Fallon screamed Emma’s name as loudly as her lungs could manage. Chilton grabbed her aggressively trying unsuccessfully to cover her mouth with his hand. Instinctive need for survival lent bravery to her actions. Fallon bit piercingly at his hand with all the strength she could muster.

‘You vicious harlot!’ Chilton raised his fist into the air, ready to strike Fallon, but his hand did not reach her face, instead a powerful fist slugged his face. Agonizingly Chilton fell to the floor. It was dark, Fallon could not see who her rescuer was, but every predisposition inside her told her who he was. As the darkness revealed more of the outline of her rescuer, Fallon saw Braeden lift Chilton up from the floor. His fist swung into Chilton’s face again. Braeden’s knee pierced into Chilton’s mid drift before he slumped to the floor. Fallon’s shock subsided. She sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

‘Fallon!’ Emma and Burward came running, after hearing Fallon call out.

‘My lady, are you okay?’ Braeden’s voice was comforting, his palm gentle, as he touched her shoulder to reassure her that she was safe from harm.

‘Yes,’ she stammered. She looked up, her eyes dipping into his reassuring passionate eyes that held hers, offering her much needed comfort.

‘Fallon, what happened?’ Emma reached her sister. ‘We were behind you and next we didn’t know which way you disappeared.’

‘The duke___ he said there was a bench where we could sit and next ___ I did not know where we were. It was dark and frightening.’

‘It’s okay,’ Emma wrapped her arms around Fallon protectively. ‘Everything’s okay now,’ she murmured soothingly. ‘Thank you, Lord Hampton,’ Emma smiled at him appreciatively.

Fallon looked up at him uncomfortably. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

She wondered what he was doing out there alone. She wondered where his companion was.

‘At your service my lady,’ his eyes gently teased. ‘Here, you’re cold,’ he removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

‘Thank you,’ she accepted gratefully. She could feel the heat of his body, his familiar scent on his heavy coat.

‘Perhaps you should all return inside. The second show is about to start. I shall deal with this mess,’ Braeden’s tone was grave and angry.

‘Where is Lady Abigail?’ Emma enquired. I saw her with you at the refreshment stand.’

Braeden’s eyes shuttered. How could he explain his instinctive fear that Lady Fallon had been in grave danger? He had not thought Wentworth would be so stupid to attempt kidnapping Lady Fallon in such a public place, yet the dimwitted duke had attempted just that.

‘She is with her folks. I shall return shortly. Go on,’ Braeden instructed.

The three turned away. Braeden lifted Chilton like he weighed next to nothing and dragged him to his carriage. He will deal with the duke more severely, when he came around. How dare he take advantage of Lady Fallon? How dare he even think to attempt to assault her? His Lady…. She was his, nobody else’s. No other gentleman should touch her… ever

Little had Fallon known, that Braeden had discreetly followed her after seeing her step out with the worthless duke. He did not trust Chilton. He knew he was a good for nothing scoundrel and a disgrace to the ton.

The following morning, Fallon sat staring out the window. There was no sun streaming into the Sunflower room. It was a leaden, miserable day, matching her despondent mood. She watched the rain splatter against the window panes, trickle down the cement grooves and fall to the already sodden ground. She sighed heavily. Having hardly slept, her mind returned to the reprehensible event of the previous evening. She was unable to dismiss the frightful encounter with Chilton. He could have raped her. She shut her eyes tightly, thankful for Braeden’s timely arrival. How dare that despicable duke attempt to scandalize her in that manner? The contemptible rakehell! They were all the same. Those filthy swines…masquerading as respectable gentlemen.

That afternoon Braeden called on the Fulhams to check on Fallon. She was loathe to receive him, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. The scandalous event of the previous night could have been avoided. Emma had tried to warn Fallon not to accept the duke’s invitation. Rebellious as she was, she had irresponsibly ignored her sister’s counsel. Braeden had braved the foul weather to pay calls to her. Least she could do is show her gratitude.

Fallon dragged herself to the sitting room to greet her rescuer. He was standing at the fireplace, his back to the entrance, his hands spread out, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Braeden sensed he was not alone. He looked over his shoulder, found her staring, before she shifted her eyes uncomfortably.

She looked delicate. Not the spirited, confident lady that he knew her to be. There were dark patches under her eyes. Clearly, she was still traumatized from the night before. Braeden was incensed with rage. Damn you Wentworth. Braeden’s fists curled violently at his sides. He wanted to go back to Chilton and disfigure his already ugly face, but his pressing need now was to touch Fallon… crush her in his arms, make her know, she was safe with him.

