Then, just as she was about to step aside for a moment’s peace and attempt to find her friends, Sir Roger appeared at her side. He seemed to have a knack for sneaking up on her.
He bowed theatrically. “My lady,” he murmured. “I trust you received my flowers?”
She forced a thin smile. “Yes, Sir Roger. They were… lovely. You have my thanks.”
He beamed, clearly taking that as grand approval. “I’m delighted. And I hope you recall that we agreed upon the first dance?”
Lady Fitzgerald gave Charlotte a pointed look before drifting away, leaving her daughter to face him.
Charlotte’s heart thumped. “Yes. Of course.”
The music started up for a country dance. Sir Roger offered his arm, and Charlotte had little choice but to take it. Joining the forming set, she tried to calm her nerves and focus on the steps.
Yet from the moment they began, Sir Roger stood too close, gripping her hand with more force than necessary. Every time the dance required them to circle each other, he stepped in more than necessary, as though hoping to press her nearer. She edged away as politely as she could, but her discomfort soared.
“You seem out of sorts,” he remarked, leaning closer. “Is something troubling you?”
She wished she could say,“Yes, you.”Instead she merely murmured, “I’m very warm. The ballroom is quite crowded.”
He flashed that smarmy grin of his. “Allow me to fetch you a refreshment afterward, perhaps?”
The dance ended at last, and Charlotte curtsied quickly, turning to escape, but he caught her elbow before she could slip off.
“I insist on ensuring your comfort, my lady,” he said, guiding her away from the dance floor. His grip wasn’t particularly gentle. “Come, there’s a quieter spot just over here.”
She tried to protest, but Sir Roger shepherded her into a small alcove behind a half-drawn curtain. She cast a worried glance across the ballroom—her mother was nowhere in sight, and William must still be talking with other guests. None of her friends had arrived, even though she was sure that at least Genevieve and Miranda would be attending.
Her pulse fluttered, and dread curled in her gut. “Sir Roger,” she said quietly, “I’d prefer to return to the main room. It’s most improper for us to be alone in this way.”
He smiled, blocking her path. “We’re only yards from the rest of the party. There’s no impropriety in exchanging a few private words.”
She swallowed, forcing a calm facade. “Then please, say whatever it is quickly. I don’t wish to linger.”
He angled himself to stand a bit too close, causing her to step back only to find herself trapped between him and a pillar. “Lady Charlotte, I’ve taken a keen interest in you. My intentions are quite serious.”
Her throat tightened. She drew back, but he pushed forward. The alcove wasn’t truly hidden from the public eye, yet it felt claustrophobic, and if anyone were to look across at them….
“Sir Roger,” she said, voice trembling. “I’d rather not discuss such matters here.”
He ignored her. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze was unsettling as it swept over her face and form. “I find myself eager to secure your hand. Don’t you think we make a fine pair?”
Her heart pounded. “That’s not for me to say.”
She tried to push past him, but he grasped her arm.
“Why so timid, my lady?” he teased, leaning in. “Perhaps a simple kiss might seal our understanding.”
She froze in horror. He was going to try to kiss her?
His brandy-tinged breath whispered over her cheek and her stomach rolled. In a burst of desperation, she shoved him backward. She wasn’t sure if she’d shoved his chest or his shoulder, but it was enough to startle him. He staggered a step, his shock evident.
Then, in the same instant, a firm voice thundered behind them, “What is the meaning of this?”
Charlotte turned, relief washing through her. Henry. It was Henry. He’d save her.
He was still a few paces away, but his face was dark with fury. The tension in his shoulders told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Sir Roger recovered his balance, plastering on a smirk. “The lady and I were merely enjoying a private conversation, Your Grace.”
