Tonight, she merely endured it. She wished for nothing more than to return home, change into her night rail, and climb under her counterpane.
The music slowed to a halt. One dance over, two left in the set.
Lord Kensington tucked her arm into his, his face flushed and eyes bright. “My dear Miss Mossant, it’s ever so hot in here. Shall we forgo the remainder of the set and take some air?” Without allowing her to answer, his hold upon her elbow tightened, and he led her toward the terrace.
When he went to set his hand at her back, she arched forward. She did not welcome his overly familiar touch.
Lord Kensington’s scent clawed at her. At one point, a lifetime ago, she’d considered him desirable, indeed. Now he stirred only disgust in her. She knew him for who he was.
But he was an earl, an influential one, and for that reason, he would never be turned away by society.
Despite the scandalous duel that had grievously injured his… male parts.
“How is Daphne, er, Lady Kensington?” She’d remind him of the lady he’d ended up married to.
No need to flutter her eyelashes at him or encourage his preening boastfulness. Even though that was what gentlemen wanted. They wanted to feel their superiority. It was at least half of what made a man feel worthy.
“My countess is well,” he answered tersely.
“And your baby daughter?”
He grimaced but did not answer, unusually intent, it seemed, on steering her away from the ballroom guests.
She had no need to be wary of the earl. She reminded herself that she had nothing to fear. Flavion Nottingham was no longer, in truth, a man. So, why was she suddenly feeling so uncomfortable?
Her mother had attended the ball and would be seated with the other matrons. Would Rhoda be overreacting if she demanded that he take her back inside?
But, no, Kensington was harmless.
He guided them away from the terrace and down a dark path. In the distance, she caught sight of a tall fountain surrounded by lanterns. Was it an angel or a devil? An odd work of art for such a pretty setting. Water shot up from the wings, and mist hovered around the stone creature.
She shivered to think an angel could appear satanic, as well as the opposite.
People were like that, too.
With an invisible moon, stars twinkled dimly in a mostly black sky, making for a very dark night. Furthermore, the glow of the candles inside the ballroom failed to illuminate much through the windows. Rhoda shivered as the earl’s arm slid around her waist.
His breath blew hot behind her ear. “Much better, don’t you think?”
Much better for what? The air? Was that what he referred to, the fresh air?
She doubted it. His too-familiar touch sent a shiver of fear creeping along her spine. “I’m fine. Nonetheless, my lord, I wish to return inside now.” She must return to her mother. She slowed her pace and resisted him at last. She ought not to have come outside alone like this.
He chuckled but held fast to her, his grip becoming almost painful. “Ah, so, you wish to pretend reluctance, Miss Mossant? Does that make you feel more like a lady?” His words confused her, but his tone set her heart racing in fear.
Without warning, he spun her in his arms and dragged them both off the path, behind one of the tall hedges.
And then hard, cold lips landed on hers.
Stunned, Rhoda pushed against his chest and twisted her head. The taste of whiskey and cigars evoked a wave of nausea.
“Don’t play games with me.” He was stronger than he looked. One arm held her in place, and the other hitched her skirt higher. “I have too much to gain.”
How had this happened? In the matter of a few seconds, she’d gone from casually strolling through the Countess of Crabtree’s garden to fighting off a vicious attack! She kicked out at him, but as her slippers encountered his boots, realized the futility of such a strategy.
“Stop it, my lord!” she tried imploring him. Perhaps she had been too passive, allowing him to touch her as he had throughout the dance. Had he thought shewantedhim to do this? “My lord, stop! Please! I don’t want—” His mouth smothered her pleas.
Real panic set in. The earl’s hand was now clutching at her bare leg. “Ah, yes, you like a little fight, eh?” He ground their teeth together. Rhoda didn’t know if the blood she tasted was his or her own.
