He motioned for Natalie to go ahead of him. As she glided through the doorway, he caught a hint of her tantalizing scent, something soft and deeply feminine. It reminded him of holding that curvaceous body in his arms. In the kitchen, it had never even occurred to him to sit her down in a chair and let her cry it out from a safe distance as he did with his mother and sister. Like any sane man, he’d sooner face the hounds of hell than a woman’s tears. Yet a powerful protective instinct had compelled him to clasp her close, to let her know that she could trust him to shield her from harm.

For as long as he lived, he would never forget the sight of her swinging that pot at Bert, knocking the man out cold, and then collapsing under his dead weight. The moment that it had taken for Hadrian to reach her had seemed to stretch out forever. He’d derived great satisfaction from smashing his fist into the brute’s face. Had it not been for fear of further traumatizing Natalie, he’d have killed the bastard without an ounce of remorse.

Burying the memory, Hadrian followed her into the library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves of tooled-leather books. It was vital that he display a relaxed, unruffled manner. Despite her seeming calm, she surely still felt distraught and shaken.

He felt certain, too, that it wasn’t just tonight’s attack that had caused her emotional collapse. Something else was at play. He craved answers, yet what gave him the right to pry into her private life? He was merely an acquaintance, a friend. They were bound together only by their mutual wish to protect Leo.

Regardless, Hadrian found himself noticing how the play of candlelight and shadow in the library created an intimate retreat. The night scene looked tailor-made for seduction. Unaccustomed to the strict rules of society, Natalie might not realize just how inappropriate it was for them to be together. Should they be discovered, the scandal would sully her reputation.

Though of course, she was going back to America, he reasoned, and no one else was awake, anyway. The rest of the family had retired hours ago. Besides, he was perfectly capable of keeping his desires in check. He’d give her a brandy to steady her nerves, assure himself of her recovery from the attack, and then send her off to bed.

Alone.

Slim and willowy, she headed to the marble mantelpiece where a fire flickered. A pair of coffee-brown settees faced each other with a table in between them. He’d been sitting there a short while ago, perusing a book, when he’d been struck by the compulsion to go down to the kitchen. Odd, that. He was too rational a man to believe in premonitions. Yet the connection he felt with Natalie made him wonder if he’d somehow sensed her peril.

Now, she stood gazing down into the low-burning flames. With her hair plaited into a glossy dark braid that draped over one shoulder, she looked young and vulnerable, in contrast to her usual intrepid self. It struck him that this was a woman who could endanger his carefully ordered life.