The crest of his broad cheekbones reddened, but he said emotionlessly, “I spread no rumors, Miss Kent. Some old hens eavesdropped on a private conversation.”
“You called me a hoyden. Said I’mbarely respectable.”
“That is not what I said.”
“So youdidsay something.” She pounced on the admission. “At least be man enough to repeat it to my face.”
A muscle ticked along his jaw. “You’re a female. You can’t handle the truth.”
She didn’t know what irked her more, his misogynistic assumption or his dismissive tone. Steam gathered in her head, threatening to pop it off altogether. “Dash it all, Ican.”
“Fine. What I said was that my brother requires a wife who can keep him in line, and you’re not suited for the job. I said that you can’t spell propriety let alone put it into practice,” he said succinctly.
For an instant, she was speechless.
“You uppityblighter.” She could barely think over the roar in her ears. “You don’t know me! You have no right to sit in judgment.”
“I call it as I see it, Miss Kent. Once I form an opinion, I rarely have cause to alter it.”
His calm superiority enraged her past the point of rationality. “Well, you’rewrong. I can spell propriety, you condescending bastard!P-R-O-P-R-E-I-T-Y.”
For pulsing moments, she glared at him: she’d be damned if she was the one to look away first. But the oddest thing happened. Lines suddenly fanned from the corners of Carlisle’s eyes. Flecks of copper glinted in the dark depths. The stern line of his mouth quirked.
He was…laughingat her? Why on earth…?
She reviewed what she’d said—and her face flamed. Butter and jam, Papa had always said that her terrible spelling would prove her downfall. The realization of her stupidity was followed by a swift and forceful undertow of humiliation. All at once, her armor of indifference crumpled, and she felt the blow of each and every insult she’d ever been subjected to.
Hurly-burly… hoyden… never land a husband…The smirking glances of the other debutantes, her family’s worried expressions…
A muffled sound escaped Carlisle. The past faded, everything narrowing to the incendiary present: the cad waslaughingat her. Mortification met fury and combusted.
“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” she said through clenched teeth.
His wide shoulders shook.
She took a step closer, jabbed a finger at him. “I’m warning you.Stop laughing.”
He held his big hands up in defense. “Or what, Miss Kent?” Mockery glinted in his eyes. “You’ll spell me into submission?”
Red saturated her vision. Her hands acted of their own volition, shooting upward, planting on his chest. They gave a shove—and time suddenly slowed. She had the sensation of watching from the outside as Carlisle stumbled, surprise rippling across his face as he lost his footing in a puddle of champagne, his large body falling backward like a felled tree…
The thudding splash brought her to her senses. In stupefied horror, she took in Carlisle sitting on his behind in the fountain. Blood-red champagne rained merrily over his head and shoulders.
Gadzooks, what have I done?
She took a halting step toward him… stopped at the hellfire raging in his eyes.
He growled, “Get out of here.Now.”
Panic made her obey. She dashed out the back of the grove, slipping between two potted ferns, walk-running until she reached the safety of the crowd. Like a criminal, she continued to sneak glances behind her, her heart thumping and mind whirling with the latest calamity she’d caused.
Chapter Two
Richard Murray, Viscount Carlisle, jolted awake. Angry voices sounded… some fracas in the street. As Cheapside’s thoroughfare was just a few blocks away, such disturbances were not unusual, but it didn’t make them any less annoying. Richard stared through the dimness at a crack in the ceiling, his mood darkening further when he realized that he sported, at present, a raging morning cockstand.
With an aggrieved sigh, he sat up. The bedclothes slipped down his bare torso, bunching at his waist and catching on his erection. Shoving his hands through his hair, he raised his knees, resting his elbows there and willing the insistent throbbing of his groin to subside.
“Insolent little baggage,” he muttered. “This is all her fault.”
