As he did with her.
He must hold her in his affections!
And although she ought to have guessed this from all of their other encounters, she’d had a difficult time trusting it. She’d grossly misjudged St. John’s regard; how could she trust her conclusion now?
But this was different. Ah, yes, Justin cared for her. She was not mistaken.
And so, she could enjoy the rest of the evening, pretend even, that the ridiculous compliments she received did not stem from the bilious wager someone had found necessary to initiate.
When the rather young Lord Turlington bowed his thanks for a particularly lively set, Rhoda decided to forgo searching out her mother in favor of a trip to the ladies’ retiring room. She sashayed past a group of tittering girls, all of whom she’d once believed to be her friends, and slipped into the darkened corridor leading to her destination. Part of her hem was coming undone and her hair needed repairing as well.
She ought to have located her mother first but nothing untoward had happened all evening, and there were moments when a girl needed a moment to herself.
Just as the thought niggled at her, a hand covered her mouth and another arm wound around her waist, lifting and pulling her into a dark entrance she’d not been aware of.
She recognized that scent. It had nearly choked her once before.
Rhoda kicked out behind her and twisted and squirmed.
“Be still! I’m not going to hurt you, for God’s sake, Miss Mossant!” Both hands tightened around her, the one about her mouth pinching her lips and cutting them against her teeth.
Blasted Lord Kensington! She ought to have known better. He would not play this game fairly. He would not care how he won the wager. All he’d ever cared for was himself.
His hand blocked her cries as the door closed her into an empty room alone with him. It wasn’t a library or any room she remembered ever visiting before.
She raised her hands and tugged at his upper arm. Just enough.
Once she’d gotten a much-needed breath of air into her lungs, she exhaled with the loudest scream she could manage.
His hand clamped over her mouth again, just as quickly.
She would not allow this to happen.
Anger. Frustration. Outrage. She shot her elbow backward and connected with what she hoped was his rib.
His hold loosened, and Rhoda grabbed his hair and tugged his head toward the ground.
Yelping sounds escaped his mouth now. “Odwick, I could use a little help here!”
Two of them!
Not now! Not tonight! This wasn’t happening!
Rhoda broke free and dashed for the exit, her heart racing. It was a wonder it hadn’t burst out of her chest. She managed to swing the heavy door inward just as another hand grasped at the back of her dress.
A tearing sound rent the air when she kicked a foot behind her, and then pushed herself into the foyer. She didn’t wait around to see how far they’d follow her. Instead, she set her legs pumping until she burst into the light of the ballroom.
It felt rather like awakening from a horrible nightmare.
A lively set was playing, those around her laughed and smiled and continued to converse. No one noticed her appearance. If they did, would they realize what she’d nearly endured a mere dozen or so steps away? Would they be horrified to realize that some of their guests were such villains?
What would happen if she attempted to tell her hostess that the Earl of Kensington had just accosted her?
Dismay? Disbelief? Judgment? Likely, all three, but would they be directed at him or at her? At his accuser?
It wouldn’t be worth it. She and her family would be dragged even further through the mud and Flavion would continue to go unpunished.
She could tell Justin. He was a man of honor. But then he’d call Lord Kensington out, likely challenge him at dawn.
