Donna Hatch © 2008
All rights reserved, The Wild Rose Press
As Cole looked down into Alicia Palmer’s face, he knew of a surety she was worth any risk. She touched him in a place he’d thought long dead.
A younger man wearing a saucy grin approached Miss Palmer. “Evening, Lissie. Did you save me a dance?”
Cole’s frown of disapproval for the man’s cheekiness faded into one of puzzlement. He knew that young man from somewhere. A vague unease arose.
When the young man’s gaze moved to Cole, he paled visibly. “You!”
Miss Palmer gasped. “Robert Palmer, where are your manners?”
Of course. Robert Palmer. From London. Cold dread trickled across his heart as he considered the ramifications.
Cole inclined his head. “Mr. Palmer.”
“What are you doing here?” Palmer demanded.
Maintaining his cool demeanor, Cole raised a brow. “Dancing. And you?”
Palmer took Miss Palmer’s arm. “We are leaving.”
“Now see here—” Cole began, but Palmer pinned him with a dangerous glare.
“Stay away from my cousin. You’ve done enough.”
“Your cousin?” Cole looked from him to Miss Palmer and understanding dawned. He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been aware Armand Palmer had a sister. Not that he’d bothered to find out. He glanced at Miss Palmer. The ramifications he’d considered a moment ago took a more serious turn.
Palmer shot Cole a venomous glare. Anger rolled off his body as he led Miss Palmer away from the ballroom. Wanting desperately to explain, Cole followed them into the foyer, away from the others.
After sending Cole a look of apology, Miss Palmer dug in her heels. “Robert, explain yourself.”
Cole remained rooted to the floor and waited for the condemning stare she would surely turn upon him.
Palmer trembled in rage. “That’s Cole Amesbury.”
Puzzled, she nodded. “Yes, I know. What..?”
Palmer spoke quietly, but Cole heard every word. “He’s the scoundrel who shot your twin.”