Mary Balogh - Red Rose

"Then I shall stay," she spat out at him, "and you may find me a husband if you can. But from now on, my lord, your prospective buyers must see me. Bring them here to the house and I shall strut up and down the drawing room for them. If any man can tolerate what he sees, he may make you his offer."

Her voice had risen to near-hysterical pitch. She held her arms out to the sides and demonstrated the strut she had described. She greatly exaggerated her limp as she walked the length of the library and turned to walk back again.

"Stop it!" he hissed.

She looked across at him haughtily and continued to move. "Can you not see me walking down the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, toward my bridegroom, my lord?" she goaded. "On your arm?"

"Stop it!" he repeated. When she continued to prance past him, he strode across to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Stop it, do you hear me?"

"Perhaps you would like to offer for me yourself, Edward," she said, her voice becoming even more shrill. "You spend little enough time at home and would not have to look at me often. I might be prevailed upon to accept, you know. You are handsome enough." She smiled dazzlingly and tried to whisk herself away.

"Stop this, Rosalind," he ordered again, pulling her against his chest. "Enough!"

And because indeed she had no more to say, Rosalind did stop. They glared at each other for a few seconds, both breathing hard, and then inexplicably his mouth was on hers, pressing her lips against her teeth quite mercilessly.

They both jerked away almost immediately and gazed with something like horror into each other's eyes. There seemed no sensible reason why a moment later they were kissing again. This time his mouth came down across hers open, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world, when his tongue pressed insistently against her lips, to open her mouth to receive it. Heat flared between them as his arms drew her closer and as she molded her body to his, thighs, hips, breasts straining for closer contact.

His hands moved around to explore her breasts as his tongue stroked the warm recesses of her mouth. Her hands twined into his thick hair as she moved against his hands. They were both in the grip of raw desire.

It was Raymore who finally succeeded in pulling his mind free of his physical passion. He grasped her arms and put her from him as if she were a deadly snake. He watched her heavy-lidded eyes resume normal consciousness.

"So!" he said, imposing iron control on his voice. "It is now crystal-clear how you have occupied your time in the country, ma'am, and why you wish to return there. How many lovers have you had to roll you in the hay?" The usual ice had returned to his eyes and his voice. "It was nicely done. Did you think to bend me to your will by offering me your body when your defiance had failed? You forget, Rosalind, that your body disgusts me,"

Rosalind felt unexpectedly calm. "I hate you," she said quite dispassionately. "I did not expect ever to dislike anyone as much as I do you. No one else matters in your life except the Earl of Raymore, am I not right? You were born with a heart of stone, my lord, and are totally incapable of feeling the finer emotions. Love, kindness, compassion: they must be just words to you. You think you can hurt me by making cruel references to my physical appearance? You are far more crippled than I will ever be, Edward. You do not have the power to wound me,"

She turned and walked from the room with as much dignity as her limp would allow. She went immediately to her room, undressed without the aid of her dresser, and climbed into the big four-poster bed.

Most of the flowers and decorations that had adorned the hallways, staircase, and ballroom of the Earl of Raymore's home had been removed by midmorning of the following day. But they were soon replaced by the countless bouquets that began arriving before luncheon. Most of them were from gentlemen who had danced with Sylvia. Two were for Rosalind: one bouquet of pink and white carnations from Sir Rowland Axby and one of red roses from Sir Bernard Crawleigh.

Sylvia danced into her cousin's room at noon and pulled back the heavy curtains from the windows to let in the sunlight. "Oh, do wake up, sleepyhead," she begged. "I am simply longing to talk to you about last night, Ros."

Rosalind groaned. She had not fallen asleep until long after daylight came, and even before conscious memory returned, she knew that she did not want to wake up.

"Was it not a perfectly splendid evening?" Sylvia gushed. "All the ladies so friendly, Ros, and the gentlemen!"

Rosalind knew from experience that there was no fighting such high spirits. She pushed herself up to a sitting position on the bed. "And with which of them have you fallen in love?" she asked.

"Oh, I really do not know," Sylvia replied seriously. "Mr. Hammond is very handsome and charming, but do you think he smiles too much, Ros? Lord Standen is very grand. I believe Cousin Edward favors him. He is quite distinguished-looking, too, and very elegant. Perhaps if I met him a few more times, I should be as comfortable with him as I was with his brother, Mr. Broome. Of course, I had not met him before, either, but perhaps he is more easy in his manners because he is not a lord and does not have an air of such consequence."

"Ah," said Rosalind, "I did not notice that young man. Is he also handsome?"

"Oh no," Sylvia said candidly, "not at all. Pleasant-looking, perhaps. Ros, you should see all the flower decorations downstairs. Some from gentlemen I cannot even remember! You must come and see. There are some for you, too."

"Indeed!" her cousin replied dryly. "I cannot imagine who would want to remember me after last night."

"That perfectly gorgeous man we met at the theater is one of them," Sylvia said.

"Sir Bernard Crawleigh?"

"Yes, him. Oh, Ros, he is the one you walked across the ballroom with, is he not? How could you do such a thing? I thought it excessively brave of you."

Rosalind rested her forehead on her raised knees. "I really do not wish to discuss that," she said. "Give me five minutes, Sylvie, and I shall come and inspect this flower garden with you."