‘My lady, good day. How are you?’ he walked to her. His fingers gently touched her elbow. He longed to undo her soft silky blonde strands held together by a pink lace ribbon.

Her cerulean eyes lifted, powerless to ignore that electric connection between them, exuding that aura of passion that drew her to him like a magnet. A wretched, muffled sob escaped her throat. She tried to turn away, to run from him, but his reflexes were quicker. His arms reached out, barricading her within the steel bands of his arms.

‘Fallon ___,’ he murmured, tightening his hold around her. ‘I was worried.’

‘You probably think I ___ deserved what ___ happened.’

‘No! Never! I would never wish harm on you, my lady,’ he crushed her against his chest, pressing his lips to her temple.

‘Let me go,’ she pleaded, ‘mama ___ may walk in.’

Reluctantly, he dropped his arms. ‘Let us be seated,’ he led her to the sofa.

‘You should not have come out in the rain,’ she chastised.

He smiled. ‘Tis only water, will hardly break my bones.’

Fallon tugged on the bell pull. A maid servant appeared. She requested refreshments for Braeden.

Braeden could not break the protective barrier Fallon erected around herself. She was subdued, hardly talking, except responding in monosyllables when he tried to engage her. She did not look his way, keeping her head lowered. She held her teacup in her hand, not drinking from it, just staring at the contents as if willing it to disappear.

‘What are you doing?’ Fallon asked in alarm, when Braeden rescued the cup from her fingers.

‘You are not drinking it Fallon,’ he murmured, placing the cup back on the tray. ‘Go riding with me tomorrow,’ he invited.

‘No,’ she refused flatly. Not like she meant anything to him, now that Lady Abigail was his flavour of the month.

Braeden inhaled heavily. Clearly she was still distressed. He was angry, but not at her.

‘Fallon,’ he took both her hands. She tried to pull away but he would not release her fingers. ‘You need to get out. You cannot stay cooped up indoors.’

‘Why not?’ She challenged. The blue rims of her eyes widening furiously.

He smiled. Pleased to see her spirit was not totally destroyed. He lifted his fingers to her cheeks, brushed it softly.

‘You do not like being indoors,’ he smiled.

‘Well ___ I do not feel like the outdoors,’ she rebuffed.

‘Baxendale won’t be showing his face for many months,’ Braeden grated.

She gasped, ‘what did you do to him?’

‘Not as much as he rightly deserves,’ he growled. ‘I should have broken his neck.’

‘My lord!’

‘He meant to harm you Fallon!’

She looked away. ‘You did not have to stoop to his level.’

Braeden grunted. Silently he remarked, the duke was supposed to be a peer of the highest rank, not as Fallon had called it.

‘There is another matter I come about,’ he spoke again, smiling. ‘Grandmère wishes to hold the annual ball next week at the Hampton Hall.’

She searched his face wondering if he was fibbing. Her mother had not mentioned that event amongst the invitations. Perhaps, though Braeden was mentioning it, the invitations had not as yet gone out. The Hamptons did hold splendid balls every year. Their ballroom would be turned into an extravagant affair, sparing no expenses. Every gentleman, peer, lady and debutant coveted an invitation to the annual Hampton gala evening.

‘Is ___ the Duke of Baxendale going to be there?’

‘No. I will make sure in advance, that he tenders an apology,’ Braeden grinned.

I gather Lady Abigail will be your companion for the evening.

On the Saturday morning, Carissa and Fallon went out riding in the park.

‘Fallon,’ Carissa closed her arms around Fallon. ‘I heard about your misfortune at the opera. ‘I am so sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ Fallon smiled sadly. She was feeling much better. Her spirits were lifted. She refused to allow Chilton to wreak havoc with her emotions. She would not cower and wither away. She was resilient and made of the strongest leather. She will not give Chilton the satisfaction, not him nor any other man would break her spirit…ever.

‘I feel so much better,’ Fallon smiled. ‘To think I trusted him, a peer,’ she shuddered. ‘If Hampton had not appeared, I don’t know what the duke would have done to me,’ Fallon’s wide eyes looked earnestly at Carissa.

Thank God, Hampton arrived in time,’ Carissa smiled reassuringly.

Fallon nodded. She did not want to dwell too much on Braeden. He has been occupying far too much of her mind. She had not stopped thinking about him since his visit the day after the incident with Chilton … and tonight was the famous Hampton gala ball. Nothing else was being talked about in the ton.

Thinking of the devil… Fallon was surprised to see him riding in the park with none other than Lady Abigail, in his flashy open carriage. She would have thought he would be busy readying the Hampton Estate for their guests tonight, but then again he had hundreds of servants. What did the lazy oaf need to do by himself? Braeden stopped his carriage to greet the ladies.

