Page 114 of Duke of Bronze
"You cannot tell me that you do not evenrememberme," he bit out, his steps growing sharper as they turned in time with the music.
She blinked at him, wholly baffled.
"I am afraid I do not recall having made your acquaintance, sir."
His lips twisted into a sneer. "Viscount Preston," he ground out. "You rejected my suit last Season."
Ah.
Anna had rejected many proposals in the past few years—firmly, kindly, but unequivocally. She did not remember every name. Why should she? Especially those who had made no impression.
But now—now his tone was growing darker, his touch on her waist suddenly too firm, the smile on his face a mask that didn't reach his eyes.
She opened her mouth to offer a civil deflection, but before the words could form, he yanked her closer under the guise of a turn.
His breath was hot against her ear as he hissed, "Do you believe me to be lacking? That I am not man enough for you? Perhaps I ought to show you just howverymuch of a man I am once this dance concludes."
Revulsion surged within her. Her stomach twisted. His words were vulgar, vile, and dripping with a menace that no amount of candlelight or orchestral grace could soften.
She met his eyes again—and something shifted.
That voice. That sneer. That air of entitlement laced with scorn.
It struck her, all at once.
"You—"
"You thought you could hide behind a mask and that beast of a duke you cling to," he spat quietly. "But he's not here now, is he? He cannot save you this time."
A gasp broke from her lips, barely audible over the strains of the waltz.
"Those men… You were one of them," she breathed, her voice tremulous. "Youheld me that night at Vauxhall."
"Clever girl," he said with a sneer, his voice as slick and unwholesome as lamp oil.
Anna's heart beat so violently, she feared it might echo above the swell of the orchestra.
"Do you know what other prudent decision you might make?" he continued smoothly, still leading her through the dance with deceptive grace. "You might consider accompanying me quietly when this waltz concludes. Far wiser than compelling me to make a spectacle of you."
She stiffened in his arms, dread creeping through her limbs like ice.
He leaned closer, breath acrid against her cheek. "Just imagine what thetonwould think if I claimed the wild spinster behaved indecorously with me—duringa waltz."
Terror clutched at her throat.
Anna's gaze flitted over the crowd, desperately searching for Colin. But there was no sign of him amidst the sea of silks and brocade.
As the final notes of the waltz trembled through the air, Viscount Preston's grip shifted. His fingers clamped down upon her wrist with cruel familiarity—the same grasp from that dreadful night at Vauxhall. The pain was sharp, but it paled beside the panic.
No one noticed. Guests were lost in their chatter, partners changing, the room a blur of movement and color.
And she was being taken.
He steered her from the dance floor, weaving through clusters of oblivious guests. The exit loomed ever nearer. Her mind scrambled, thoughts tangled in terror and the threat of scandal.
To cry out would be to ruin herself—and her family.
To comply might be worse.
