His right hand comes to rest on her waist and his left fingers curl around her own. Beth fights the urge to fidget. It takes her a moment to get her words to work and keep her feet moving at the same time.
“It’s lovely,” Beth lies. She’d much rather be asleep in her bed in the country right now. But then she supposes she’d still be alone, and wouldn’t have met Gwen.
Gwen, who’s frowning at them as they dance.
“It is such a treat to be here each year. I get ever so bored at our country estate, you know? Though I am excited for the open season.”
“You like to hunt?” Beth asks, trying to focus on what he has to say. His is a pretty enough face, but that can’t be all. They’d need to connect on an intellectual level for it to be a potential match.
“I’m an excellent shot,” he says.
“Pistols or bow and arrow?” She’s a rather good shot with a bow herself. She used to win competitions when she was a little girl.
“Pistols, of course. Bow and arrow? Bit archaic, don’t you think?”
Beth forces herself to move past it. “What else do you like to do in the country? I miss riding. The trails by our lands are marvelous.”
Lord Clyson gives her what she assumes is an indulgent look. “I prefer to bet on horses rather than ride them through leisurely woodland trails, though riding is a lovely way to court.”
Beth would shy away if she could. His look has turned a bit predatory, and all he’s managed to do thus far is insult her interests. He could still grow on her, she supposes. She likes horse racing well enough. She’s hoping she and Gwen can convince their parents to picnic together at Ascot.
“And what do you like to do, other than go for your rides?” Lord Clyson asks, and there’s just something to how he saysyour ridesthat makes Beth think he’s trying to toy with her.
“I read, and I enjoy needlepoint if I can sit outside. The weather here is rather dreary.”
“It’ll get better as the season progresses. I understand this is your first?”
“It is,” Beth says, glancing back toward Gwen, who’s practically glowering now. “It’s been an adjustment.”
“I see your friend is watching out for you. She’s certainly got the experience,” Lord Clyson says, following her gaze.
“She’s lovely,” Beth says firmly. She may take that kind of talk from her mother, but she won’t stand for this man to slander her friend.
“Yes. She has her father’s looks.”
Beth frowns, not sure if he means it as a compliment. Either way, it rings hollow and callous. “She’s equally charming.”
“And does that kind of charm work on you?” Lord Clyson asks, his hand tightening on her waist. “I’d love to take you for a walk in the gardens later. They’re small, but rather overgrown.”
His grip on her waist and hand is painful now and Beth almost sags in relief when the waltz comes to an end. “No, thank you,” she says as politely as she can manage. “I’d rather stay inside, and I’m thirsty, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, trying to pull away.
Lord Clyson resists for a second before letting go of her with a shake of his head. “Figures. Don’t know why I thought one of Lady Gwen’s friends would be a nice girl.”
Beth holds up her chin. “Don’t know why I thought a viscount might have more manners.”
She turns, shocked by her own poise, and walks calmly off the floor, leaving the lout standing there alone.
She returns to Gwen and takes back her wineglass, fighting against letting any of her discomfort show. What a conceited, possessive, sniveling little man.
“Arse?”
“Arse,” Beth agrees, taking a large swallow of her wine.
“I tried to warn you,” Gwen says mildly.
Beth sighs and glances up at her. “You did. Thank you. I just thought—”
“I get it,” Gwen says, waving her off. “We’ll find you a good husband.”
