The Misfit Marquess by Teresa DesJardien Page B

done the same, would have chosen not to think well of a mute and vague creature.
    For who would suspect pretense? What was to be gained by it? Freedom, of course ... but the ladies could not know Elizabeth sought escape rather than protection.
    It was the way of a lone woman to seek protection—Elizabeth would have done so herself, were there any place to turn to gain it. But, no, her protection lay in an anonymity that could buy her escape—from this house, from the hospitality that did her cause more harm than good, from gossip's wicked tongue. She sighed, regretting the afternoon's encounter, in fact regretting everything from the moment she had agreed to ''elope" with Radford Barnes.
    Lord Greyleigh returned to the parlor, his hands crossed behind his back, his expression in its usual polite but neutral arrangement.
    "That was not too terrible," he said, not quite looking directly at her.
    "No," she agreed.
    "You did not remember anything new?" He phrased it as a question, but his tone implied he already knew the answer would be negative.
    "Nothing," she said honestly enough, for there was a difference between remembering and sharing.
    "How is your foot?"
    The question surprised her, for it was the first thing he had asked her that went beyond mere politeness, however minutely. He had not needed to inquire after her health, not really. Perhaps he merely sought to make idle conversation while they waited for the footmen to return and carry her up the stairs.
    "I wish it might heal more quickly," she said, a kind of apology for lingering in his house.
    He made a noise in his throat that might have been an agreement or a dismissal, but nothing about his demeanor told her which. He unfolded his hands from behind his back and crossed to her side. Without asking her permission, he scooped her up into his arms.
    "My lord!" she squeaked in surprise, her arms slipping around his neck in order to help support her position in his arms. "I am content to wait upon the footmen."
    "Why, when I am standing about doing nothing?" he said, his tone almost bitter, or perhaps more accurately, a bit self-mocking.
    He carried her from the room and to the stairs, plainly exhibiting good health and strength, for he did not even begin to breathe with effort until halfway up the stairs. She was neither tiny nor slight, and many a man would have labored to carry her the distance required.
    So, Elizabeth thought, he was not an idle man. and indeed the fit of his coat suggested arms and chest that were forged by physical labor. When he saved his footmen from the task of carrying her, it was because he himself must be used to doing what needed doing. Her grandpapa had been such a man, a man to labor in the fields beside his steward, a man who liked to ride and fish and swim, and toss granddaughters in the air and catch them as they fell giggling back into his strong hands.
    This man had twice now made her think of Grandpapa, but where one had possessed open arms and a lap upon which to reside, this man's physical nearness filled Elizabeth with an odd tingling awareness of maleness that had nothing to do with childhood games.
    Being carried by a man, a stranger, was a curious, enforced intimacy, out of keeping with most of Society's rules. She must cling to him, her arms about his neck as though he were a lover, their bodies meeting in ways that would be severely frowned upon were they dancing. She could smell his scent, some manner of shaving soap no doubt, and the warmth from his arms penetrated her senses, warming her skin.
    She felt a ripple of attraction, which shocked her. How inappropriate! Had she not learned her lesson from Radford Barnes about the dangers of mere attraction? She would net allow her mind to venture down that path, not with this man.
    Still, she was too aware of where Lord Greyleigh's arms held her, despite liking the feel even as she rejected it—what an intolerable position in which to be! Her own fluster made conversation