‘Sorry would be a start,’ Eve bit back.
‘Very well. The mistake was mine. I apologise most humbly.’
‘Humble? You?’ she gasped, unable to believe her ears. ‘You couldn’t be humble if you tried.’
‘Contrary to what you obviously think of me,’ he drawled, ‘I was merely coming to your rescue. Your actions, like on our previous encounter, led me to believe you were in danger of swooning.’
‘And I seem to recall telling you that I never swoon—and I was not in any danger,’ Eve lied coldly, avoiding Beth’s questioning eyes, knowing full well that she would have to give her a full account of her encounter with Lord Stainton in the park.
Lazy mockery lit his eyes. ‘And you are sure of that, are you?’ he asked, as amusement seemed to drain the tension in his body.
‘I most assuredly am.’
‘To show you how wrong you are, Mrs Brody, I suggest that when you get up off that bench you will allow me to assist you.’
Eve opened her mouth to make some suitably scathing remark about his outrageous conceit, but his bold smile was too much for her. Swinging her legs on to the ground, she got to her feet unsteadily. When Lord Stainton reached out to take her arm, she snatched it away and glared at him.
‘Don’t you dare touch me. I wouldn’t let you touch me to save me from drowning,’ she retorted furiously.
‘I understand,’ Lord Stainton drawled mildly.
Placing her hand on Beth’s arm, Eve completely ignored Lord Stainton. ‘I would like to go home, if you don’t mind, Beth. I really must go to bed before I make a total fool of myself and fall asleep in Lady Ellesmere’s salon. That would never do.’
Seeing the funny side of the incident, Beth suppressed a smile. ‘No, it would not. It’s almost time to leave anyway. We’ll find William and say goodnight to Lady Ellesmere.’ She turned to Lord Stainton and Mr Channing, who was looking totally bemused and holding a bottle of hartshorn in his hand. ‘Goodnight, Lord Stainton, Mr Channing, and thank you for your assistance.’
‘Good Lord, Lucas,’ Henry uttered after a long moment of silence, staring at his friend in disbelief. Grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this young American widow—an exquisite, extremely ravishing American widow—who had done exactly that. ‘She actually accused you of having the manners of a barbarian. Mrs Brody is one angry lady,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I doubt she will forgive you in a hurry.’
Lucas glanced toward the closed doors through which the aforesaid lady had just disappeared, and in the space of an instant, Henry watched his lazy smile harden into a mask of ironic amusement.
‘I’m sure she won’t. But that’s Mrs Brody’s problem, Henry. Not mine.’
Beth insisted on picnicking away from the crowds of people who poured into Hyde Park to watch a French aviator’s ascent in a huge balloon, which was the cause of much excitement among the Seagrove children and Estelle. The event had generated so much interest that it had disrupted the usual cavalcade of handsome equipages that congregated daily in the afternoon. It consisted of men mounted on fine thoroughbred horses, colourful and elaborately clad dandies and women in the best society, the carriage company some of the most celebrated beauties in London. The sun was pleasantly warm, and people were laughing and joking, all talking about the giant, hissing balloon that had taken off successfully.
Accompanying the carriage carrying Miss Lacy and his children on horseback, Lucas came upon the picnic scene by chance. It was one of complete enchantment, of a small group of people—three adults, one of them a nursemaid or governess, and three children, two boys and a girl. The adults were sitting on the grass in the shade of the giant beech trees, a white cloth spread on the ground on to which baskets of food had been unpacked.