Cecil’s face had turned red with fury. “You’ll regret that!”
Fortunately, Rosalie knew precisely how to play that off. She gave a carefree laugh, followed by her most imperious, do-you-know-who-my-father-is smirk. “No, Mr. Darlington. I don’t believe I will.”
Then, she had turned on her heel and strode away.
She hadn’t given Lucian Deverell another thought. She hadn’t had occasion to see him for the first twenty-two years of her life, and doubted she would see him in the next twenty-two. It wasn’t as if they ran in the same circles.
But the strangest thing happened the following day. He turned up at Lady Windermere’s garden party! Who would ever have thought—the devil himself, at agarden party?
And stranger still, he sidled up to Rosalie while she was busy feigning interest in Lady Windermere’s roses.
“Enjoying your namesake?” he asked.
Rosalie was so startled by his approach, never mind the fact that he somehow knew her name, that she accidentally blurted out the truth. “Not really.”
He made a tutting sound, but he was smirking. “So, you’re insulting Lady Windermere’s roses, just as you insulted Cecil Darlington the other day.”
“No! Lady Windermere’s gardens are lovely. It’s just that…”
He leaned in, his grey eyes bright with mischief. “It’s just that?”
She glanced at the flowers. “Roses aren’t particularly interesting. At least, not interesting enough to occupy me for the next three hours.”
He nodded across the sweep of lawn toward the house. “You could always entertain yourself by making conversation with the other guests.”
She peered dubiously in the direction he had indicated. “Could I?”
A laugh burst from him. “The odds do seem rather poor, don’t they? I’m Lucian, by the by.”
She gave him a sharp look. “I know who you are, Lucian Deverell.”
He gave a mocking bow. “I see that my reputation has preceded me.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately for you, I know what a scoundrel you are.”
He arched a coal-black eyebrow. “Paradoxically, I consider it fortunate. It saves us so much time if you have absolutely no expectation that I will behave in a gentleman-like manner.”
She crossed her arms as she regarded him, taking no pains to conceal her skepticism. “And what makes you think I would want to speak to a scoundrel like you?”
He leaned in. “Because, unlike just about everyone else at this party,Iam not a dead bore.”
Rosalie would never know what came over her. She had never been bold where men were concerned, had never been a natural flirt.
But some strange impulse had her leaning forward, too, until mere inches separated their faces. She could feel his breath against her lips, could smell his sweet-and-spicy cologne.
“Prove it,” she whispered.
A grin spread across his face, slowly, like a sunrise. It was a scoundrel’s grin, a pirate’s grin, the way a buccaneer looked at a piece of treasure he wanted to plunder.
Except, the thing he was looking at…
… washer.
He tilted his head to the side. She could tell by the gleam in his eye that he had come up with a clever retort. He opened his mouth, and?—
—and someone seized Rosalie’s arm, yanking her back so hard she stumbled.
“Rosalie Jane de Lacy!” her mother snapped. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
