“Lord Neville, are you all right?”
Clearly he wasn’t.
“Help!” she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way everyone seemed to do when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But he couldn’t even seem to cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.
Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. “A chair,” Lord Stafford instructed. “Now.”
Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount’s cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolateyvoice that had weakened Juliana’s knees when they danced together last week.
But Lord Neville did not look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn’t seem to think so, though. Decidedly un- panicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.
She couldn’t imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man’s big body to lean over the back. Quickly, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville’s mouth and landed at Juliana’s feet.
The viscount took several gasping, gulping breaths while Lord Stafford moved the chair around and helped the man lower himself onto it. Lord Neville slumped there, the color returning to his face while he breathed deeply, as though the simple act of drawing air was the most satisfying thing he’d ever done.
Juliana released a long sigh of relief, in concert with several other people who had become riveted by the emergency.
“You saved his life,” she told Lord Stafford, impressed. After all, she was a woman intent on helping others, and Lord Stafford clearly did the same. But rather than acknowledge her compliment, he only shrugged and crouched down by Lord Neville, asking to have a look in his throat.
Supposing now was not the time to press Lord Neville about his daughter’s snake, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the excitement. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.
“I told you Lord Stafford was a good man,” Griffin said beside her.
She glanced at the man, who was now examining the back of Lord Neville’s throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark, tousled curls flopped over his forehead.
“He saved the viscount’s life,” Griffin added.
“That’s his job,” she snapped. Lord Stafford’s quick,impressive actions didn’t mitigate his shortcomings. He was not what she was looking for in a husband. “Where in heaven’s name is Amanda?”
“Right there,” Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of men across the room.
If Amanda hadn’t been tall enough that Juliana could glimpse the blond curls piled on her head, she would never have believed it. And to think she had fretted earlier concerning Amanda’s ability to attract suitors. Her worries had proved to be groundless.
The trifle was clearly working.
By all appearances, Amanda hadn’t needed Aunt Frances to make any introductions. She was completely surrounded by men. Old men, young men, and men in between. Even Lord Malmsey was there. He stood at the edge of the clutch of admirers, looking somewhat disconcerted to find his betrothed suddenly commanding so much attention.
Juliana made her way over and wormed her way into the crowd. She touched Amanda on the arm, and when Amanda glanced down, she whispered, “The look.” Obviously flustered by her new popularity, Amanda appeared nonplussed for a moment, but quickly smiled one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, then chose a man and flirted through her newly darkened lashes.
“Would you
Clearly he wasn’t.
“Help!” she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way everyone seemed to do when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But he couldn’t even seem to cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.
Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. “A chair,” Lord Stafford instructed. “Now.”
Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount’s cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolateyvoice that had weakened Juliana’s knees when they danced together last week.
But Lord Neville did not look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn’t seem to think so, though. Decidedly un- panicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.
She couldn’t imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man’s big body to lean over the back. Quickly, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville’s mouth and landed at Juliana’s feet.
The viscount took several gasping, gulping breaths while Lord Stafford moved the chair around and helped the man lower himself onto it. Lord Neville slumped there, the color returning to his face while he breathed deeply, as though the simple act of drawing air was the most satisfying thing he’d ever done.
Juliana released a long sigh of relief, in concert with several other people who had become riveted by the emergency.
“You saved his life,” she told Lord Stafford, impressed. After all, she was a woman intent on helping others, and Lord Stafford clearly did the same. But rather than acknowledge her compliment, he only shrugged and crouched down by Lord Neville, asking to have a look in his throat.
Supposing now was not the time to press Lord Neville about his daughter’s snake, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the excitement. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.
“I told you Lord Stafford was a good man,” Griffin said beside her.
She glanced at the man, who was now examining the back of Lord Neville’s throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark, tousled curls flopped over his forehead.
“He saved the viscount’s life,” Griffin added.
“That’s his job,” she snapped. Lord Stafford’s quick,impressive actions didn’t mitigate his shortcomings. He was not what she was looking for in a husband. “Where in heaven’s name is Amanda?”
“Right there,” Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of men across the room.
If Amanda hadn’t been tall enough that Juliana could glimpse the blond curls piled on her head, she would never have believed it. And to think she had fretted earlier concerning Amanda’s ability to attract suitors. Her worries had proved to be groundless.
The trifle was clearly working.
By all appearances, Amanda hadn’t needed Aunt Frances to make any introductions. She was completely surrounded by men. Old men, young men, and men in between. Even Lord Malmsey was there. He stood at the edge of the clutch of admirers, looking somewhat disconcerted to find his betrothed suddenly commanding so much attention.
Juliana made her way over and wormed her way into the crowd. She touched Amanda on the arm, and when Amanda glanced down, she whispered, “The look.” Obviously flustered by her new popularity, Amanda appeared nonplussed for a moment, but quickly smiled one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, then chose a man and flirted through her newly darkened lashes.
“Would you
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