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She gave Seraphina a bit of a shove, and Martin was quick to capture her other hand.

“Should we not wait for a new song to play?” She asked, feeling sick.

“It will end in a moment,” Martin replied hastily, a thread of annoyance in his voice, “By the time we take our place on the floor all will be well.”

“Do not be rude,” Mary hissed in Seraphina’s ear, “Go dance with your intended!”

Martin pulled at her as if she didn’t have a choice, and Seraphina nearly staggered as they made their way to the dance floor. As the new song began, Martin grabbed at her waist with a firm hand, and pushed her into the steps. Nausea whirled up in her as he began to whirl her around the floor, feeling as if her body was not her own.

“I like to dance,” Martin told her, obviously not sensing her discomfort. “When we are married I expect to do much of it at the reception. Then of course when we go out as a married couple, you will be expected to take many turns with me. Do you like to dance?”

“I thought I did,” Seraphina replied, feeling her head spin, “But as of late it makes me quite ill.”

Martin let a humph.

“Well, yes, your skills leave something to be desired,” he mused, “But have no fear, my leadership will have you better in no time.”

He spun her again, quickly and without warning, and Seraphina feared she was going to retch right then and there. When hecaught her again, his hands went lower, sliding nearly to her backside to pull her back to him.

“There are some things you need to know,” Martin went on, “I have quite an appetite. You will need to satisfy it the best you can. When we have a moment alone, I shall give you specifics.”

Seraphina felt her panic rise again.

“Are you talking of food, My Lord?” She asked.

Martin chuckled at her, the tone condescending.

“In some fashion, yes. In others…”

Martin’s voice trailed off as his eyes lowered to her breasts. She looked back at him, startled, and felt her gorge rise as he made an emphatic noise in his throat. The moment the song ended, she tried to come to a stop, but Martin forced her back to him, clear that he was not done yet.

“We beg forgiveness for the interruption, Lord Repington,” someone chirped. Seraphina barely paid attention, busy trying to force down her nausea.

Martin looked to his left with a frown, and to Seraphina’s relief, he stilled.

“And who are you young ladies?” He asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“I am Miss Theo Briarwood, and this is Miss Rosamund Gravesmoor,” Theo replied with a cheerful smile.

“What is it that you want?” He asked, his eyes narrowed at them, “Can you not see we are dancing?”

Seraphina balked at his rudeness, finding it far worse than Hugo’s had ever been.

“We do,” Rose agreed.

“And what lovely skill you have!” Theo praised.

“But we have a situation,” Rose said, giving an apologetic smile.

“One of a womanly nature,” Theo explained. “We need our dear friend’s assistance. May we please borrow her?”

“There are two of you,” Martin pointed out, “Can you not figure it out among yourselves?”

“It is an issue that requires a third set of eyes and hands,” Rose laughed, “With your…charisma, certainly you understand how complicated a woman’s dress can become.”

Seraphina’s brows flew up, unable to believe that Rose would say such a thing. But her words seemed to fluff Lord Martin’s conceit. He let her go, though his hands lingered unpleasantly.

“Hurry back with her,” he commanded, “We have much to discuss.”