and stood in front of him. From this view, he could see a considerable amount of her smooth, bare thighs. He grabbed his drink, downed it and sputtered. “Sweet,” he choked.
“You certainly are not. Dance with me.”
“I do not dance.”
“I can teach you.”
“Leave me alone, Miss Gifford.”
“I won’t. Not until you have one dance with me.”
The loud, raucous music pounded in his head. It grew louder, slamming through his skull like relentless explosions. The thunderous beat became the burst of shells. It was engulfing him. Nigel shut his eyes—a fatal mistake. With every screech of the music, he could see the endless showers of flying mud and men. Roaring filled his ears and sweat trickled down his back.
“Dance with me, Your Grace. Surely you can’t be afraid of attempting to dance.”
His hands were shaking hard now. He had to get out—
He jolted to his feet. Turning his back on Miss Gifford, he ran to the stairs and took them three at a time. The dining room was a roar of noise. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like fog, like the ash-filled air of no-man’s-land.
He shoved past the doorman, slammed open the door and stalked out into the night.
A car horn sounded and Nigel plastered his body against a brick wall beside him. His entire body shook. His mind was like Pandora’s box—demons poured out and he couldn’t jam them back in.
“Nigel, what is wrong?”
He whirled. Miss Gifford came up to him and put her hands on his arm. “Nigel—”
“Langford. The appropriate form of address is to refer to me by my title,” he snapped, turning his back to her. What in hell would she see in his face? Why had she come after him? “Go dance with my brother,” he barked.
“No.” Her hand skimmed up his arm and rested on his shoulder. “You are shaking and are pale as a ghost. You ran out of the club as if someone was chasing you.”
“Stop touching me.”
But she did not listen. Her body moved closer until he could feel her softness pressing against his side. He felt the warmth of her bare skin through his clothes. Her breath brushed over the back of his neck.
He needed distance. Grasping her hands, he propelled her back. He had to face her to do it.
“What happened to you?” Her large violet eyes searched his face.
He fumbled for a cigarette. A mistake, for it revealed how much his hand still shook. It would take a long time for the physical reaction to subside. But he got the damned smoke out and stuck it between his lips. “I was upset at the sight of my sister.”
Miss Gifford shook her head. “No, this is not anger. This is panic. I understand now. You’re suffering from shell shock.”
“I am not. There is nothing wrong with me.”
“There are many things wrong with you, Langford, and this explains them all. No wonder you didn’t want to talk about war. I apologize for everything I said. You’re obviously suffering.”
“I am not suffering.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
“I am not ashamed. And I am not weak.”
Her plucked brow arched. “You’re afraid to admit there is anything wrong with you. Good heavens, how could there not be? My brother died in France. He wrote letters home. He tried to be strong and stoic for a long time. Then he began to fall apart. He wrote about how he couldn’t stand the shooting and the shelling, the mud, the wet trenches, the sickness any longer—”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, Miss Gifford. The only things I brought back with me from the War are the scars on my face and on my soul. My mind is completely intact.”
She shook her head. He despised sympathy, but her soft, sad expression ladled it over him by the bucketful. “You can’t deny what you feel. You may actually have to face your emotions—”
“I do not have emotions. Now, return inside. Dance in whatever shocking way you want with Sebastian. But send Julia out to me. I am taking her home.”
Her look of concern hardened to iron-strong determination. “Why? So she can be alone, with nothing to do but think of the man she lost? That is not going to help her get over grief. That will force her to wallow in it. She needs dancing and excitement and fun, Langford.”
“You cut her hair, for God’s sake.”
“Even you can’t be afraid of a woman’s haircut.”
“I am not afraid. There is no reason for Julia to change. She is a lady, not a dance-hall floozy.”
“You can’t lock her away as if this were Victorian England.”
“Julia is under my protection. I shall take care of her as I see best.”
For the first time, he realized his voice had risen. Everyone in line outside the club was staring at them. Blast Miss Gifford.
“She is not your chattel, Your Grace. Julia is a grown woman, and every change she made today is one she chose to do. If she wants to cut her hair, she can. If she wants to go to university, she could do that, too. The world is changing, Your Grace.”
“My world bloody well is not—”
A flashbulb exploded in his face. All he could see were spots before his eyes. The instant his vision cleared, a horn blared so loud, it sounded as if it were inside him. Jolting back, he took in the scene in an instant. A weaving car, going too fast.
Miss Gifford froze. Nigel caught her up in his arms. She weighed almost nothing—far less than a wounded soldier. He jumped back as the car lurched into the curb, its tires crunching over the spot Miss Gifford had been standing on.
The door opened, and the drunken driver fell out as he tried to get out.
“Oh, God, I could have been crushed like ice,” she muttered.
He set her on her feet and turned her roughly. “It’s not a joke,” he said heatedly, his chest heaving, his heart pounding. Something was burning through him, something he didn’t understand. It wasn’t the usual cold that hit him before the battle memories attacked him.
He looked down; she looked up. Her eyes were huge violet circles beneath the bright club lights, but her usual expression was back on her face. Jaded amusement. She had no idea what danger was about. She made him want to—
“I should thank you,” she said, “for saving my life—”
His mouth slammed into hers.
Heat. The sweetness of a cocktail. Lightning shot through him, riveting him to this moment in time. Her mouth answered his fierce kiss with hunger. Her kiss was scorching. She was so utterly
