“It was a white lie. They are permitted – sometimes,” he justified the untruth.
Bathsheba grinned. A man had come to her rescue! She was twenty-six-years old and yet a handsome, charming man had defended her. She was on a cloud.
Mrs. Pemberton had made it clear that the soirée was about to commence. Those who had been conversing in small groups found places to sit. When Mrs. Pemberton wanted something done, it was done. Invitations to her evenings were much sought after so no one wished to risk displeasing her. In a matter of five minutes, everyone was seated and she stood at the front of the rostrum, ready to announce the programme.
The room itself was dazzling with the hundreds of candles reflected in the mirrors lining the walls. Mrs. Pemberton might be a widow, but she was a wealthy one. She never gave a second thought to the cost of candles used throughout her house for one of her 'soirées.'
Bathsheba had been taken aback at seeing herself in the mirrors. She hadn't immediately recognised the person she was looking at, but a thrill ran through her when she realised that she was that elegant woman next to Mr. Hutton. She breathed easier; no longer worried that she would embarrass him. They looked a fine pair, which gave her pleasure while at the same time making her sad. After the unpleasantness with Gregory, she wondered if he would still want to pursue their acquaintance. She hadn't noticed any change in his attitude, but then, being a gentleman, he wouldn't spoil her evening regardless of what he thought.
She decided that she would put that consideration aside and enjoy the music. There was no point in delving into future complications or repercussions now. Nights in bed were made for that.
Chapter 6
Once the music had begun, Bathsheba had no difficulty in letting herself be drawn into it. Her whole being was enveloped by harmonies, high notes and low. Mrs. Frank's deep melodious voice struck a chord in Bathsheba's chest which brought her very near to crying. She would remember Mrs. Pemberton's 'do' for a long time to come.
At the interval, she excused herself from Mr. Hutton's company. Her headdress needed re-adjusting and she wanted to take advantage of the break to relieve herself. When the second half of the musical ended, it would immediately be followed by supper, and it was not a good time to go off to the ladies' room. A lot of people would be bustling to be served at dinner and Bathsheba did not relish the idea of being separated from her cavalier.
A servant indicated the direction to the reposing room for ladies, which she found without any problem. A maidservant was able to remove the headdress, re-coif Bathsheba satisfactorily before returning it to her head and pinning it. The whole process had taken a little more time than she had anticipated, though, as she'd had to wait her turn for assistance. She hoped that Mr. Hutton was a patient man.
On her way back along the corridor, she was completely taken by surprise when an arm snaked around her waist and grabbed her. The action so startled her that she didn't have time to cry out before a hand covered her mouth, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged backwards into a room off the passageway. The door slammed shut behind them.
She knew who it was before he'd released his hold and pinned her against the wall with his body, wrists held tightly each side of her.
Gregory.
“No one slights me and gets away with it,” he seethed inches away from her face.
And then he covered her mouth with his own.
*
The kiss was a violation of all her senses.
*
She struggled futilely. His fury gave him strength to which hers was no match.
The dimly lit room began to fade as she was unable to breathe, stifled by his unleashed passion.
And then he was gone. She slipped down the wall unable to remain on her shaking legs. She was aware of a ripping sound and all she could think was that she would never wear this dress again. Now sitting on the carpet, back against the wall, she looked at her hands resting in her lap; very white against the burgundy. Nicely shaped hands.
“Bathsheba, Bathsheba, dear. Please look at me.”
She could hear a man's voice penetrating her incoherent thoughts.
The room was still dim but she saw that the man leaning down to her had changed. His voice had changed as well. It was Mr. Hutton.
He had come to defend her yet again.
A sob caught in her throat as she whispered his name.
“Mr. Hutton? You have saved me. Thank you.”
And then she couldn't stop from crying as the enormity of the evening overflowed.
He took her up in his arms as best he could and carried her to a sofa. He sat and, instead of releasing her, kept her snug in his arms.
“Please don't cry, my dear. It is over and I won't let it happen again,” he promised.
“Where did he go?” she managed to say in between sobs. Her cheek was pressed against his chest and she felt contented and safe.
“He's there, out cold,” he said as he nodded to a limp lump on the floor.
“You won't have to worry about him anymore. I have ways of enforcing threats I make, and if I'm not mistaken, you will find that he'll be leaving the country in short order. Otherwise, he will find himself as crew on one of my ships leaving for India.”
Bathsheba pressed herself even closer to Mr. Hutton's chest, appreciating the strong heartbeat and the security of his arms. It might be the only chance she would ever get.
“You do realise that you are obliged to marry me now?” he said laughing.
She sat up abruptly.
“What do you mean?” She wasn't sure that she had heard him correctly. Now she was completely alert and in control of her wits.
“Marry you?”
“Well, you have been found in a rather compromising situation and I'm afraid your reputation is shot,” he explained quite succinctly.
She looked around the room. It was quiet. The lump on the floor was hardly breathing.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute... There's no one else here. Who found me in a compromising situation?”