Page 39 of His Scandalous Viscountess
The problem was, she wasn’t immune to it. Not in the least.
Chapter 16
Wolf stood beside Jules and tugged at the collar of his formal wear as dancers moved past in a stately formation. He’d once more found himself acting as a guard for Julia and Ros—not that Flint would have let anything happen to the latter woman. As stunning as it was for all of the Lustful Lords to comprehend, Flint had taken a shine to Mrs. Rosalind Smith. Jules was also under their care, of course, though she would have argued otherwise had he phrased it as such. It was wiser to merely be on guard, rather than have a pointless quarrel.
He knew now that he would protect her with his life, which came as a bit of a shock.
Unwilling to consider how far gone he was over his fiery redheaded wanton, he focused on watching the crowd instead. Wallthorpe had yet to make an appearance.
Then Jules turned to her sister and smiled. “I believe your next partner is approaching.”
Ros grimaced. “Oh, do shut up. You know I detest galloping about a ballroom.” Then she smirked. “Besides, I see your next partner approaching, as well.”
Wolf watched as two gangly young men, barely out of university and still wet behind the ears, approached the lovely sisters, who were currently working hard to paste on the appearance of enthusiasm. Neither he nor Flint cared for seeing the women off on the arms ofanyman when they were trying to keep them safe. But propriety demanded the women dance with any men who asked, and Ros had long since chastised Flint about glowering at the younger men who dared to approach. And so, they were off to engage in a youthfully exuberant galop—a much less sensual cousin to the waltz.
Flint and Wolf stood closer together as they watched the women disappear on the other side of the dancing crowd.
“When must you dance next?” Wolf asked, a sense of glee causing him to smile at Flint’s obvious discomfort.
His friend grunted. “I lost my dance card.”
Wolf shifted his gaze from tracking Julia to stare at his companion. “But you’ll break some poor debutante’s heart by not appearing for your dance!”
“I also forgot to request any dances, except for the waltzes on Mrs. Smith’s card. Besides, I can’t very well keep her safe if I’m traipsing about the ballroom with some ridiculous chit who is more scared of me than anything.”
He glared briefly at Wolf, and then returned to watching the dancers. Or one in particular.
Wolf sighed. Flint had even less use for Society than he did, but hedidhave a driving sense of justice and honor. Once he’d stepped up to protect Ros, Wolf knew his friend wouldn’t relent until she was completely safe. If that meant suffering through a series of balls and other lesser gatherings, he would do it.
Wolf then turned his thoughts and gaze toward Jules. The woman moved with a natural grace that most had to practice relentlessly to achieve. A slow, simmering ember of lust stirred within him, because he’d seen that ability of hers used to best effect in the bedroom—not just on a ballroom floor. Perchance it was a bit possessive of him, but he relished that no other man in England could say the same.
He chose to ignore the qualifier. He’d certainly not been a monk all those years apart. Besides, whether she would admit it or not, she belonged to him now.
A soft curse beside him drew his focus back to the dancers. “What is it, Flint?”
“She’s disappeared.” Flint rose up on his toes, as if he could levitate up over the crowd in order to spot his quarry.
“Ros?” Wolf quickly scanned the crowd, and spotted Jules still swirling around the dance floor.
His friend grunted. “Who the bloody hell else would I be talking about? They were coming around the bend, ducked behind a couple, and then they were gone.”
“Go look for her. I’ll collect Jules, and we shall be just behind you. She can’t have gone far.”
Flint nodded, and then they parted. Wolf edged around the floor until he found an opportunity to step up and cut in. After an awkward moment with the disappointed young man, he and Jules were moving through the crowd to catch up to Flint. His friend had just come out of a curtained alcove and was shaking his head.
“I haven’t checked all the rooms down here.” He pointed to a long hall off the main foyer. Wolf and Jules took one side, Flint the other. They’d only checked two rooms when a loud crash sounded in the next room on Flint’s side. They all barreled in, Flint leading the charge.
As they spilled into the library, two things were immediately obvious: Wallthorpe and Mrs. Smith had been struggling, and she was clearly winning the battle. Regardless of the success she might have been having, Flint dashed in and belted Wallthorpe, laying the man out with one extremely hard blow to the face.
The villain landed flat on his back, but he was not unconscious. He lay on the floor, holding his face and moaning as Jules scooped her sister protectively into her arms. Wolf had to hold Flint back from landing another powerful blow.
“You, sir, are as good as Seven-Dials scum hitting a man unawares.”
With Wallthorpe’s hands covering his nose, which bled profusely, the complaint was both muffled and yet shrilly petulant.
Flint shrugged out of Wolf’s grip and straightened his jacket. “You’re lucky a bloody nose is all you’ll walk away with, you pompous lout.”
Then Flint opened and closed his hand, flexing his fingers, which drew Ros’ attention.
