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boiled down to that.
    Tiptoeing down the hallway, she moved away from the main areas of the house, her shoulders bunched with unease. What was she thinking going to a secluded part of the house with a man she truly didn’t know that well? Seeing him at functions over the years did not mean she knew him or could trust him, regardless of her brother-in-law’s confidence.
    Sugar lumps! She stumbled to a stop. She shouldn’t be doing this. There was no way Viscount Lawrence could know if she was in danger or not. There was no way he could know what she overheard—unless he was in on it.
    With a whimper, she spun back toward the ballroom.
    A hand shot from the shadows, yanking her into a dark corner.
    Fingers clamped over her lips, muffling her screams as a forearm snaked around her abdomen, bringing her firmly against a hard, dangerous physique.
    “Don’t scream,” the masculine whisper against her ear warned.
    Viscount Lawrence . She sagged in relief.
    “You aren’t going to scream if I let you go, are you?”
    She shook her heard, willing her racing pulse to ease. If he were the villain she’d overheard plotting, he wouldn’t very well offer to release her, would he? “I didn’t know it was you.” She didn’t apologize.
    He nodded, releasing her, and she feared he understood too much.
    “Be glad it was. Because next time…”
    She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed by his implied threat. “Why am I here?”
    His finger went to his lips as he looked around the corner. He gripped her hand, not bothering to gain her permission before doing so, then ushered her through a maze of rooms and hallways that somehow led to a side door.
    Where on earth were they going? She should be frightened to be alone with him, but, in some strange way, being in his presence made her feel safe.
    They were on the opposite end of the house in a small garden, lit only by moonlight and remnants of candlelight through windowpanes. Music floated on the air from the ballroom.
    “What are we doing here?” she whispered, unable to keep silent a moment longer.
    “We need to talk.”
    “We couldn’t converse inside?”
    He leaned against a pillar, his eyes hard on her. “No.”
    She took a step back at the edge in his gaze, unease pumping through her once again. He looked dangerous now. What had she been thinking? “Look, my lord, I don’t know what to tell you. There must be some mistake.”
    His jaw clenched. “There’s no mistake, Lady Charlotte. You misplaced your glove the other night at the Leatherbys’ ball.”
    “But the punch—”
    “We both know you didn’t spill anything. I know you lost it, because I recovered it.”
    Her chin shook. He couldn’t have found it. He couldn’t have known. “But you can’t be!”
    His head cocked. “I can’t be what?”
    “You can’t be the man from that room. Your voice is too low. Too smoky.”
    “The man from what room?” He stalked closer, and she darted behind a bench to keep her distance.
    Something happened when he touched her, an unexplainable feeling of warmth and comfort. He could not touch her right now.
    She shuffled, scurrying away from him across the flagstone. If he meant to kill her in this garden, he would have a fight on his hands. Her slipper finally connected with the rake she’d stepped over earlier. Swooping down, she scooped up a muddy rake, juggling it clumsily in gloved hands. “You know what I’m talking about. But how? Did she send you to kill me too?”
    His step paused as he considered her. “What are you doing?”
    “Strike you. If I must.”
    His brow quirked. “Why on earth would you hit me?”
    The nerve! She might have been naive to believe he wanted to help her, but she wouldn’t let him near her now. “If you think I won’t defend myself, you’re sadly mistaken.”
    His jaw slackened. “Defend yourself… against me ? Lady Charlotte, there are plenty of people who want to do you harm, but I’m not one of them. Unless you