Page 3 of Seducing a Frigid Lady
Lord Lloyd was talking animatedly with a group of elder gentlemen across the room and though he looked quite foolish doing so, whatever he was saying had clearly captivated his audience. Priscilla couldn’t help but smile with amusement at him, for she was lucky indeed to have such an eccentric and unconventional father.
“If you had to put up with all of my papa’s hair-brained schemes, you might be more willing to get yourself married off,” Priscilla joked, though deep down she was more than a little relieved to have such a father, especially one so respected even though many did believe he was one step from falling out of the cuckoo’s nest.
Priscilla was so distracted by watching her father’s antics that she nearly missed Sophie’s warning, “Don’t look now, but Mr. Kenyon is making his way over.”
Oh no, why did anyone have to invite him?Priscilla gritted her teeth. Without so much as a glance in the same direction as Sophie, she started to pull her friend away, making a swift path towards the nearest group of young ladies.
“Good evening, ladies,” she said with an overly friendly tone, forcing a smile. It was immediately clear that not one, but all of the ladies were quite surprised by her presence.
She couldn’t say that she blamed them, as she so often made a point of avoiding talking to air-headed, arrogant, self-obsessed women. Yet for the moment, they were a good protection from a gentleman she had no interest in speaking to.
“I do hope you are all having a good evening.”
“Quite,” one of the women, Miss Selina Kendal, said rather sharply, offering Priscilla an almost disgusted glance up and down before she turned pointedly to continue her conversation with the other ladies.
The woman with the glossiest blonde hair, slender neck and upturned nose had never had any great love for Priscilla, and there was no fixing that in an instant. Priscilla knew her luck was out as the other ladies started to turn away from her.
“Is he still coming?” Priscilla hissed under her breath to Sophie. Even before her friend had responded, she continued to drag her around the room, skirting quickly around the pack of ladies, looking for a pillar or a curtain or even a statue that she might be able to hide behind.
It was only when they came to the drawing-room door that she was able to find any hope of escaping.
“Cilla, I don’t think this is going to work,” Sophie protested. “Stop flitting about like a fairy and just speak to him.”
“Are you insane?” Priscilla blurted back scoldingly. Turning to her friend, she looked at her with desperation in her eyes, pleading for her to help her find a way out of the situation. And though Sophie looked apologetic, there was little that she could do.
Turning swiftly, Priscilla released her friend’s arm and made for the door, only to stop dead in her tracks the moment that the blonde-haired, green-eyed gentleman stepped out in front of her.
“Lady Priscilla, it is so good to see you.”
Priscilla’s heart sank the moment that she saw him. He was all too close, and she made a quick step backwards, drawing her gloved hands down the front of her dress, and clearing her throat. Placing an unreadable mask upon her face, just as she so often did whenever she was speaking to a mere acquaintance, she responded, “And you, Mr. Kenyon.”
“Please, how many times must I tell you? Call me Harold,” the gentleman responded, smiling warmly.
Priscilla found herself reaching behind her, searching for her best friend’s hand, searching for anything she could use to keep herself anchored and stop herself from running.
“Mr. Kenyon, I would prefer it if we were to keep things respectable between us,” Priscilla announced rather coldly. She was only slightly relieved when Sophie stepped up beside her, taking a little of Harold’s attention away.
“As you wish,” Harold said, a flash of what might have been hurt crossing his gaze before he bowed his head to Sophie and greeted her, “Miss Lyttleton. I hope you are having a pleasant evening.”
“I am, thank you, Mr. Kenyon.”
Priscilla gritted her teeth against the urge to scream at them both. Why did Mr. Kenyon have to try to be so friendly towards her when he was so formal towards everyone else? Deep down, she knew exactly why. She remembered all too well the day he had come to stand before her in her father’s drawing room, the day when he had announced that he had just come from her father’s study after having asked for her hand in marriage.
At the time, she had been sick to her stomach with worry, terrified of what her father might have said in response until he had explained to her that Lord Lloyd had explained that Priscilla had her own mind and he would not presume to know what it was that she wanted for her own future.
That had been her very first hint that her father would allow her to have whatever it was she wanted in life, and since then they had shared many a conversation about it, much to her aunt’s disgust.
She still remembered Mr. Kenyon’s face when she had rejected his proposal, how frustrated and almost angry he had appeared. Though she admired him for how he had tempered those emotions and how quickly he had retired from the room, she did not admire his determination to continue to approach her as though he had not yet given up hope that one day she might change her mind.
She could see it in his eyes, not because she was big-headed and because she believed that she was worth waiting for, but because she had always known him to be stubborn and pig-headed, much like any other gentleman of thetonwho was so used to getting whatever it was that he wanted.
Having rejected him only last Season, she had hoped that this one would see him steering clear of her, and yet here he was. Nervous about what that might mean, Priscilla was careful to show as little emotion as possible, only keeping half her attention on him. The last thing she wanted was for him to get the wrong impression and try to begin courting her again. If he were to do so, she knew that she would be forced to at least give him a little of her time as part of her promise to her father to maintain appearances.
I do not want this;she thought despairingly. She didn’t want any of it. It was not just Mr. Kenyon, but all of the young and eligible men who liked to flit about her looking for a bride. Of course, she was in exactly the same boat as all the other ladies of theton, at least where all of the bachelors were concerned. They had no idea of the deal she had with her father, that if she did not want to, she would not ever have to marry.
A part of her wished so desperately that she could scream about it from the rooftops so that she would never have to entertain a gentleman who wished to marry her again. She had absolutely no intention of giving a single one of them the opportunity to actually do so.
Even as she faced Mr. Kenyon, she could feel the eyes of the few other young men in the room upon her. Bile rose in her throat at the knowledge. It appeared to her that their attentions had become some sort of unspoken game between the gentlemen of theton, almost as if her cold reputation had made all of them determined to be the one tobreakher. But there was one thing none of them knew; she would never allow herself to be broken by a man.
