She could not stop the beat of Tom Courtney’s warning in her mind that a gentleman was going to attempt to ruin her, that a wager had been made.
Surely, Lord Turnbridge with his kind smile and gentlemanly behavior was above such things?
No. Of course not. Unlike her father, he seemed so kind, so noble, but as his hand suddenly wound about hers, she felt all her previous justifications for slipping away with him fade.
Something was driving him. And it was not excitement for a proposal. It was as if he had her on the hook and was concerned she might try to wriggle off.
She abruptly balked as her instincts screamed to life. But before she could whip around and dash but a few feet to safety, he took her in his arms, shoved her against the wall, and he pressed his hard body into hers.
He hissed with triumph against her ear, “I knew that you would come with me. You seem so cold, but you are eager to be alone with a gentleman, aren’t you?” he said. “You are a lush piece, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon,” she gasped.
He laughed softly. “I’ll melt that ice. You clearly need it. And Elizabeth,” he tutted. “Only an eager fool would think that I would ask her to marry me out in the garden.”
She dug her hands into the wall, panic building. If she screamed? She would be ruined. If not, she would be ruined, but could she keep it secret?
The thought made her sick. She had to get away.
He trailed a gloved finger over her lips. “You knew what I was about, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
Turnbridge lifted his hand to her cheek, stroked it, pushed the curls back from her face, then lowered his mouth over hers in a punishing kiss.
She was so startled she could not move. His body shoved hers against the wall and with his free hand, he began pulling at her skirts.
She did not think. She could not.
It was the most shocking experience of her life.
Part of her longed to freeze. To simply float out of her body until it was over. Instead, she allowed pure action to take over her. She lifted her slipper, pounded the heel down upon his foot, and simultaneously, she shoved.
He jolted for a moment, his head rearing back. “You little—”
She yanked her hand back and slapped him hard.
And then in the moment where his teeth clapped together, she wiggled out from the space between him and the wall. As if hell was on her heels, she darted quickly down the hall to the cloakroom.
Panting, she ran inside, slammed the door shut, placed a hand over her middle, caught the eye of the attendant, and then forced a smile.
“My goodness,” Lady Elizabeth stuttered. “What a vigorous dance.”
The matronly attendant eyed her carefully, then gave a nod, her mob cap fluttering. “Very vigorous, my lady.”
She beamed. The action was painful. It felt like a grimace. “My hair has gone quite out of sorts. I was laughing so heartily at the merriment of it all.”
“Of course, my lady,” the attendant said, but there was a sad resignation to her tone. “Come here and I shall repair it for you.”
Elizabeth’s hands began to tremble as she forced a smile at the attendant.
“How very kind…”
The attendant looked away and gently took her hand, squeezing it.
And in that moment, Elizabeth knew without a doubt that the attendant understood that it had not been the merriment of a dance at all that had done that to her hair.
Elizabeth also surmised that this was not the first time the attendant had encountered a lady in such distress. But clearly, the attendant was not going to ask questions.
Oh, no. She was going to keep quiet. For one never talked about gentlemen who behaved in such a way.