‘Good morning, Lady Carissa, Lady Fallon,’ his eyes lingered on Fallon a little longer.

‘Good morning,’ both ladies greeted Braeden and Lady Abigail with equal courtesy.

Lady Abigail smiled shyly, politely returning the greeting.

‘I am delighted you are taking advantage of the sunny weather Lady Fallon,’ Braeden commented cryptically. She knew what he meant.

Fallon looked up into the azure sky, as if to reassure herself. ‘Yes, it is a lovely day,’ she smiled.

Braeden felt relieved to see her smile. She would recover soon enough. ‘Ladies,’ he tipped his hat. ‘Enjoy your morning… till tonight,’ his eyes rested on Fallon’s with a hint of promise.

Fallon could not understand why her cheeks suddenly grew warm. She blamed the hot weather for the trickle of perspiration dripping down her cleavage and her spine. It was definitely the warm riding habit causing her body temperature to soar. And why was she suddenly tongue-tied? She normally was never short of anything to say.

As Braeden’s carriage drew away, Carissa looked at her friend speculatively. Fallon was normally the talkative one. She could swear there was some secret message Braeden and Fallon were silently transmitting to each other.

‘I am looking forward to the ball tonight,’ Carissa tested her hypothesis.

‘As is everybody else in the ton, I’m sure of it,’ Fallon answered evasively, as she carefully steered Carissa’s carriage through Hyde Park’s morning traffic.

The footmen were lighting the last of the candles for the evening. Hampton cast a speculative eye around the ballroom. He nodded approvingly to the butler. Everything was ready for tonight.

He heard voices at the door…her voice. A nervous anticipation settled in his stomach. He smoothed the soft lace ruffles on his cuffs and prepared to meet his esteemed guests. Fallon waited her turn. Her parents were announced, so was Emma and Burward, then her name was announced.

‘Lady Fallon Brightmore,’ the footman announced.

Fallon straightened her back. Her shoulders relaxed; her hands gracefully at her sides as she was taught from her earliest years of grooming. With quick measured steps she entered the lavish candlelit gala room of the Hampton’s and was warmly greeted by Braeden and the dowager countess.

Fallon smiled serenely. Her gaze wandering over the many sea of the ton’s familiar faces. She acknowledged with careful practice the many admiring faces turned towards her. She was a beautiful young lady of gentle breeding and knew what was expected of her in a gathering such as this where the most elite peers had descended to luxuriate on festivities as only the Earl of Hampton knew how to lay out with such magnificence and extravagance. Fallon’s eye roved appreciatively over the yards of expensive and fashionable silk adorned on every lady and maiden. Every gentleman had outdone himself in the latest evening fashion borrowed from the continent, but one stood out above the rest. He was taller, broader, most handsome, elegant, elaborate in a white silk waistcoat, and pants. His long tailed coat in dark blue. The buttons on his coat and waistcoat glistened like polished gemstones. He stole her breath. She longed to peel off his coat, waistcoat and shirt and touch his expansive shoulders. Not that Fallon needed any reminding of the leashed strength and power of his body. Her fingers tingled just remembering the feel of the exquisite sinew and flesh as if it was just yesterday, even though it felt like it had happened in another lifetime.

He had greeted her with the due courtesy, but now his attention was divided amongst his other guests. There was a duke in attendance, not Chilton thankfully. An earl or two and many more peers. Fallon observed with disappointment, Lady Abigail was constantly at his side, as if unofficially the lady in waiting, attentively grasping every word uttered through Braeden’s lips. Unladylike thoughts consumed Fallon.

She felt alone in the crowded room. She longed to walk outside in the cool of the night, and drink in the evening air, but unpleasant visions of the ill-fated night at the opera with Chilton, overwhelmed her. She stayed put where she was.

No one had seen the blasted duke since that night. Braeden had stoically refused to answer her, when Fallon had questioned him about Chilton. Tonight, he was not available for her, neither was Drew. Carissa was merrily monopolizing her sweetheart. Emma and Burward were sitting on a sofa, engrossed in each other, under the baroness’s watchful eye.

‘Are you not enjoying the evening my lady?’

Why was that voice always so soothing and comforting and where did he spring from? Fallon looked up. She found herself staring into mocking grey eyes, that held hers refusing to release its hold on her. Fallon wondered where his companion was. They seemed to have been attached to the hip until now.

‘Fallon?’

‘Yes?’ She mumbled.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked.

She nodded, them remembered to speak. ‘Yes.’

‘I want to take you out into the garden my lady , but I guess you will not be receptive to such an invitation.