her napkin on the floor. "Enough, Papa—I have had enough! I have no wish to be thrown at anyone—and so I have told you!"
"Sit down, missy!"
"No!" Her cheeks hot, she looked to her mother. "Good night, Mama—your pardon, Mr. Hamilton," she choked out. With that, she turned on her heels and marched from the room.
"Missy! Elise!" His own face in high color, the older man tried to shove back his chair, but could not. "Afore God, you'll come back! A—ashamed of you!"
"You shame me, Papa!" she shot back.
For a moment Patrick was rooted to his chair, then he rose hastily, hoping to catch her before she went upstairs. "I daresay she is merely overset," he murmured low to her mother. "I assure you I thought nothing of it."
"Mr. Hamilton, I have never been so mortified in my life," the woman answered. "I can only offer my deepest apology, and—-"
But Patrick was alreatly nearly running for the door. "Miss Rand—wait!"
"No!"
At the bottom of the staircase, he caught up to her, taking her elbow from behind. She jerked it angrily, but he managed to hold on.
"I would you left me alone!"
"Miss Rand, there is no need to flee-—the man was in his cups, nothing more."
"Nothing more?" Her voice rose incredulously. "When I would not flirt with you, he threw me at your head! And you—you stared at me like I was one of Elgin's marbles!"
"The same could be said for you, couldn't it? Look, I didn't expect—"
She rounded on him. "You expected us to behave like fools, and so we have! Well, you have had your amusement, Mr. Hamilton, and now you are free to go home!"
"Miss Rand, don't—" Afraid she meant to cry, he attempted to comfort her, smoothing her shawl where it lay over her shoulders. "Please."
She swallowed visibly as she met his eyes. "Mr. Hamilton, there is no need. I—I am quite all right, I assure you. I am merely humiliated."
Again, the husky quality of her voice enticed him. His hands slid from her shoulders down her arm, taking the silk shawl with them. As it fell to the floor, he drew her closer, savoring the smell of dried lavender on her warm skin.
Her eyes widened in shock as his lips brushed hers, then she pushed him away. Turning, she fled up the steps and did not stop until she looked back from the safety of the top.
"How dare you, sir? For all that I am born common, I am not one of your fancy pieces!" With that, she
gathered her dignity stiffly and disappeared into the upper hallway.
"Miss Rand," he said too softly for her to hear, "there is nothing common about you at all." As he heard a door slam somewhere above, he reluctantly turned back to the dining room.
Mrs. Rand still sat in her chair, but her husband had slumped forward, and his head rested in his plate. As Patrick entered, she sighed unhappily.
"There is nothing I can say, is there?" she managed, her voice low. "Graves has gone to fetch two footmen to help him upstairs."
"I think I'd best leave."
"Yes." But as he turned to go, she spoke again. "I wish you could have known him before—well, before—"
"I have seen men in their cups, Mrs. Rand," he said gently.
"But he was not used to—that is, before he was beaten and robbed, Bat never drank so much, Mr. Hamilton."
"There is something about having a man's purse lifted that makes him feel rather mortal and vulnerable," he observed soberly. "Perhaps that has happened to Mr. Rand."
"He despises weakness, Mr. Hamilton."
"I daresay he will eventually recover."
She looked up at that. "If he does not drink himself into his grave first, sir."
"How long has it been?"
"Since the first time? Five—perhaps six months, I think. There were two times not far apart, then, well, it happened again, but not so severely, only yesterday. Thankfully, they got nothing, and he suffered no more than scratches when he fell. The watch said—" She caught herself. "Well, it doesn't signify, in any event. He was gotten home safely."
Two sturtly fellows, both in livery, arrived to lift their master
"Sit down, missy!"
"No!" Her cheeks hot, she looked to her mother. "Good night, Mama—your pardon, Mr. Hamilton," she choked out. With that, she turned on her heels and marched from the room.
"Missy! Elise!" His own face in high color, the older man tried to shove back his chair, but could not. "Afore God, you'll come back! A—ashamed of you!"
"You shame me, Papa!" she shot back.
For a moment Patrick was rooted to his chair, then he rose hastily, hoping to catch her before she went upstairs. "I daresay she is merely overset," he murmured low to her mother. "I assure you I thought nothing of it."
"Mr. Hamilton, I have never been so mortified in my life," the woman answered. "I can only offer my deepest apology, and—-"
But Patrick was alreatly nearly running for the door. "Miss Rand—wait!"
"No!"
At the bottom of the staircase, he caught up to her, taking her elbow from behind. She jerked it angrily, but he managed to hold on.
"I would you left me alone!"
"Miss Rand, there is no need to flee-—the man was in his cups, nothing more."
"Nothing more?" Her voice rose incredulously. "When I would not flirt with you, he threw me at your head! And you—you stared at me like I was one of Elgin's marbles!"
"The same could be said for you, couldn't it? Look, I didn't expect—"
She rounded on him. "You expected us to behave like fools, and so we have! Well, you have had your amusement, Mr. Hamilton, and now you are free to go home!"
"Miss Rand, don't—" Afraid she meant to cry, he attempted to comfort her, smoothing her shawl where it lay over her shoulders. "Please."
She swallowed visibly as she met his eyes. "Mr. Hamilton, there is no need. I—I am quite all right, I assure you. I am merely humiliated."
Again, the husky quality of her voice enticed him. His hands slid from her shoulders down her arm, taking the silk shawl with them. As it fell to the floor, he drew her closer, savoring the smell of dried lavender on her warm skin.
Her eyes widened in shock as his lips brushed hers, then she pushed him away. Turning, she fled up the steps and did not stop until she looked back from the safety of the top.
"How dare you, sir? For all that I am born common, I am not one of your fancy pieces!" With that, she
gathered her dignity stiffly and disappeared into the upper hallway.
"Miss Rand," he said too softly for her to hear, "there is nothing common about you at all." As he heard a door slam somewhere above, he reluctantly turned back to the dining room.
Mrs. Rand still sat in her chair, but her husband had slumped forward, and his head rested in his plate. As Patrick entered, she sighed unhappily.
"There is nothing I can say, is there?" she managed, her voice low. "Graves has gone to fetch two footmen to help him upstairs."
"I think I'd best leave."
"Yes." But as he turned to go, she spoke again. "I wish you could have known him before—well, before—"
"I have seen men in their cups, Mrs. Rand," he said gently.
"But he was not used to—that is, before he was beaten and robbed, Bat never drank so much, Mr. Hamilton."
"There is something about having a man's purse lifted that makes him feel rather mortal and vulnerable," he observed soberly. "Perhaps that has happened to Mr. Rand."
"He despises weakness, Mr. Hamilton."
"I daresay he will eventually recover."
She looked up at that. "If he does not drink himself into his grave first, sir."
"How long has it been?"
"Since the first time? Five—perhaps six months, I think. There were two times not far apart, then, well, it happened again, but not so severely, only yesterday. Thankfully, they got nothing, and he suffered no more than scratches when he fell. The watch said—" She caught herself. "Well, it doesn't signify, in any event. He was gotten home safely."
Two sturtly fellows, both in livery, arrived to lift their master
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