Page 31 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Sebastian smiled.
“I hope you’re not going to cause a scandal,” he said, and John laughed.
“Not at all. She’s entirely respectable, as am I now. I know what you think, but I do want to settle down. It’s time, don’t you think? She’s a delight. We share so many common interests. I’d like to think something might come of it. But what about you and Rosalind? You didn’t just come out here to take the air, did you?” John asked, and Sebastian shook his head.
“We came out here because the Duke of Northridge was looking for her. He’s got her completely in his thrall. He thinks she’s his property,” Sebastian replied.
He was angry on Rosalind’s behalf, even as he knew there was little he could do to change the course laid out for her.
Had he not been so reticent in his own feelings, perhaps Sebastian might have imagined himself a worthy alternative, but even if the Duke of Northridge could be persuaded to renounce his claim, it seemed unlikely Rosalind’s parents would agree to their only daughter marrying a man who was expected to succumb to madness at any moment.
Sebastian knew what the ton said about him, even as they did not know the full extent of his anguish.
“Then he needs to realize she isn’t, doesn’t he?” John replied.
“Yes. Well, I doubt he’ll do so. Oh…it’s too awful,” Sebastian exclaimed, cursing under his breath.
His friend placed his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“There’s no harm in a little fun, Sebastian. She likes you, that’s clear enough. Elizabeth told me so. If she’s promised to come back, I’m sure she will,” he said, and nodding to Sebastian, he returned to the ballroom, tossing the butt of his cigar over the side of the terrace as he did so.
Sebastian took a long drag on the remainder of his, savoring the sweet smoke, before doing the same. He was about to return inside, but the thought of Rosalind kept him leaning against the parapet, hoping she might just return.
“He’s not happy, Rosalind, and a woman should always seek to please the man she’s going to marry,” Rosalind’s mother hissed, seizing her by the wrist and dragging her firmly across the ballroom to where her father and the Duke of Northridge were waiting.
“Ah, Rosalind. I’ve been waiting for you,” the duke said, fixing Rosalind with an angry glare.
“I told you I went to the powder room,” Rosalind replied.
It was not a complete lie. She had gone to the powder room, but that had been over an hour ago, and a great deal had happened in the interval. She had not wanted to leave Sebastian on the terrace, caught up as she had been in their conversation about poetry.
No other man had roused her passions in the same way as he, and she had felt no inhibition in sharing what was on her heart with such a kindred spirit. Richard was the very opposite. He would not quote poetry or discuss the merits of Zurbaran. She doubted he had ever read a single poem in all his life, or taken a moment to appreciate a work of art.
“For an hour? What do women do in such places?” the duke demanded, and Rosalind’s mother tutted.
“She’s being foolish, aren’t you, Rosalind? A megrim, that’s all. But it won’t stop you dancing, will it?” her mother said.
Rosalind knew what her mother was doing. She was making excuses where there were none. All of them knew the reason why Rosalind had been away so long, even as none of them would admit it.
“I’m sure it won’t, Mother,” Rosalind replied, as the call came for the next dance to begin.
The duke looked at her expectantly. It was as though to dance was a sign of her commitment, and as he took her by the arm, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“You humiliated me by dancing with him, Rosalind. What were you thinking? You’re lucky I don’t make your name mud, and that of your parents, too,” he said, his voice soft and menacing.
“He asked me to dance,” Rosalind replied, trying not to let the emotion show in her voice.
“You didn’t have to accept, though, did you?” he replied, leading her into the throng.
Slipping his arm tightly around her, he drew her into his embrace. Rosalind remained stiff, not wishing to give in to his advances. This was surely not how any reasonable man behaved. The duke was seized with a vicious jealousy, and if a single dance was enough to elicit his rage, what would life be like they were married?
“I wanted to accept. He was kind to me,” Rosalind said, her eyes filling with tears, even as she fought back her emotions.
“And I’m not? Think of what I’ve done for you, Rosalind,” the duke snarled.
“You’ve done nothing for me except make me your property,” Rosalind exclaimed.
She had heard enough. He was nothing but a wicked man, intent on taking everything she was away from her. She hated him, and she hated what she was becoming because of him. His grip became tighter, and he drew her further into his embrace, bringing his lips close to her ear so his whispered words would not be overheard.
