Free Regency 09 - Redemption by Jaimey Grant Page B

sudden
pallor of his fair partner. Jenny also stopped, trying desperately
to catch a breath but failing.
    Lord Connor, alerted by
Compton’s shout, raced forward, pulling to a stop beside his
sister. She was gasping as if she were suffocating slowly. He threw
himself from the saddle, grabbed her around the waist and hauled
her down to sit on a nearby park bench. Pushing her head down
ruthlessly between her knees, he ordered her tersely to calm down
and breath, dammit!
    Jenny tried. But the
thoughts streaking through her brain quite simply would not allow
her a single healing breath.
    When she’d gone a full
sixty seconds without a decent breath and her vision was turning
black around the edges, her brother thumped her, none too gently,
on the back.
    Suddenly, her lungs began
working properly again. She drew in one deep breath, then two, then
three. Finally, Connor’s anchoring hand was removed and she could
sit up.
    Staring in dismay, she
realized she’d created quite a scene. Members of Society gathered
all around trying none-too-subtly to determine what ailed her.
Heads craned over and around other heads, mouths bent to whisper
into neighbor’s ears, and everyone formed some sort of conclusion.
Mostly erroneous, but she just knew some of them were forming the
right one.
    And it almost terrified her
into another fit.
    “No, you don’t, Jenny,”
snapped her brother. “Do not panic again.” His voice rose a bit, in
order to reach the front members of their unwelcome audience.
“Bluebell merely stumbled. You were not about to be
thrown.”
    Jenny thanked her brother
for this unlikely excuse even as she cursed him for putting her
equestrian skills in such a poor light. She’d always been a rather
good rider but considering what the real problem was, she’d allow
everyone to believe she had no business being on a
horse.
    Besides,
wasn’t it dangerous to ride in her condition? What if she had been
thrown?
    Jenny just barely refrained
from clutching protectively at her stomach. Pasting a rather sickly
smile on her pale features, she assured her brother in an undertone
that all was well and she’d merely been overcome with faintness.
His look was dubious but he accepted her excuse with good grace and
helped her to stand.
    They returned sedately to
Denbigh House, Lord Compton bidding them adieu at the door. Lord
Connor ushered his sisters into the house and into an empty
receiving room with a terse order to sit.
    Rounding on them, Jenny in
particular, he asked, “What is going on?” He waved a hand in the
air, his expression warning them to be honest. “And none of this
feeling faint nonsense. You’ve never felt faint a day in your
life.”
    Jenny looked indignant. “I
have too. Remember Cousin Louisa’s wedding?”
    Connor grunted. “That
hardly counts. I felt faint. Lord, who would have thought she’d
have the nerve to wear a black dress to her own
wedding.”
    Jenny and Gwen giggled
helplessly. “Perhaps if she’d been marrying against her will but
she honestly believed black was a becoming and appropriate color
for a wedding,” gasped Gwen.
    “Do you know she said she
didn’t know what all the fuss was about,” added Jenny. “She had no
idea her bosom was about to fall out of her bodice.”
    The girls erupted into
laughter and even Connor couldn’t keep back a smile or
two.
    After a moment, his
lordship finally inserted dimly, “That is not to the point and you
know it. Then, holding back your laughter brought on your
faintness. Today was utter panic.” He paused, his gaze probing.
With a sigh, he sat down on the settee between his sisters, making
them edge closer to the arms. “Jenny, I have seen that look before
and prayed to God then to never see it again. Please tell me what
caused it.”
    Part of Jenny wanted
desperately to do just that. Another part, the saner, more sensible
part, knew that to tell her brother at this moment would be to sign
Dare’s death warrant.
    “It was a momentary