Page 11 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

“What else am I supposed to say?” Elizabeth asked, her words partially drowned out by a sad, reluctant round of applause.

“I don’t know,” Diana sputtered. “Perhaps remind me of the fact that sororicide is a crime. Though, I am sure I can make my case before the court.”

“Well…” Elizabeth smiled. “You can plan that after the bidding is over.”

Diana refused to shift her gaze to the dais. One reason was the very realistic fear that she would run up there and strangle her sister. The second was to be spared the embarrassment.

Indubitably, no one would bid. No gentleman of good standing would wish to parade about town with her once, let alone five times. Herbert and Stephen and, of course, Richard would have to bid to save her from the humiliation. She hoped Herbert would win so she could push him into the lake at St. James Park.

All thoughts of dessert were pushed to the back, and all that remained was the wish that the pot of custard was there so she could throw herself into it and die in chocolate heaven.

Alas, she had to stay there and endure the proceedings. She shut herself out of the process, deciding that if she wished it hard enough, the whole thing would just go away. She heard voices, loud gasps, and the light tone of her sister, but she refused to let anything register. She didn’t want to hear the whispers and the pity mixed with cruelty.

How could Selina do this to me?

“Calm down,” Elizabeth muttered with a fake smile.

“This is me being calm, given the circumstances,” Diana hissed.

“Now, now,” Elizabeth warned. “It is almost over.”

“Almost?” Diana despaired.

“Oh.” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“What? I thought you were supposed to be quite eloquent. Please clarify thatohimmediately.”

But Elizabeth didn’t get the chance to explain herself further, for Selina announced loudly, “Congratulations, Lord Crawford!”

No.

Diana could hear her heart beat in her ears, and she was fairly certain that it would soon burst out of her chest and flop onto the polished floor.

“Diana.” Elizabeth squeezed her hand.

This can’t be happening.

Diana forced herself to remember her status and not cause a scene. And by scene, she meant running out of the ballroom, out of the Seymour estate, out of London, and out of the country if need be. Instead, she collected the tattered remnants of her sanity and looked up.

Yes, running out of the country sounds like a marvelous idea!

Because the moment she tore her gaze away from her shoes, on which she had been focused during the auction, she was met withhiseyes.

The Marquess approached her, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. And why wouldn’t they? He looked like a feral beast even in his refined attire and the controlled way he carried himself.

As he stalked toward her, her breathing quickened. The air between them thickened, charged with something dangerous. His eyes were locked onto hers, and she felt herself burningunder that scorching look. Burning with anger and that other thing that was too scandalous to even think about.

Still, all of this is a game for him.

Diana made sure to feed the fire of anger. He had purposely avoided her, and now that her troublemaker of a sister gave him the opportunity to torture her on a silver platter, he gladly took it.

By the time he stopped before her, Diana was glad that her anger was stoked enough to suppress all other emotions.

She raised her chin first because she had to. The man was extremely tall, after all.Andshe wanted to show him her defiance. His games were not appreciated.

“My Lady,” he said with a taunting smirk.

“Congratulations, Lord Crawford,” Diana drawled. Then, she added in a lower voice meant only for his ears, “You will regret this.”

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