Free The Wicked Guardian by Vanessa Gray Page B

wandering down the middle of the table? Nothing like it in the world, I am convinced.”
    “I could not believe that those were real fish,” said Clare. “But I do not quite see how one could contrive such real-looking creatures.”
    “No need to contrive,” said Harry. “They were real fish. I can tell you this is the truth, for a lady seated near me found one leaping into her glass of champagne.”
    Clare gurgled with laughter. ‘Truly?”
    ‘Truly,” he affirmed. “I can tell you I haven’t seen such a sight since my brother and I took a dislike to our tutor and ... well, that’s not germane to the issue at all.”
    They reached a turn in the path, but beyond, the flambeaux flickered reassuringly, and she allowed Harry to urge her gently forward. “Should you like something to drink?” he asked at last. “I should have thought of it when we were closer to the house!”
    “Oh, I would!” she exclaimed. “But—”
    “No buts,” he said. “Here is a bench. If you will wait here for me, I shall bring you ... What shall I bring you? A lemon squash?”
    “That will be fine. But had I not better come with you?” She looked around her at the bench, the shrubs.
    “And have Sir Alexander whisk you away?” said Harry in assumed shock. “To dance?”
    “I’ll wait here,” said Clare. But in truth it was not Sir Alex she feared, but Lord Choate. Perhaps he had given up searching for her. She devoutly hoped so, for she was too restless and upset to endure further strictures from a man she barely could tolerate, and who, thank goodness, had no right to tell her anything.
    But sitting alone on the bench, she began to consider her position. Surely she was wrong to allow herself to be lured so far from her friends, and while there were voices beyond, and now and then a footstep on the gravel, yet she felt suddenly very much alone.
    But she did not have time enough to become truly frightened. Harry returned, bearing a tall glass of lemon squash. “I’m sorry to have been so long,” he said. “I had trouble finding a waiter.”
    The glass was cold, and welcome. She began to sip it. “Were you frightened here?” said Harry, sitting beside her on the bench. “Did ... anyone come?”
    “No,” she said. “Not precisely frightened, although I confess I did not like it very much. It was darker than I thought at first. But ... Isn’t this delightful! I do appreciate your bringing me the drink.”
    It tickled her nose. “This is quite the best lemon squash I ever had,” she told him in a rush. “It is so tingly!”
    Harry laughed softly. “They do not stint on the soda water. The regent, you know, thinks in large terms!”
    She had half-finished her drink before she spoke again. “I really think this is more than I want. Mr. Rowse, I think ...” She truly thought the drink was too much for her. After her exertions on the dance floor, perhaps the cold drink was upsetting her stomach. At least, she was feeling very strange.
    “I think,” she began again, “that we had better... ”
    Mr. Rowse’s arm, which had stolen along the back of the bench, now encircled her shoulders, and turned her toward him. Instinct told her to throw the drink in his face, but her fingers would not obey her.
    Mr. Rowse, with his free hand, took her chin firmly in his fingers and tilted it up. His smile was still admiring, but there was a quality in it now that turned her blood to ice.
    How foolish—how very stupid —she had been!

8 .
    The drink was too strong—she realized that now. The drink had been laced with alcohol, and she would be lucky to get away. She had no hope of escape.
    Harry Rowse’s arm now moved downward from her shoulders to her waist, and his clasp was as one of iron. She should have been suspicious, said a scolding voice in her mind. Any lady of any countenance would never have allowed herself to stroll even in broad daylight with such a one as Harry Rowse.
    The liquor exerted a paralyzing influence