Page 77 of Scandalous

Sarah glanced back at the herd of women around Martín and met his eyes. She scowled, and he grinned in return.

“Martín is a complete stranger to kindness or tenderness. You scare the wits out of him each time you do or say anything nice. He has no idea what it means or how to respond. So he responds like an animal confronted in its den—he attacks. You must treat him badly. At least initially, until you get through his defenses.”

“But that’s—that’s—”

“Childish? Deceptive? Cruel? Deceitful? Flirtation?”

Sarah missed a step, and Ramsay cupped her elbow, smoothly moving her back into formation.

It was all those things, she realized.

As if reading her thoughts, Ramsay gave her a knowing look. “Yes, it is war, my dear, and ‘the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.’”

Sarah considered his advice in between concentrating on her steps. What was the harm in employing his approach? After all, her previous efforts had proven worse than useless.

“Very well,” she said as Ramsay led her off the floor. “I shall abuse him roundly at every opportunity. I shall mock and taunt him whenever possible.”

“That’s the spirit. You can begin now. He is coming this way.”

“My lord.” Martín gave Ramsay a suspicious look before turning to Sarah. “Mademoiselle Fisher, may I have the honor of this next dance?” His arrogant smile said the honor was all hers.

“What an unexpected pleasure it is to hear you count the quadrille among your myriad achievements, Captain Bouchard. Unfortunately, I am engaged for this next set.”

His arrogant smile faltered, and his eyes slid from her face to her fan, which she’d deployed to cool her heated countenance.

He cocked his head to read her unfurled fan. “Very well, I claim the pleasure of the next set, which I see you still have free, and the first waltz, as the second is taken.” Without waiting for a reply, he bowed abruptly and left.

“Four runs to you, my dear.” The baron smirked, his green eye on Martín’s stiff shoulders.

“I believe you are correct.” Sarah shook her head. Who could have guessed that rudeness and a challenging manner would be so effective in making Martín pursue her?

The anticipation of dancing with him caused Sarah to slaughter the next dance. Luckily, Lord Danforth, her unfortunate partner, was as sunny natured as he was attractive. Why couldn’t Sarah have lost her heart to such a man? Why had she become obsessed with an arrogant, domineering, changeable pig of a man? Why?

“You are frowning most fiercely, Miss Fisher. May I ask the cause of your displeasure?”

Sarah flushed and dragged her attention back to her attractive partner. “I am very sorry for the savage beating you’ve taken at my hands—or feet, rather,” she apologized as he escorted her from the floor.

“Nonsense, I’m sure I’ll be able to walk again properly in a few weeks. A month at the most. Would you like some refreshment? I’m limping in that direction in any case to find a splint and some sticking plaster.”

Sarah laughed. “That would be lovely.” She watched him walk away, grateful to see he was not in fact limping.

“Imagining yourself a viscountess, Mademoiselle Fisher?”

Sarah started and turned. “He’s heir to an earldom,” she corrected, forcing herself to ignore her pounding heart as she looked into Martín’s eyes.

“What? Is poor Mies no longer in the running?”

“Mies is merely a younger son, not the scion,” she pointed out, inwardly cringing at her repulsive words.

Martín’s eyes widened, and he gazed at her with something approaching respect. “This is a side of you I’ve not seen before, Mademoiselle Fisher.”

She sniffed. “I daresay there are many of my sides you haven’t seen—nor are you likely to, Captain Bouchard.”

He burst out laughing, his eyes shining with appreciation. “Oh, but the sides I have seen I have liked so very much.” His words evoked a brief, but searing memory.

Danforth chose that moment to return.

“Thank you, my lord.” Sarah snatched the glass from his hand and gulped it down.