Page 35 of Her Rogue of a Duke
“You really ought to be careful in how you deal with that man,” the Viscount said, his tone taking a condescending turn. “I suspect he may be plotting to exploit you in some manner.”
Francesca's frustration mounted, her jaw gritting in response. “I appreciate your concern, my lord. However, I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs, particularly when it comes to my family.”
Lord Terrell lowered his head so that his mouth was hovering by her ear. His breath brushed the side of her face, making her wince.
"In marriage to me, you would be freed from such concerns," he murmured softly. "As your husband, I would take my responsibilities to protect and care for you most seriously. Surely, you must see that being with me is a far better prospect than contending with your cousin."
Francesca could hardly believe his words. The audacity of this man was astounding to her. She was so taken aback that she was not paying as close attention to her footwork as she should havebeen. She took a misstep with her already injured foot and it buckled beneath her.
With a startled cry, she collapsed to the floor. The entire ballroom seemed to come to an immediate halt as all eyes turned to her.
“Lady Francesca!” Lord Terrell exclaimed. “Are you all right? Let me help you—"
Francesca brushed aside the Viscount’s offered hand. Her cheeks were burning red and her heart pounded furiously as she took in the sea of faces surrounding her. To have everyone stare at her was so mortifying, she wanted the floor to open up right then and there and swallow her whole.
This night was supposed to be a moment of triumph for her, in which she swept through the ballroom and caught the eye of every eligible bachelor with the elegance of her dress and poise. Instead, here she was, in a heap on the floor, humiliated and in pain as her ankle’s throbbing grew worse than before. How had things gone so terribly wrong?
Oh, if only Papa was still alive.She could feel tears threatening to spill over, but she fiercely willed them back.
Strangely, at that moment, as her mind scrambled to come up with an escape, the only thought that continued to permeate through the cloud of humiliation surrounding her… was regarding Joshua.
…And an irrational wish for him to appear, to scoop her up in his arms and whisk her away from here forever.
Joshua stood at the edge of the dance floor, engulfed in a wave of helplessness and rising frustration. He, alongside Benedict and Lady Susan, had just approached the bustling area, when Francesca suddenly collapsed right before his eyes. Joshua’s first instinct had been to rush forward to help her, but he hesitated, recalling what had happened at Hyde Park when he had tried to do the same. He feared that if he tried to step in, he might only make the matter worse. He worried she would hate him for it, as any association with him that appeared too familiar would undoubtedly have a detrimental impact on her reputation. She might not be able to find a husband… but would that be such a bad thing?
No, he could not let his mind wander down that path. He had promised to help her secure a marriage and he could not allow his whimsical feelings to get in the way of their agreement.
Still, standing there doing nothing was killing him. She appeared humiliated, struggling to maintain her composure under the heavy gaze of the gathered throng. The sound of Lady Susan's snicker at his side drew his attention and a glance revealed her smirking countenance. A wave of anger surged through him, igniting another fierce internal struggle. But he fought the surge of fury and forced himself to remain composed. He couldn't afford to act impulsively, not when every move he made could inadvertently affect Francesca's future for the worse.
Just then, a sudden notion sparked in his mind. He nudged Benedict with his elbow, drawing his attention. Upon Benedict's upward glance, Joshua gave a discreet nod toward Francesca, his gesture a silent plea for his friend to go to her aid.
After a few painful seconds, understanding dawned in Benedict’s eyes and he subtly nodded, grasping the situation. Striding purposefully through the gathering crowd, he made his way to Francesca’s side. Joshua loathed himself for not being the one to assist her, but he simply could not risk compromising her reputation in any way.
It was a peculiar shift. Not long ago, he had been indifferent to her social standing—or if anything, overly critical. Now, however, his foremost concern was ensuring she emerged from this ordeal without resentment toward him. And in his mind, maintaining a respectful distance from her in public seemed to be the only viable way to achieve that.
Benedict approached Francesca and offered a hand, his voice carrying over, “Perhaps I could be of assistance, my lady?”
Francesca, however, much like she had done a moment ago with Hucklow, declined the assistance, waving Benedict's hand away. Joshua couldn't understand why she wouldn't just take the help. Why was she being so stubborn? Did she think it would hurt her pride to have somebody help her?
Whatever was going through her mind, he could not guess.
The next moment though, she rose to her feet rather awkwardly, hindered by her injured ankle and the cumbersome gown. A picture of delicacy. For a long second, she looked around the ballroom and everybody gawking at her, and Joshua was shocked to see her face grow even redder. Then, gathering her skirts, she made a swift, albeit limping, exit from the dance floor towards the ballroom's exit.
Joshua's gaze lingered on her retreating figure, his heart lodged in his throat. A voice inside him was clamoring to go after her. To make sure she was alright. He wanted to catch her and hold her and soothe her wounded pride. He wanted to tell her not to think about any of the people that she had left behind in the ballroom. They did not matter. She was the only one that mattered.
And as she disappeared through the ballroom doors, Joshua found himself unable to resist the pull of his emotions any longer. The potential whispers and rumors of the Ton regarding his interest in her held no sway over him as he unshackled himself from Lady Susan’s vice grip and hastened through the ballroom in pursuit of Francesca. With his decision, he could hear the curious murmurs of the crowd around him as they watched his uncharacteristic dash, but he did not care. All he cared about was her. He needed to know that she was all right. He needed her to know that she was not facing the world alone.
Joshua artfully glided by the remaining spectators and made his way out of Carrington Hall before pausing at the top of the steps, his eyes scouring the drive. But Francesca was nowhere in sight. Had she already fled home in the carriage he had arranged for her? Determined to catch up with her, he sent a waiting footmanout to find his own carriage and inform the driver to bring it around.
Joshua waited impatiently for the carriage to reach the front steps and it had barely stopped when he bounded down toward it, threw open the door, and climbed inside.
“Elmcroft!” he commanded sharply. The door slammed shut with a decisive thud, and the carriage lurched forward as the driver spurred the horses into motion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When Joshua drew nearer to Elmcroft manor, he spotted Francesca’s carriage still sitting out by the stables.Good. That meant she had at least made it back home safe and sound. As his carriage pulled up before the driveway, he disembarked before it drew to a halt and hastily made his way inside. He needed to make sure that she was all right.
He hurried up the grand staircase to the second floor, taking three steps at a time, and beelined straight for Francesca’s chambers. Arriving at her door, he rapped sharply, his voice laced with concern.