“No,” her friends replied in unison.
Rosalie lifted her chin. “Well, I took him to task.”
Frances rubbed her forehead. “I am terrified to ask precisely what that entailed.”
“It wasn’t that bad!” Rosalie protested.
Her friends regarded her with identical pointed expressions.
“Well… Perhaps it was. But you must admit that he deserved it! What I said was?—”
“Rosalie, there you are!”
Rosalie was saved by her mother, who bustled into their circle in a flurry of mauve silk.
The duchess inclined her head toward the center of the room. “Come, I’ve arranged for you to dance the next set with Lord Pritchard.”
Rosalie suppressed a groan. Lord Pritchard was a baron who was twenty-some-odd years her senior. In spite of the fact that his hairline was receding and his stomach advancing, he seemed to regard himself as a veritable Casanova.
Frances and Annabelle were shooting her looks that conveyed that they still expected a full report regarding her conversations with Lucian.
Rosalie gave them a tight smile. “Coming, Mother.”
She followed her mother across the ballroom and dutifully curtseyed to Lord Pritchard. It was just one dance, after all. She would paste on a brittle smile and get through it, and then she would contrive some excuse to make her escape.
The dance was a waltz.Splendid.
As Lord Pritchard led her onto the dance floor, she caught sight of Lucian standing near the refreshment table, smirking at her. She lifted her chin, pretending not to have seen him.
Lord Pritchard drew her into his arms, a little too close, and Rosalie had to suck in her stomach to keep from brushing against his protruding belly. She tried to draw back slightly, but Lord Pritchard was five inches taller and probably ten stone heavier than she was, and he either did not notice, or did not care about, her discomfiture.
The orchestra began to play, and they started to twirl. “You look lovely this evening, Lady Rosalie.”
“Thank you,” Rosalie said, avoiding his gaze. It was a standard compliment, yet the baron managed to make it sound lurid. Perhaps because he was leering at her bosom as he said it.
“Do you like to hunt?” he asked.
“I do not, no.” Rosalie happened to be an excellent horsewoman. But she was not fond of fox hunting. It was one thing to stalk something you would actually eat. But she failed to see the point of terrorizing the poor fox.
“That will have to change,” Lord Pritchard observed.
Rosalie gave him a sharp look. “I beg your pardon?”
“Once we’re married.” He said it as if he were explaining a simple point to a small child. “Your mother assured me you had a good seat. No matter. I can teach you myself if?—”
“There seems to be some confusion,” Rosalie cut in. “I have not agreed to a match with you or with anyone else.”
“She hasn’t told you, then,” he replied, his voice unconcerned.
Rosalie bristled. “Whatever understanding you think you have with my mother, I assure you it is not binding. My father is the one who has the final say over such matters, and he would never force me to marry without my consent.”
The baron gave her a baleful look. “So, we’ll be doing this the hard way.”
He would regret those words just as soon as she could reach her father. “This dance isover.”
She attempted to slip from his grasp, but Lord Pritchard gripped her hand so hard she felt the bones shift and pulled her flush against him. She had not noticed how close they were to the French doors that had been left open to let in the cool night breeze. It was a simple matter for a man of his size to steer her through them.
The balcony was deserted, their only witnesses the spray of stars overhead. The baron propelled her into a shadowy corner and boxed her in against the stone balustrade.
