Lady Vengeance by Melinda Hammond Page A

replied harshly. He led her into the ballroom where they took their places in the set and executed the steps of the minuet without a word. If the viscount derived any pleasure from the dance, Elinor saw no sign of it, for his face remained stern and forbidding throughout. She was at first puzzled by his behaviour, but by the time the dance had ended her perplexity had turned to anger and she felt herself compelled to speak as he led her off the floor.
     ‘I wish you will tell me, sir, why you asked me to dance, when it is very clear to me that you did not enjoy one moment of it.’
     ‘Alas, Madame, I scarcely know that myself.’
     She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Pray, sir, do not be afraid of wounding my sensibilities. After a half-hour spent dancing in silence I feel sufficiently insulted that I daresay I shall scarce notice any further abuse you may care to level at me!’
     The viscount’s countenance grew darker still and his mouth tightened to a thin line.
     ‘Very well, Madame!’
     He took her elbow in a vice-like grip and guided her out of the ballroom to one of the smaller empty salons. He almost thrust her inside, closing the door after them with a snap. Elinor turned to face him: she was considered a tall woman, but even with the added height of the Pompadour heels on her green silk shoes she was forced to look up at his face, and she was aware of a tiny tremor of unease as she regarded his thunderous countenance. He turned away from her, and when at last he spoke his tone was harsh.
     ‘You accuse me of insulting you, Madame de Sange – if you want to know the truth, I am disappointed. It is perhaps my own fault. In Paris you were pointed out to me as the saintly Lady of Stone. I was intrigued, I admit it, and when we talked –’ He threw out his hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘I was attracted to you, by your manner and your readiness to laugh at the ridiculous.’ He turned to face her, and Elinor saw that the anger had died from his face. ‘Doubtless you will laugh at me , Madame, when I tell you that even after that one brief meeting I felt that in you I had met a friend, that I had found a kindred spirit. Hah! Is that not absurd?’ Elinor felt not the smallest desire to laugh, but neither could she trust herself to answer him steadily and he continued bitterly, ‘I know now that my impression upon such a short acquaintance was totally misguided. How Paris was fooled into believing you to be virtuous beyond reproach is a mystery to me, Madame, for I am forced to the conclusion that you have less honesty than a common harlot!’
     She stared at him.
     ‘How dare you say that!’ she whispered, pale and trembling with rage. She raised her hand to hit him, but immediately she found her wrist caught in a grip of steel.
     ‘I shall not give you that satisfaction, Madame de Sange.’
     His sneering tone brought the colour flooding back to her cheeks. Her eyes blazed, but she fought to control her anger.
     ‘You can have nothing more to say to me,’ she told him in an icy tone. ‘I would thank you now to let me go.’
     He released her and Elinor turned towards the door, but as she placed her fingers on the handle he stopped her with another question.
     ‘Does Rowsell know that you and Poyntz were lovers?’
     She threw him a contemptuous glance. ‘Why don’t you ask him? Knowing his quick temper, I should think he is likely to kill you for your impudence – in fact I very much hope he does!’
     She swept out of the salon and on to the card-room where she found Rowsell counting up his winnings during a break in the play.
     ‘My dear, did you enjoy your dance –’ He broke off as he caught sight of her stormy countenance. ‘What is it, Elinor, What has occurred to upset you?’
     ‘It is nothing sir, I assure you. Pray continue with your game.’ She did her best to sound calm, but even to her own ears her voice was strained. Rowsell pushed back his chair and stood