A feeling of oppression stayed with her for the rest of the day, but she had no chance to give in to her mood. After she had dutifully inspected all the flowers with Sylvia and read all the cards, it was time for luncheon and a long conversation about the previous evening's successes between Sylvia and Cousin Hetty. Visitors began to arrive in the afternoon, almost all of them male.

It was during these visits, when the drawing room was crowded, that the Earl of Raymore put in his only appearance of the day. Rosalind, talking at the time with Nigel Broome, stiffened. She was afraid to look directly at him, but was constantly aware of his moving about the room, greeting the various visitors. She could breathe freely again only when she became aware, after twenty minutes, that he had left.

Later in the afternoon both cousins were taken driving in Hyde Park, Sylvia by Lord Standen, Rosalind by Sir Rowland Axby. The latter made no reference to the embarrassing spectacle Rosalind had made of herself the evening before. In fact, no one had done so except Sylvia. Rosalind was content during the drive to listen to Sir Rowland talk on about his family and about his house and to try not to imagine what half the people riding and walking in the park must be thinking of her.

***

The Earl of Raymore had a great deal more time than his ward during the day to brood on what had happened the evening before. After very few hours of fitful sleep he rose early and saddled his fastest horse. Hyde Park was not the ideal place for an uninhibited gallop, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. At least he did not have to worry about endangering any other riders or pedestrians. The mists of early morning had still not lifted as he drove his spurs into the horse and galloped quite recklessly across the green lawns.

How could he have so forgotten himself and propriety as to have kissed his own ward? He disliked the girl intensely. She was everything he most detested in a woman-proud and independent of spirit, making no secret of her scorn for men. She was bold and had no sense of modesty. What other girl would have walked across an empty dance floor during her come-out ball even if she had the prettiest of walks? She had quite openly shown her contempt for the whole ton by making such a public demonstration of her deformity. Physically, she was not attractive at all to him. He had never admired tall women or dark coloring. Only fragile, fair beauty had ever tempted his appetites. Yet, despite all these things, he had given in to some madness the night before. For the span of a few minutes, he could not deny it, he had wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. It was only by some miracle that he had come to his senses when he had. A few minutes more, seconds even, and he would have passed the point of no return. The thought did not bear contemplation. Raymore turned his horse and urged it back in the direction from which he had just come. He tried desperately to keep his mind blank.

Uncharacteristically, the earl stayed at home after breakfast, first consulting with his secretary and checking his morning mail and then retreating to the library, where he sat at his desk and stared ahead of him. Why had she allowed such an unchaste embrace as they had shared last evening? God, in this very room! He would never have guessed that she was a practiced flirt. He would have expected that someone with her obvious lack of beauty and with her deformity would have been completely untouched. But apparently not. She had shown no signs of shock at finding that a kiss was not always just a meeting of the lips. She had shown no shame or embarrassment about fitting her body against his. She had invited his hands on her breasts. He had no doubt at all that she would have allowed him to undress her and lay her down on the library carpet. The slut! He drove one fist into the other palm and swore out loud. Why was he still capable of feeling surprise at anything that women could do? He had considered Annette to be just an innocent little doll too, had he not?

He had made another discovery the night before. Those loose clothes that Rosalind Dacey chose to wear hid the most curvaceous feminine body that he had ever touched. Perhaps it was that discovery that had made him come so close to losing his head entirely. But why would she hide the one asset that might make some man ignore the unfashionable dark foreign looks and even, possibly, that quite ugly limp? He guessed that he would never understand women.

The belief that he had been taken as a dupe upset the Earl of Raymore a great deal. He had thought himself immune to women. For the past eleven years he had taken women at his own pleasure, always to satisfy a purely physical need, never out of passion or any finer feeling. It was terrible to him to admit that he had lost control, even if only for a few minutes. What made matters infinitely worse was the knowledge that he had erred with his ward. However reluctantly he had accepted his guardianship, nevertheless he had a responsibility, a duty to protect her and care for her needs, a duty to see her suitably married. However willing a partner she had been, and however much she had instigated the whole episode, still he had wronged her by assaulting her as he had in his own home.

Raymore sat a long time silently considering what he must do. The most obvious solution seemed to be to give in to her demands and send her back to the country. Yet he could not display weakness by giving in to her so. He had very little hope left of finding her a husband in the near future. She had effectively prevented that by her behavior in the ballroom.

He had still not found a solution when the butler knocked on the door to ask if his lordship intended to eat luncheon at home. Raymore ordered a tray brought into the library. It cannot be said that he enjoyed his meal. He hardly tasted it, in fact. His mind was dealing with a thorny problem. Did he owe Miss Dacey an apology? The idea was quite unpalatable. She had clearly provoked him into anger. He was very ready to believe that she had lured him into that embrace. Even so, he admitted, he should not have touched her.

Raymore decided that he would join the ladies later in the drawing room. There would probably be visitors. His cousin Sylvia had appeared to take very well the evening before. He would draw Miss Dacey to one side, apologize briefly, and be done with the matter. It was far more desirable to do the job that way than to speak to her in private. She would be sure to make a major quarrel out of it if he did it that way.