“Nonsense,” she said quickly. Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut for a second and inhaled deeply. Then, she opened her eyes and with renewed energy said, “Come, let us explore more tents before the hot air balloon lifts off. I thought I saw a fortune-teller. Perhaps we should see what suitor is on your cards.”
Genevieve snorted. “Too many to keep count. I simply enjoy dancing, but no suitor ever wants to stay long enough afterwards to actuallyspeakwith me. One day, though, I will find a man who will want to have lengthy enough conversations with me. At least, I hope so. I do not think many gentlemen appreciate a woman who likes the sound of her own voice.”
Phoebe laughed softly. “Oh, trust me, Genevieve, there will be such a man who will appreciate every part of you, especially your unique voice.”
“Well, I hope he does not take too long to find me. I have practically exhausted myself while looking for him.”
She grinned, looping her arm through Phoebe’s elbow, as she often did, and pulled her from the tent.
As they headed toward the spot where the balloon was set to launch shortly, Phoebe thought wistfully of Sebastian’s promise.
He would listen to her. He would appreciate her words. And, above all that, he would when the time was right.
Even offer her achoice.
Chapter Sixteen
“Dance with me, Lady Phoebe,” Lord Birchwood demanded, already taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.
“But I?—”
“Do not refuse me,” he snarled. “Youwilldance with me, as my fianceé. You will dance with me.”
They were at a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Langerton, and Phoebe felt too out of her depth. Only two days ago, she had been in a sweet tent, being asked by Sebastian to break off her engagement, and yet now she was still at the side of her betrothed and hating every moment of it.
He shoved her onto the dance floor. There was no flourish, no moment of adoration. Just merely a command:we will dance whether you like it or not.
She stared back at Lord Birchwood, trying not to let her hatred show in her eyes as she curtsied to him then listened for the musicians to begin the song.
Before the music could pick up, a cry of dismay went through the crowd.
“Make room. Now!” A booming male voice echoed through the room.
Phoebe broke away quickly. She backpedaled away from the other people, taking this chance to put some distance between herself and Lord Birchwood. Her wide-eyed stare fixedly on the swarm of constables who flooded into the ballroom.
“What is happening?” she asked.
“Do not pay them any mind,” Lord Birchwood told her as he stepped forward and closed the distance she had left between them. “We shall dance either way. I must show thetonthat the daughter of the Earl of Tripleton ismine.”
But I am not, she thought.I have never been yours. I will never be yours. You cannot make me love you!
Phoebe’s head spun. She felt like she was screaming all her inner thoughts aloud.
“I am certain they are here for some unruly lord,” the Marquess chuckled. He snaked his hand around her wrist and pulled herin line so that there was no mistaking the matter, they would partner together for the next dance.
Her stomach curled at the closeness. She itched to back away from him, to put any amount of space between the two of them, but the ballroom was crowded and most people were stupefied. Almost all the members of the ton, outside of Lord Birchwood, stood transfixed and staring at the constables.
At the authorities’ entry, the minstrels had ceased to play, yet Lord Birchwood seemed adamant to start their dance.
“I hate to ruin your evening, Lord Birchwood…” The voice of the Duke of Talwyn cut through the silence and drew Phoebe’s attention. “But these men are here for you.”
Before Lord Birchwood could protest, the band of officers surrounded him, snapping iron cuffs on his wrists, despite his shouts.
Phoebe stiffened. She was overwhelmed, and panicky, sick feeling paralyzed her to the spot. Although she could not get her body to move, her eyes flicked to her parents.
Phoebe couldn’t tell if their horror came from the shame of being linked to this man publicly, or from the awful things he had done that would soon be revealed.
Phoebe stared, aghast, at the officers who wrenched Lord Birchwood away from the dance floor. Three of them led him towards the stairs, to escort him out of the Langertons’ estate.
