Why would he do this? Surely, he couldn’t expect any gratification? At that moment, it didn’t matter that he lacked the necessary equipment. His hands roved over her arms, and he sought to touch her intimately. Rhoda squirmed and pushed at him, crying, angry and terrified at the same time.
Justin had resented Kensington for the set he’d reserved with Miss Mossant. He’d seen the look in Kensington’s eyes even before the dance began—a lasciviousness that belied any good intentions.
Perhaps Justin identified it so easily because of his own improper inclinations toward her.
Watching the dancers turn and step to the cheerfully paced music, Justin admitted that he’d been attracted to her the first time they’d met but then been disappointed upon hearing St. John’s boasts. He hadn’t wanted to allow his cousin’s words to dictate his opinion, but was human, after all.
His gaze searched the dancers making turns about the parquet floor and inexorably settled on the chestnut-haired beauty again. Miss Mossant did not appear excessively flirtatious, but she didn’t shun Kensington’s advances either. After the first dance of the set ended, the bounder led her off the floor and toward the doors that opened to the terrace. As they disappeared, she put up no argument.
Justin gazed into his glass. He was not mistaken, she considered him naïve. He’d heard it in her voice.
But if she knew his thoughts, she would not think him so benevolent. Even now, his imagination ignored his conscience.
If she’d go walking alone in the dark withhim… He shook his head, dismissing his untoward thoughts.
When the second dance of the set commenced, a few matrons were tittering and pointing at him with interest. God, he hoped news of his recent inheritance hadn’t been made public yet. He’d prefer to bide a few more days in anonymity.
Damn. They looked to be heading his way… with purposeful intent.
Before he could be cornered, he placed his wine on a sideboard and then slipped through the French doors. The air outside the ballroom met him in a refreshing gust. Perhaps he could make his departure with the hostess being none the wiser.
The door closed behind him and he didn’t look back to see if the matrons would be so bold as to follow.
His collar scratched uncomfortably. It hadn’t done that before. He’d always felt more than comfortable wearing it. Guilt, likely.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, he turned onto a poorly lit pathway. What the devil? Rustling sounds stirred from behind a barrier of foliage. Likely, he had nearly stumbled upon a tryst.
“Does that make you feel more like a lady?” snarled a gruff-sounding voice from the dark area off the path.
Justin crept closer. If this wasn’t a consensual encounter, he’d feel compelled to intervene. Not that he was a confrontational man. As a vicar, he’d learned to stifle violent impulses that came over him. He preferred using words to settle most disputes.
He’d also learned, however, that without a willingness to use his fists, talking could be futile.
In an ideal world, neither would be necessary. Hopefully, his suspicions would be proven wrong and he could return inside to finish his wine.
More rustling, and then all of his senses came alert. “Stop it, my lord! My lord, stop! Please! I don’t want—”
Miss Mossant’s voice. Apparently, she’d issued an invitation she wasn’t willing to entertain in full. But she sounded distraught, frantic. Justin lengthened his stride until he came even with the couple. He could barely make out two shadowy figures.
Dash it all, she appeared to be resisting the earl. Yes, the situation had turned ugly indeed.
Although he’d heard rumors of the earl’s infamous history, he’d never been introduced. According to most of theton, Kensington had been something of a rake before his emasculating injury. Obviously, the extent of it had been exaggerated. Otherwise, the man would lack the motivation that seemed to have overcome him with Miss Mossant.
What would members of thetonthink if they knew the extent of debauchery practiced by some of their beloved so-called gentlemen?
The scene before him did not appear consensual.
Justin tensed. “The lady has asked you to stop, Kensington. I suggest you honor her request.”
Kensington stilled for a moment upon hearing Justin’s words. “Walk away, Vicar. You know nothing of these matters.”
Hell and damnation. Justin took one step forward, but before he could grab hold of the bounder’s collar, Miss Mossant lifted her knee and landed it with surprising accuracy. The earl stumbled back and then bent over forward, gasping.
Although Kensington deserved it and would receive no pity nor assistance from Justin, his own dangling parts retreated considerably at the thought of experiencing a similar blow.
It seemed he’d not have to bruise his knuckles after all.
Miss Mossant met his gaze, a combination of fear and anger burning in eyes that looked almost black. Her lower lip trembled, and she hugged her arms in front of herself protectively.
