Page 31 of To Catch a Viscount

When they met up again, she rushed to assure him. “I’m fine,” she promised. She gave such assurances so often these days that they actually fell effortlessly—if untrue—from her lips.

“I believe you are,” Benedict said.

He appeared visibly relieved—and desperate to not talk about her scandal.

Because it was easier, she allowed him the escape from the uncomfortable discussion that he clearly sought.

Unlike Andrew.

Andrew hadn’t hesitated to speak freely of his unfavorable thoughts about her former betrothed and hadn’t danced around the topic of her scandal.

As if she’d at last managed to conjure him with her thoughts alone, Andrew was there.

Her heart picked up its tempo.

Finally.

She followed his movements as he strode through the crowd. His steps were lazy. Nay, languid. And long and… She stared intently at him, trying to will him to look her way, because she really did need to talk to him.

Alas, it appeared she wasn’t the only one.

A voluptuous woman stepped into his path, cornering him.

Marcia narrowed her eyes. Not that he appeared upset about being cornered.

Just the opposite.

The pair leaned close to each other, with the lady motioning to him and whispering something in his ear.

Some unexplainable emotion she’d never before felt where Andrew was concerned slithered around inside of her.

The exchange between the woman and Andrew lasted only a moment before he moved on, only to find himself stopped once more by yet another lady.

Marcia wrinkled her nose. What ridiculousness was this? She’d known him to be a rogue, but she’d never really paused to witness it in action before now.It’s only because you have a need of him, and he and his assignations are standing in your way.

“Marcia?” Benedict’s voice cut across her musings, jerking her attention to him as they came back to the middle.

“Hmm?” she blurted. “Fine. I’m fine.”

He puzzled his brow.

She gave thanks a moment later when the set concluded, and he escorted her from the dance floor. Her gaze landed on her parents, who’d also been dancing and now made their way back from the dance floor. Towards her.

Their gazes were sharply focused on Marcia, and their attention was greater than it had been when she’d been a mischievous girl.

And it was suffocating.

Their attention was briefly called away by the Duke and Duchess of Crawford.

Marcia seized her moment. “If you’ll excuse me, Benedict?”

Catching the sides of her skirts, she lifted her hem and darted off, slipping around columns and pillars, using the grand stone hall as her personal hide-and-seek lair, her gaze still on her parents, who were now intently searching. She swallowed a curse and dived behind the curtains of a private alcove.

Or, as the case would have it, a not-so-private alcove.

She gasped as a large forearm looped possessively about her waist and drew her close, crushing her breasts against a hard, solid wall and stealing her breath. A man had captured her.

But then her gaze landed on the man holding her.

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