Page 132 of Pride: The Rogue
Carefully Livian eyed the distance between Forfar and the door.
“No, throughout the day you certainly have not been one. At least, not freely and fairly with all the gentleman.” He gaveanother sly grin. “But then, perhaps given your upbringing, you have different rules for men outside noble ranks.”
She went still.
“You see, Miss Lovelace…Livian, may I call you?”
“No, you may—”
“I also discovered, Livian, you like to sneak about.” He waggled thick, bushy eyebrows putting her in mind of caterpillars crawling over his face. “Imagine my surprise when I heard you,” Forfar jabbed his fingertip at the ground with each word to follow, “in this very room.”
Livian’s stomach roiled.
Oh, God.
Knowing the viscount had been an invisible voyeur to that beautiful—and last—intimate moment she’d ever share with Lachlan, cheapened something that’d been so very special.
“Nothing to say?” he asked, with a merry smile. “You’d go all shy on me now, my dear?” He made a tsking sound. “I’d expected better from you. That is, given the way you panted and begged Mr. Latimer.”
A strangled sound became lodged in Livian’s throat.
“Worry not, I’ll not pass judgment on you. If you were a lady, perhaps, I’d feel differently. But given you and Latimer are animals from the streets, you can’t control your urges.”
His vulgarity against her sailed off Livian. She didn’t give a bloody damn what one such as Lord Forfar said about her. But what he’d said about Lachlan?
Blistering rage coursed through her.
“You aren’t fit to lick the soles of Mr. Latimer’s boots,” she spat.
“Ifthatwere true, we’d have something in common then, wouldn’t we? Given Latimer will only tup you but wed the duchess.”
Forfar’s blow found its intended mark right square in Livian’s solar plexus. She struggled to find herself, and by the derisive glee in his ice-blue eyes, he knew it, too.
“Given your low opinion of me and my upbringing, Lord Forfar,” she continued in harder tones, “why don’t you find some other, virtuous, respectable young lady to bestow your attentions upon? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Livian took a purposeful, step toward the door.
The viscount slid into her path, effectively stealing her escape.
“Ah, but why would I do that, Livian, when I’ve already found the woman—albeit, not a lady—I wish to marry?”
He ogled Livian.
She stared at him. Then, it hit her.
“Me?” She laughed in his face. “Whyever, would you want to wed a woman you clearly despise?”
“On the contrary, I do not despise you, Miss Lovelace,” he declared.
“No?” she drawled.
“Certainly not!” His features conveyed hisupset. “You are clever, spirited,” he gave her a suggestive look, “passionate.”
Her skin crawled. Suddenly, for the first time since she’d been cornered, Livian found herself truly afraid of the gentleman and what he could do.
With a feral grin, the viscount made his way slowly, predatorily, in Livian’s direction. All the while, she sought to distract him, to keep him from what evil intentions he clearly had planned for her.
“The dowry,” she said coolly, recalling what Lachlan revealed earlier. “I trust it must have been a generous amount indeed if you’d consider lowering yourself to marry me.”
