Page 69 of Thief of the Ton
He stepped closer, and the moonlight highlighted his blond hair as if he were surrounded by a halo.
With his sharp cheekbones and perfectly proportioned features, he looked like an angel.
Then he smiled, revealing white, even teeth.
“A young woman with your unfortunate background can be forgiven.”
“I’m not ashamed of my background, Mr. Moss,” she said. “I’m the daughter of a viscount.”
“An impoverished fool who brought about his downfall and nearly ruined his friends—or so I heard. A lifetime in obscurity in the countryside can render a person somewhat savage. Had you been a man, I would have called you out.”
She let out a laugh. “All this because I didn’t wish to dance with you, Mr. Moss?”
“Do you prefer to ride a gelding,” he said, “when you could have partnered a stallion?”
Ride me like a stallion—an Arabian stallion!
Lady Francis’s words echoed in Lavinia’s ears, and a tide of nausea swelled within her, exacerbated by the stench of cologne.
She pushed him aside, but he caught her wrist.
“Unhand me, Mr. Moss,” she said.
“Not until I’ve had satisfaction.”
“You’ll get no satisfaction from me, I assure you.”
He tightened his grip, then pulled her hard against him.
“Let me go!” she cried.
“Nobody insults me without suffering the consequences,” he hissed.
“And nobody molests me without suffering the consequences, Mr. Moss,” she retorted. “One scream from me, and you’ll have the whole party witnessing your disgusting behavior.”
“Be my guest,” he said, his eyes glittering with triumph. “My reputation will remain intact, whereasyours…”
Her gut twisted in fear. He spoke the truth. Were she to cry out, they would be discovered, and she would be compromised. And she knew enough of Society, from Aunt Edna’s warnings, to realize that a young woman caught in a compromising position with a man was often forced to marry him.
He drew his face close, his eyes gleaming with lust. His breath stank of stale cigar smoke and rotting meat. No wonder he drenched himself in cologne.
The strains of music and chatter grew louder, and she froze.
“That’s better,” he said. “My clever little mare—my beautiful mare.”
She swallowed the urge to retch as he used the same words he’d uttered the night she caught him rutting Lady Francis. Surely he wasn’t going to—
“All I ask is a kiss,” he whispered, lowering his tone in what she presumed was an attempt to appear alluring. “One sweet kiss.”
Disgusting creature!Yet he held the power, and he knew it. But the merest thought of his touching her—she could not allow it. She reached up and grasped his arms.
“Oh yes,” he rasped. “While I relish a struggle, the sweetness of surrender is always to be preferred.”
Lavinia closed her eyes and braced herself, shifting her weight onto one leg, while the other she tensed to thrust upward. A swift knee to the groin would soon put an end to that disgusting bulge in his breeches.
“What the bloody hell’s going on?”
She opened her eyes to see Lord Marlow standing on the balcony, a brandy glass in each hand. Raw fury glittered in his eyes.
