Chapter 10 #2
Rosalie dropped her voice low. “Please, Mama. If we are drawing stares, it is only because you are making a scene.”
“I am making a…” Her mother trailed off, glaring. “What I did to deserve this impertinence, I will never understand!” She seized Rosalie’s arm again. “Come, you ungrateful child. I intend to have a word with Lady Windermere. And you are never to speak to that awful man again!”
True to her word, Mama stormed up to Lady Windermere. It turned out that Lucian had not been on the guest list. How he had managed to infiltrate the garden party, no one knew. But when the footmen searched the garden in order to toss him out on his ear, he was nowhere to be found.
Rosalie figured that had to be the last she would see of Lucian Deverell.
With the passage of each hour, it seemed more likely that she had imagined the whole strange interlude.
After all, the notion that one of London’s most notorious rakehells had sneaked into a garden party—a garden party!
—in order to talk to her, seemed utterly absurd.
It was far easier to convince herself that she had been suffering from heatstroke.
In London.
In April.
And so, two days later, at Lady Hollingsworth’s rout, when a hand emerged from a hidden alcove, seized Rosalie’s wrist, and pulled her behind a pair of potted palms, the thought, Oh! It must be Lucian Deverell, going to desperate lengths to speak to me! did not cross her mind.
She emitted a not-very-attractive yelp and went tumbling through the fronds, landing headfirst in Lucian’s lap.
Thank goodness my hands landed on his thighs! Now, there was a sentence Rosalie had never imagined she would have occasion to think. But it really was better than the alternative. Even now, her fingers were mere inches from his… his…
Abruptly, Rosalie’s brain resumed functioning. With a squawk, she yanked her hands from his person.
Unfortunately, it immediately became obvious that her hands had been the only things holding her up.
Her slippers lived up to their name, sliding in opposite directions across the shiny parquet floor, and she discovered the only position more humiliating than clinging to his thighs as her face descended inexorably toward his groin!
She squeezed her eyes shut on the irrational hope that if she could not see him, he would somehow not be able to see her in this, the most humiliating moment of her life.
But before she fell face-first into areas she was not permitted to even mention, strong hands seized her beneath the arms. She was lifted and spun around—a dizzying sequence of events when one’s eyes were closed—and came to rest in an upright position.
She opened her eyes a tentative slit. She seemed to be… sitting on a bench.
How mundane, considering the extraordinary route she had taken to get there.
Lucian, who was sitting beside her on the bench, gave her a bland smile as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Good evening, Lady Rosalie.”
Her mortification was such that she could scarcely bear to look at him. “Is it?” she asked, cringing.
He laughed. “It certainly is. Come, now. Don’t feel embarrassed. That was entirely my fault. I’m the one who took you unawares.”
She smoothed her skirts. “Speaking of, is there any particular reason you have abducted me this evening?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “How else am I to speak with you? Your mother made it clear that she will not allow it.”
“So, you admit to thwarting the will of my mother.” Rosalie made a show of tutting. “You, sir, are a bad influence.”
He grinned his devil’s grin, and her heart began to pound. “I am the worst influence, and don’t you forget it.”
Rosalie tried—and failed—to make her voice breezy. “Which begs the question of why you would bother to seek out the company of an unsophisticated young lady such as myself.”
He leaned back against the wall. “Would you care to hazard a guess?”
“Hmm.” She made a show of looking him up and down. “You are attempting to compromise me because you are in financial trouble and are in desperate need of my dowry.”
He did not seem to take any offense. “Remarkably, the answer is no.”
She tapped her chin, considering. “You have some sort of grudge against my brother… or perhaps my father… and hope to exact your revenge by ruining me?”
He inclined his head. “That does sound like something I would do. But it is not, in this case, correct.”
She spread her hands. “Then I’m afraid you have me at a loss.”
He took a moment to consider his words, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Let’s just say that I am… curious.”
She arched a brow. “About?”
“What I should like to know is whether you have any idea what you said to Cecil Darlington the other day.”
She gave him an odd look. “Of course, I do. It was only three days ago, after all.”
He sported a smug sort of smirk. “What was it, then?”
Fine. She would humor him. “I called him an exceptionally small sort of man.”
He waved a hand. “By which you meant…?”
She gave him an isn’t-it-obvious sort of look. “By which I meant that he is not in possession of a Herculean physique.”
He barked out a laugh. “Except that isn’t what you said.”
She was growing annoyed. “I beg your pardon, that is exactly what I said.”
“With your words, yes,” he acknowledged. “But your eyes told a different story.”
Her eyes did the talking now, by rolling up toward the ceiling. “How glad I am to have a man come along and explain to me what I really meant.”
That earned her a chuckle. “A vexing habit, I’m sure. I should say, rather, what it appeared that you meant. Did you not find the reaction of Darlington’s friends to be rather disproportionate to the severity of your remark?”
Come to think of it, his friends had kicked up quite a fuss about a fairly mundane quip.
She looked at Lucian sharply. “What did they believe I meant, then?”
He looked amused by whatever it was he was about to tell her. “As you spoke, you cast a significant look toward Cecil’s cock.”
Rosalie felt her cheeks heating. She knew he was a scoundrel, but she still couldn’t believe he had used that word to her face! “I… suppose I might have done. Unintentionally, mind you. I was assessing his physique as a whole.”
“Hmm. Well, I can confirm that it seemed as if you were implying that he was hung not like a stallion, but rather a field mouse.”
Rosalie shot to her feet. She could not believe that he would mention Cecil’s… His…
He was wrong! She would never have implied… Oh, but she had, hadn’t she? Her decision to sweep her gaze down the length of Cecil’s body… She could see now that it had been a mistake.
“I didn’t…” she began. “I wouldn’t!”
He held his hands toward her, palms out. “I know. But you must keep your voice down, as well as your head.”
She knew he was right, that she was in danger of being spotted. If she wanted to remain hidden, she needed to sit down at once and resume whispering.
Except, hot shame was coursing through her. A moment ago, she had thought Lucian had pulled her in here because, through some inexplicable turn of events, he was desirous of her company.
She now knew that she was merely the butt of his jest. That he had sought out her company in order to laugh at her.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to be secreted away in an alcove with this man.
She darted back between the palm fronds. Behind her, she could hear him hissing her name, but for once, her mother had been right. She had had quite enough of Lucian Deverell’s company.