* * *
It was only as she was crossing the room that she heard someone’s remark and realized who he was.
Lord Tensford. The infamous Lord Terror.
Not so terrible in her estimation. Gracious, but he was handsome. Tall enough to look up to, but without being overbearing. Dark hair, tousled just the most tempting bit, making a girl wish to smooth it. A square jaw, a straight Roman blade of a nose—and the most striking light green eyes, like none she’d ever seen. She’d been quite caught up in his gaze, comfortably amused with his banter, and somewhat enthralled with the sparkle that erupted into the air between them.
Why the horrible nickname, then? She could only recall vague rumors about his cavalier treatment of his family. She frowned. No care for anyone but himself. That was the whisper she remembered.
Surely it was an exaggeration? If anything, Hope had thought he’d looked careworn. As if something worried him and weighed upon him.
“Here we are, Miss.” The footman opened a heavily carved door.
“Thank you.”
The library was large, but only dimly lit.
“Matthew?” she called softly, stepping in.
The light grew dimmer still as the servant shut the door behind her. She ventured further. “If you’ve called me here to berate me over Bardham, then you are wasting your time. I will not have him.”
“Oh, but you will.”
She rounded a pillar and came face to face with her rejected suitor himself. “What are you doing?”
Lord Bardham was moving furniture, creating an open space before the long windows. With a grimace in her direction, he pulled cushions and pillows from the comfortable chairs and piled them on the floor. “I’m setting the scene.” He said it as if it should have been plain.
Hope turned on her heel and headed back the way she’d come.
The door was locked.
Don’t panic.
Catherine. Or her brother, James. It must be one of them, in cahoots with Bardham, trying to force her hand. She could pound on the door and shout, but she doubted she’d be heard over the noise of the ball—and she might be putting her foot straight into their trap.
“Come, now.” Bardham was right behind her. “You’ve demonstrated your maidenly shyness. Now we move forward. I know you are not very . . . experienced in the world, but I can teach you what you need to know.”
Her chin went up. “Lord Bardham, if you wish for a wife who finds such declarations romantic or even acceptable, then you must search elsewhere. I’ve already refused you once this evening. Do not make me do so again.”
“There is no good reason to refuse me, my dear. In fact, it all fits perfectly. I have debts. You have a substantial dowry. And as a matchmaker’s fee, my dear friend James has a place in my father’s canal scheme. Everyone gets what they want, if only you cease to be stubborn.”
“Everyone but me.” She glared at him.
“Ah, but you get the best prize of all.” He gave her a flourishing, little bow. “Me.” Rising up, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her in for a kiss.
She shook her right arm free and hit him in the nose.
She was too close to get enough leverage for a really good punch, but he let her go and grabbed at his nose as it began to bleed. “You spiteful bitch!”
He pushed her away from the door and toward his makeshift boudoir. She stumbled, but kept on going, stepping over to the pillows to the window and throwing up the sash. She was lifting her skirts and preparing to step out when he caught up and tried to grab her again.
She slapped his hand away. “Have you been drinking, sir? You cannot believe that I would allow you to ravish me during the Loxton ball.”
He laughed and wiped at his bloody nose. “I don’t have to ravish you, I only need to make everyone believe that I did.”
Fear and fury vied for dominance. “Perhaps I only need to make everyone believe you incapable of accosting me.” For a moment she was angry enough to contemplate fighting back, but if they were discovered . . .
No. She threw a leg out of the window. It was so long and wide, stepping out onto the terrace would be easy.
But he caught a hold of her skirts. “I’m not letting you get away. I have plans for . . . you.”
A step sounded behind her. Someone approached on the terrace. Caught in her awkward position, she could only see a dark figure step near.
“Is that you? You’re too early, damn you.” Bardham made a shooing motion with one hand. “Give me a few moments more, then come in through the door as planned.”
“Unhand the lady. Now.”
Bardham backed up, viciously yanking at her skirts and unbalancing her so that she fell back into the library. The man outside stepped close to peer in.
“Tensford?? Bardham sounded incredulous. “Stay out of this. It’s none of your business.”
Her head snapped up.
“Still making a nuisance of yourself, Boredom? Some things never change. You need to find a new way to outrun that old nickname.”
Bardham laughed, and then he reached down to haul Hope to her feet. “Run along, Lord Terror, and I shall endeavor to live up to your nickname, once you’ve gone.”
Even in the dim light, the furious flush of color in the earl’s face was obvious. He stepped inside, clearing the window without a hint of effort. “I tell you again, let her go—or I will hold you down and allow her to do as she threatened.
