. .She couldn't read his expression. And it was so terrible that she didn't even want to try.The field of spectators began to revolve slowly around her. The clamor in her ears rose, drowning out the hum of voices, becoming as one with the roaring. Celsie, shaking, turned away, her head high. She briefly shut her eyes so she could not see her world spinning, and bravely, determinedly, began the long walk back toward her carriage.Please, God, don't let me faint in front of everyone —But God didn't seem to be looking out for her today.For at that moment, she happened to catch sight of her sleeve, upon which a very red, very bright, very gruesome blotch of her own blood was seeping through the bleached linen. She staggered. Swayed dizzily —"Celsiana, are you all right?"And heard Andrew's voice, seeming to come from very far away, though he was only a few steps behind her, running to catch up."Celsie?""I think I am going to swoon," she managed in a little voice, and the last thing she felt before darkness claimed her was his strong arms catching her before she could hit the ground.As indeed they did.For a moment, Andrew stood in surprise, for he hadn't thought that the mettlesome Lady Celsiana Blake was the sort of woman given to fits of the vapors. But then, he really couldn't blame her. Subjected to the near-slaughter of her brother, a sudden and unwanted betrothal, and worst of all, the knowledge that her prospective bridegroom was something of a freak, it was no wonder she had lost her senses.He felt a flash of sympathy. Of protectiveness. And then he happened to glance up and see Lucien approaching with his sword, and all tenderness exploded into fury."An heiress," the duke murmured benignly. He slid Andrew's blade back into its sheath. "Well, well. I always knew you'd make an advantageous match. Shall we post the banns?"Andrew's reply caused the blood to drain from the faces of several nearby spectators, for nobody dared speak to His Grace the Duke of Blackheath like that. Lucien, however, only raised an amused brow. "Such language," he chided, not blinking an eye as a red-faced Somerfield galloped past, beating as hasty a retreat as his horse could give him. "Really, Andrew, why don't you set the girl down? Not only are you making everyone think you enjoy holding her, but I daresay she'll be none too pleased to find herself in your arms when she awakens.""And why don't you wipe that satisfied smirk off your face before I do it for you?" Andrew seethed through clenched teeth."Now, now," the duke murmured, letting the smirk remain. "That is no way to speak to the man who just saved your life.""You're right. Speaking to you is the last thing I feel like doing."He turned and headed toward the coach, holding Celsiana close to his chest and feeling oddly, disturbingly, protective of her."Off to procure a special license, are you? Ah. No wonder you're in such a hurry .
