Abandoned to the Prodigal - Mary Lancaster Page 0,61

fiddler, having given them a few minutes to recover, struck up a waltz. Her old friends amused her by getting in each other’s way to prevent the other asking her to dance. She rather thought Colin would win simply by offering his arm. But then the worst happened.

Lord Barden loomed over the more youthful heads. “Lady Juliet,” he said, extending his hand in a languid manner. “Will you do me the honor?”

It reduced her old friends to chagrinned silence. Colin frowned with something very like frustration. Juliet shared it. She would have danced with anyone, even Jeremy, to avoid this. But in all politeness, she could not. He had asked, and she had no reason to refuse that would not cause an unsightly quarrel and upset Kitty’s party.

“Gladly, sir,” she replied, trying to smile. She placed her hand on his sleeve. Dan advanced onto the dancefloor with her cousin Anne, and she desperately wanted to swap partners. He was bending toward her as if to hear her better, a smile lurking about his lips. Just so had he often smiled at her. Her stomach tightened.

Dear God, am I jealous?

Of course not. I just have no desire to dance with Barden.

But she has to suffer his arm at her waist, his fingers lightly clasping hers. There was something cold, almost reptilian about him, and yet behind this ice, his eyes swirled with anticipation. Or was it triumph?

It didn’t matter. Convention, manners, and care for her sister might have forced her to dance with him, but she had no intention of conversing with the man who had so casually ruined four innocent young women.

Over his shoulder, she saw Dan dancing as she’d known he would, with careless grace and a shade too much enthusiasm. Anne seemed enchanted.

Barden broke the silence at last, in a bored voice. “You are enjoying your sister’s party?”

“Of course.” She did not return the question.

“You need not worry. You will still be married before her.”

She met his gaze. “I have no plans to marry. And frankly, the order of such events is immaterial to me.”

“Won’t young Catesby come back up to scratch?” he said sympathetically.

“Mr. Catesby and I do not suit.”

“The trouble is, my dear, in your present predicament, you do not suit anyone. But you will do very well for me.”

“Why, because you are no one?” she flashed back before she could bite her lips.

His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. “My, my, the kitten has claws. Those must be clipped.”

She ignored him, gazing straight ahead at his chin. She hoped she looked as disdainful as she felt. And trusted she was hiding the surge of panic. He sounded too sure of himself, as though he knew more than she did. And he made her flesh crawl.

“I suppose you know,” he drawled, “that these opulent surroundings, the exquisite dinner we have just enjoyed, even the expensive silk gracing your lovely person, all were bought with money stolen from me.”

She curled her lip. “You lost a game of cards. Or was it dice? Whatever, I suggest you grow up, for you are not a child to complain now about the fairness of the game.”

A mottled flush stained his cheeks. His eyes spat. “Fairness? I was little more than a child. He fleeced me.”

“A child? By my reckoning, sir, you would have been around five- or six-and-twenty and well able to take responsibility for your own bad decisions.”

Deliberately, it seemed, he calmed himself. He even smiled, although it was not pleasant. “As you take responsibility for yours? You should not have stayed in that house, you know.”

“What difference would it have made? You already had the piece written and printed before any of us arrived.”

He could not quite hide his surprise. The suspicion had been Hazel’s, and clearly, she was quite right. The princess’s ladies were the only people named, or at least initialed in the newspaper. And yet more famous people, including two well-known singers and a notorious actress, had been present. They could have added juicier meat to a very generalized description. But nowhere in the article were they mentioned.

He forced another smile. “But at least the Alfords might have stood by you. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad they didn’t. I now find you back on the marriage mart, heavily discounted.”

“You are insulting, sir,” she said between her teeth.

“Get used to it, little girl. I am already your master, and you should know it.”

No one had ever dared to speak to her this way. The combination of rudeness