Page 3 of Brutal Serpent

His eyes were on me, and my prickling sensation of unease increased.

Had I suddenly been transformed into a diamond of the first water, the star of the season? From the skeptical and disbelieving glances I met everywhere I turned, I didn’t think so.

“And what are you in town for?” I asked, when no other response seemed to be forthcoming.

“I am in town to get married,” St. Erth replied.

I digested this information for a moment. It gave me a strange feeling of relief. If he wanted to get married, it couldn’t possibly mean anything that he had askedmefor an introduction. He must be bored, or perhaps wanted to do the little wallflower not dancing a favor.

But as I glanced up at him, my feeling of relief dissipated.

He didn’t look like a kind man.

He didn’t look like the kind of man who did favors.

Viscount St. Erth’s mouth twisted up as he looked down on me, and his hand moved to my waist. His fingers seemed to singe my skin through my gown with an unholy fire.

“Would you like to know the name of my wife-to-be?” he asked, and his smile seemed even more mocking now.

I said nothing, confused by his joking.

When I did not respond, his next words felt like an executioner’s sentence.

“You, Catherine Wendover.”

I tried to shake off my unease at what must be his attempts at humor.

“My lord, you don’t. . . don’t even know me,” I said.

“I don’t have to know you,” he returned coldly, increasing the pressure on my fingers.

And when the dance was over, he didn’t let go of my hand.

“Another,” he said.

I tried to pull away, my heart starting to hammer. “I thank you for your attention,” I began, but he gave my hand a little yank.

“Do as you are told,” he said.

I opened my mouth to protest but he spun me back onto the floor, guiding me through the steps and making it impossible to break away without causing a scene. I felt more confused than ever.

Was he drunk? Surely that must be it. Otherwise I couldn’t understand why he would go to such lengths to taunt a perfect stranger.

Surely this dance wasn’t that rigorous, so why was I breathing so hard?

I was in an agony of uncertainty for the entire dance, and St. Erth said not another word to me, acting perfectly unconcerned with the curious stares and whispers at his attentions to me.

“I will call on you tomorrow,” the Viscount said when the dance was done.

He still hadn’t released my hand. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze, trickles of sweat rolling down my shoulders and under my gown. I tried to twist out of his grip. But he only tightened his hold on me, the pressure so tight it was almost painful.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stammered.

“I didn’t ask for permission,” St. Erth replied coldly, bowing formally over my hand and walking away into the crowd without a backward glance.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I felt uneasy. Surely he had beendrunk? There was no other explanation for his bizarre behavior! And from a man I had never set eyes on before in my life. The anger I had seen in his eyes, the demands, the way he had refused to make proper conversation, it all pointed to coming to the ball decidedly not sober.

That must be it.Right?I wondered uneasily.

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