She wanted to cheer.
“Teddy!” Daphne cried. She knelt beside her husband, drawing the handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and pressing it to his bloodied lip. Then she turned a scathing gaze in Rafe’s direction. “What’s wrong with you? You’re like some kind of animal.”
But Rafe wasn’t there to hear it.
When Clio searched the crowd for him, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Well. That was that.
Rafe’s great return to society was over before it had even begun.
A crowd gathered at once. Crowds were always drawn to blood.
From the moment he’d entered the ballroom, they’d all been hoping for a scene like this. Rafe had half expected it, too. This was why he’d told the grooms to keep his gelding saddled.
As he carved through the crush of bodies on his way to the door, whispers and rumors buzzed about him like bees, stinging from all sides.
They knew he didn’t belong here.
He knew it, too.
He was an impulsive, reckless devil with no sense of comportment. There was only one reason he had any interest in attending balls or claiming the privilege that accompanied his given title: to pay his debts to Clio. Well, his aristocratic birthright couldn’t even get her into the damned supper room. And he couldn’t last ten minutes without unleashing his inner brute.
Now the best thing he could do for her was to leave.
A steady rain had started, turning the drives and pathways to mud. He turned up the lapels of his coat and made his way to the stables. He wouldn’t get far in weather like this, but he would get somewhere.
“Rafe! Rafe, wait.”
He turned. She came dashing to meet him, wet silk clinging to her legs. For that matter, wet silk was clinging to her everywhere.
And of course the silk would be pink. It had to be pink.
He drew her into the stables. “Clio, what are you doing? Go back in the house.”
“If you’re leaving, I’m leaving with you.”
He threw a glance toward the grooms and lowered his voice. “Don’t be absurd. It’s raining. You’ll catch a chill. And for Christ’s sake, you still haven’t eaten. Go inside at once.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going back. There’s no going back.”
There’s no going back.
He didn’t know what those words meant to her, but the possibilities both thrilled and horrified him.
He shook off his damp coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, taking the chance to search her expression.
Locks of golden hair were plastered to her face, and raindrops dappled her cheeks. Her nose was red. But her eyes had never been so clear and determined.
Beautiful, foolish, impossible woman.
“What about Phoebe?”
“I asked her. She would be more upset if I didn’t go after you.”
“If you want to leave, I can order your carriage driver to . . .”
“I don’t want the carriage. Not unless you mean to ride in it, too. Rafe, can’t you understand this? I’m not running away from the party. I’m following you.”
No, no. Don’t say that. Take it back.
He could resist anything but those words.
“Don’t do this,” he warned. “If you push me right now, I’ll do something brash. Something you’d only regret.”
She stepped forward. “If you leave these stables without me, I will follow you. On foot. In the rain. Without a cloak. I’ll walk all the way to Southwark, if that’s what it takes.” She blinked away a raindrop caught in her lashes. “So if you’re concerned for my health and well-being, Rafe Brandon, you had better—”
Rafe never heard the rest of her impassioned threat. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto his gelding.
Then he mounted behind her, circling one arm about her middle and bracketing her hips with his thighs.
As he nudged the horse into a canter, he pulled her roughly to him. Holding her not like a lover, but like a captive. She’d asked for this. Tonight, she was in his keeping, for all the best and worst of what that could mean to them both.
And she was right on one score.
There could be no going back.
Clio was soaked to the skin and shivering in the dark. She had no idea where she was, or where Rafe might be taking her.
And she’d never been happier in her life.
Never mind the cold and the darkness. His body was warm. And her heart had enough joy inside it to blaze like a lantern. She could stay forever like this—tucked against his broad, strong chest and blanketed by his coat as the horse faithfully trudged through the rain and mud.
They stopped at the first inn they came across. Rafe ushered her inside, presenting some tale to the innkeeper about newlyweds and a broken carriage axle.
Clio tried not to make too much of the fact that he’d introduced her as his wife. He was only being protective, no doubt. Trying to deflect suspicion from the appearance of a man and woman traveling alone.
Still . . . When he uttered the phrase, “a room for my wife,” she leapt at the chance to nestle close to his side.
Once they’d been shown upstairs, he gave orders to the serving girls.
Well, not only to the serving girls.
“Stay on that side of the room,” he directed Clio. “I’m only here until you’re settled. Then I’ll go down for the night.”
“That’ll be a blow to your pride, I fear. We’re supposed to be newlyweds. They won’t think the honeymoon’s going well.”