Page 46

Lady Elizabeth Monweithe turned toward him, startled.

No one other than her father, aunt, or sister dared approach her at a social affair.

Bright color flew up to stain her cheeks.

She was speechless as she gathered her wits and continued to stare at the stranger standing before her.

He was tall with strong, unforgettable features, yet she had no idea who he could be.

In the sea of brightly colored fish, he stood out for his austerity of attire.

Though no one talked to her, she was a constant watcher of society, liking the obscurity of her side-stage existence.

She thought she knew by sight every member of society.

It occurred to her he might be a younger son recently sold out of the military.

She did not know how she should treat him, or indeed, how or what he may know of her.

The Viscount smiled at the startled expression on her face, placed the punch cup in her automatically outstretched hand, and continued: “I know we have not been properly introduced, and therefore it is the height of impertinence for me to approach you, but I had a problem. No one would approach you to avail me of the introduction I devoutly desired. I was in a quandary; however, as such dictates of society bore me, I felt, my lady, at least your reputation would save us from interruption.” He smiled broadly as he watched the gathering storm of emotions play upon her face, and saw the fires Freddy mentioned light her eyes.

Egad, but she's beautiful! he thought, as he studied her high color.

Perhaps he should be careful how he played his role.

Still, Petruchio won the day with abrasive handling of his Kate. Once begun, he would go on.

Swiftly, a shuttered expression descended over Lady Elizabeth’s face.

“You pompous, conceited, braying ass!” she ground out.

Inwardly she mourned. For a moment she had hoped he knew nothing of her wretched reputation.

It was all too clear he was aware of the on-dits, and was indeed one to take up the knife and twist it further.

“How dare you approach me! You are correct when you say it is the highest piece of impertinence, and I’ll thank you to quit my sight. ”

She quivered with anger while the Viscount laughed delightedly.

Lady Elizabeth was aware that they had become the subject of many inquisitive eyes and whisperings about the room.

She ground her teeth in irritation. Though her reputation had again preceded her, her own wretched tongue gave purchase to the gossip.

In all fairness, never had she met a gentleman such as this stranger.

She wished she knew his purpose. His laughter made her rage burn hotter.

She raised her arm to fling the contents of the punch glass she held into his face.

The stranger was faster than she. He caught her arm, his hand a steel trap, heavily bearing her hand down until the cup emptied its rose-colored contents onto the floor, some splashing to stain the flounce of her gown.

She did not say a word as she watched the last drops fall.

She raised her eyes to the gentleman before her, trying desperately to still her rapid breathing.

There was whispered silence throughout the room.

The Viscount watched her with a strange, twisted smile upon his lips.

She was glorious—a seductive blend of fire and ice.

It was no wonder the staid and simpering society he knew was appalled, for this woman was no mealy-mouthed miss to follow meekly the dictates of society.

To be sure, she was an uncut diamond. The breath in his chest tightened at the thought he was to be her gem cutter.

In the background, he was dimly aware of activity by the orchestra where Lord Amblethorp was ordering them to strike up some music, anything to end the awful silence.

The orchestra in a flurry played the next piece on their stands. It was a waltz.

“You know, my dear,” St. Ryne began conversationally, “you almost disappointed me by your speechlessness when I first approached. You lived up to my expectations, however—and your reputation I might add—and came through like a storm on the isle of Jamaica with its wind, lightning, and giant raindrops. One may hate the storms, but afterward the world is beautiful— clean and refreshed. They are playing a waltz. Come, let us join.”

Lady Elizabeth was taken aback by his reaction and more than a little ashamed of her actions, but she clenched her teeth and stood rigidly. “I do not waltz. Not now, not ever, and particularly, not with you.”

“I applaud your reticence,” he commended affably. “It is still considered by some to be a fast dance; nevertheless, on this occasion you will, and with me.” So saying, he grabbed her arm, propelling her to the dance floor.

Lady Elizabeth walked like a broken doll, but soon threw up her head in defiance as she heard the whispered gasps about the room.

She went readily then into Justin’s arms, though she scowled up at him.

St. Ryne laughed, yet did not say anything else as he tightened his grasp on her waist and began to twirl her around the room.

