Mad About the Earl by Christina Brooke Page B

I am glad,” he interrupted. “I’m glad that you’re finally to be wed.”
    Glad? She blinked at him in surprise.
    He edged closer, close enough that she could smell wine on his breath. “Do you know why, Lady Rosamund Westruther? Can’t you guess?”
    Shaking her head, she glanced away from him. “No, I cannot, and I can’t imagine why you would—”
    “Rosamund, darling, don’t you see what this means? We can be together at last. In all the ways that truly matter.”
    Rosamund choked, her gaze snapping back to him. “What?” The word would have been a shriek if she’d had sufficient breath in her lungs. As it was, it came out as a hollow whisper.
    “Oh, you must do your duty by him,” said Lauderdale soothingly. “I loathe the very idea of you in the arms of another, but we both know it must be done. With any luck, by the time I return home from battle, you’ll be with child. And then you and I, my very dear …”
    He trailed off, his heated gaze fixing on her mouth before sliding down to linger at her breasts.
    She stared back at him, so appalled she could not think clearly. Surely she’d misheard or misconstrued his words? But no, his meaning was far too plain to be mistaken.
    Shock slammed into her like a fist. Nausea curdled her stomach. To her horror and disgust, tears pressed at the backs of her eyes.
    On some level, she must have guessed his true intentions, mustn’t she? It was too, too stupid of her to be sitting here getting propositioned and never have had an inkling that his intentions were so base. Her mother had been right.
    Lauderdale raised her nerveless hand to his lips. He’d released her before she could rouse herself to react or snatch her hand away.
    Conscious that they were in public, she lowered her voice, battling to keep the shock and dismay from showing on her face. “You assume far too much, Captain Lauderdale. I have no intention of entering into any kind of liaison with you.”
    He did not appear at all chastened. He merely gave her a smug, knowing smile. “We’ll see about that, shall we? Lord, Rosamund, that oaf wouldn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman.” Again, his dark gaze flicked over her body. “But I assure you, my dear, I do. By the time you’ve been married a few months, you’ll be begging me to take you.”
    He must have seen the stark horror in her eyes because his brows snapped together. After a moment, he said, “Good God, are you asking me to believe you are shocked? A daughter of the great Lady Steyne? No, no, my dear. Doing it rather too brown, I fear.”
    Hysteria bubbled up inside her. She could laugh at how she’d fretted and fussed, terrified of hurting the captain’s precious feelings. He had no feelings at all for her beyond physical desire. He was in love with her face and figure, just as the rest of them were.
    She shot to her feet, betrayal and anger tumbling inside her.
    Lauderdale rose, too, and was about to say more when Andrew materialized beside Rosamund and handed her a glass of champagne.
    She could have thrown herself upon her cousin’s chest and sobbed her thanks down his pristine waistcoat. Thank God! Thank God for Andy.
    Rosamund took the champagne with a trembling hand and sipped, welcoming the cool tingle of bubbles on her tongue.
    Andrew addressed Lauderdale. “I believe you have another appointment somewhere else, my friend.” His manner was affable, but there was steel in that lazy, cultured drawl.
    “Quite right, Lydgate.” Easily, Lauderdale bowed to both of them, while contriving to send her a covert glance that was hot with desire. “I’ll see you both at Lady Buckham’s soiree.”
    I hope not, thought Rosamund.
    She watched him stride away, so godlike in his regimentals, so invincible and perfect. A vain, self-centered coxcomb of a man. Inwardly, she shuddered at what a fool she’d been to believe he had any finer feelings toward her than mere lust.
    “You are overset. What was that about?”