“W-what are you ’bout?” The viscount glared as he tried to tug free of Winston’s grasp.
“Gentlemen do not accost ladies.”
“We’re practically be’rothed.”
Panic took hold. Was he too late? Had plans been made while he was sorting out his life? His focus shifted to Millicent, his heart in his throat.
“We are not,” she advised the viscount with a lift of her chin.
“I only wanted a kiss.” He nudged Winston with his elbow and leaned close as if to tell a confidence, reeking of alcohol. “Need to know if we’d s-suit, don’t I?”
Anger warred with disbelief at the man’s arrogance. Without a second thought, Winston drew back and punched him in the face, sending him reeling backward. “Next time, ask permission.”
“Damn, Linford.” Dunthorpe held his face as he caught his balance only to take another staggering step.
“Millicent, are you all right?” Winston looked her over from head to toe, relieved to see nothing out of place.
“I’m fine.” She rubbed her arm with one hand as she glared at Dunthorpe. “He wouldn’t listen.”
Winston wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, but he hesitated, uncertain if his embrace would be anymore welcome than Dunthorpe’s had been. Whether it was possible that she could be his. He glanced at the viscount who moaned, still holding his jaw, before turning back to her. “Millicent, I—”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened as she stared over his shoulder through the ballroom window. “We’ve been seen. And Mother is coming this way.” The worry and panic on her face tugged at him, and he dearly wanted to soothe it. “You must go, Winston. Hurry.”
“What?”
“If you’re caught with me, you could be trapped.” She shook her head. “I don’t want you forced to...do anything you don’t want.”
Love swelled within him, tightening his chest. To think that she wanted to save him from having to offer for her touched him deeply and made him love her even more.
“Millicent.” He reached to take her hands gently in his, heart aching at the way they trembled. She was the finest, loveliest, most amazing person he knew. He didn’t deserve her, but he intended to spend every day doing his best to prove otherwise.
“Go, Winston,” she demanded, her gaze darting between him and the ballroom. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Dunthorpe, who was emptying the contents of his stomach in the bushes. “The viscount and I were more than likely going to marry anyway.”
The resigned tone bordered on despair and threatened to bring Winston to his knees. “Millicent, you must listen.”
Instead, she pulled her hands free. “Please go.”
“I can’t. I love you.” He didn’t like not holding her as he said the words, needing the anchor she provided. But he would do it a hundred times more if necessary to get her to listen.
Her mouth gaped, blue eyes going wide. “Winston.”
The door opened before he could say anything further.
“Millie?” Mrs. Davies looked between them, outrage etched on her face. “What is going on?”
Another woman accompanied her, a relative if Winston remembered correctly. Several other guests spilled onto the patio to see what the ruckus was about.
“Mother, I can explain,” Millicent began.
“Yes, we can,” Winston added as Dunthorpe moved toward them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Look ’ere,” Dunthorpe began. “If I’m to marry her...” He gestured toward Millicent only to stagger, making it look as though he pointed to Mrs. Davies, who stiffened in offense.
“Ignore him.” Winston was tempted to shove the other man into the hedge before he ruined everything. Instead, he took Millicent’s hand and dropped to one knee, anxious to get the words out before he lost the chance. “Millicent, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
A shocked silence descended as even more guests stepped out to see what was happening.
“Winston.” Millicent blinked, her fingers tightening on his. “Are you sure?”