“You dance very prettily,” he remarked some moments later, “for someone who hasn’t had the practice. Which is fine with me, since I do not dance much myself. Only please don’t step on my feet.”

Lady Elizabeth gasped and tried to pull away from him, but he only held her more firmly.

“I do not care to dance,” she declared, glaring her challenge at him as she stopped in the middle of the dance floor, causing other couples to misstep as they tried to dance around them.

She was amazed at her own audacity. Such behavior on her part would set the cat among the pigeons for sure.

Inwardly she cringed at the possible repercussions this incident might engender; however, she defiantly stood her ground.

St. Ryne, a dangerous glint in his eye, bent over to whisper in her ear “If you knew me better, you would not try such antics, and if you don’t care to be ignominiously carried off the dance floor on my shoulder, you will dance again.”

Looking into his eyes, Lady Elizabeth saw the truth in his statement, and with ill grace allowed herself to rejoin the dance. As she did so, she dug her nails into the back of his coat.

St. Ryne laughed down at her. “If you wish to scratch me, you had best wait until we are married, and you will have real flesh to touch there.”

Lady Elizabeth blushed, her mind in a whirl. “Marry you!” she fairly shrieked, then glanced around swiftly to see if any had heard. “Nothing would prevail upon me to marry you!”

“Your father will.”

She bit her lip in exasperation for there was no denying the truth of his comment. She had been a thorn in the side of her father ever since the death of her mother. She was also painfully aware of the buzzing speculation in the ballroom. She lifted her head high and assumed her haughtiest manner.

St. Ryne was entranced. “Good girl!”

As the music ended, he led her back to her corner, amused that people gave them a wide berth.

“I shall wait upon you on the morrow, my lady,” he promised, bowing over her hand. He was well pleased with his encounter with Lady Elizabeth, and schemes and stratagems for her taming and wooing were beginning to formulate in his mind.

She jerked her hand away. “Weil, you can wait all you want for you won’t find me available,” she ground out waspishly.

St. Ryne merely laughed again and turned to take his leave. He made his way over to Lady Amblethorp, thanked that flustered lady for her invitation, saying he had enjoyed himself immensely, and quickly departed.

Lady Elizabeth Monweithe sullenly watched him leave.

She saw him nod, shake hands, and speak nonchalantly with various people in the room as if he were totally unaware of having created one of the biggest stirs of the season, even going so far as to laugh when Lady Jersey wagged a finger at him.

As Elizabeth watched him, she was crushingly aware of the fact that she still did not know who he was.

When her father came up some moments later demanding an explanation, for once she refused to cut up her sire, and only glared at him in cold-eyed silence.

“Speak, gal! Never had trouble with that cutting tongue of yours before. What happened between you and St. Ryne? Don’t you know, you foolish wretch, he is one of the biggest matrimonial prizes in London!

You’ve embarrassed me and your dear little sister by your antics tonight,” he blustered.

“Bad enough you’re only welcome anywhere for the scenes you create, but this was the outside of enough!

Don’t know why he spent such an unconscionable amount of time with the likes of you, but they say he’s been out of the country for a year.

” His face was flushed and perspired profusely.

He drew a large handkerchief from his pocket to blot his brow as he dragged her into a small antechamber.

Lady Elizabeth was shocked at hearing the identity of the stranger. She had heard of him. All London had buzzed for the past week about his return, and Helene had vowed to make him another of her admirers.

Elizabeth drew every inch of her tiny frame erect as she stared coldly at her father. “What we talked of is none of your concern,” she said austerely. Inwardly, however, a surge of excitement pulsed through her, a surge she could not dampen.

Lord Monweithe stared hard at his daughter, knowing there was no threatening this one into submission. Throwing up his hands, he turned to stalk out of the room, mopping his brow again as he left.

Lady Elizabeth stood stiffly until he departed, then sank wearily into a large, red brocade chair.

As she did, she caught sight of the stain on the flounce of her dress.

She stared at it mistily, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

She gulped and sniffed loudly, angry at herself.

Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes as one lone tear spilled, sliding slowly down her cheek.