The words came out with all the calm that pervaded the atmosphere before men rushed out of a trench with rifles. “My sister is cavorting half-naked on a public dance floor.”
“Which is perfectly natural in a dance club,” Miss Gifford pointed out. “Dragging her off the floor and throwing your coat over her is more fitting to the last century. If you are so concerned about appearances, look around you, Duke. You are creating the scandal here.”
Dimly, he became aware of the stares. Hundreds of them. Grunting with anger—how dare she be in the right?—Nigel watched Miss Gifford lead Julia to a table. Sebastian was there, along with a group of rainbow-colored drinks. Two glasses in front of his brother were already empty.
Miss Gifford handed him a full one in a revolting shade of yellow-green. Nigel put it down. He didn’t drink things the color of urine. “What in hell were you thinking?” he growled at her. “Julia is in mourning.”
Julia threw off his coat so it landed on the back of the chair and sipped a pink drink.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Gifford said. “Lady Julia can’t be mourning for the rest of her life.”
Julia set down her drink and Sebastian whisked her onto the dance floor. Damn his brother.
Miss Gifford jumped to her feet 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.
