“Sir,” she gasped. “I… Who are you?”
The man chuckled, low in his throat. “You don’t recall me? You never did respond to my card, Lady Ursula.”
A cold sensation trickled along her spine.
“Sir Roderick Black,” Ursula murmured, curling her fingers into fists at her side. “What on earth are you doing out here?”
“That,” the man said, taking a deliberate step towards her, “is a very good question, my dear.”
Chapter Four
“Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast.”–Romeo and Juliet,Shakespeare.
Sir Roderick was quite clearly in his cups. He swayed ever so slightly on his feet, and there were wine stains down the front of his jacket, staining the pure white of his cravat. Ursula suspected that if it were light enough, she would see that his eyes were blurred and unfocused and clearly bloodshot.
“This is not proper, Sir Roderick,” Ursula said, as firmly as she could manage. Something told her that it would not be wise to display any of the fear she felt bubbling up inside her. “I believe perhaps I will return to the house and allow you to continue your walk alone.”
She made as if to step around him, but the man neatly moved in her way. He was grinning widely now.
Sir Roderick was close to forty years of age and had never been wedded. His reputation as a rake was well-earned, and there had been a scandal a decade ago when he had ruined some poor, guileless young debutante to the point where her family disowned her and she had clearly been forced to leave polite Society altogether. One heard whispers of a child, as well.
Of course, Sir Roderick’s reputation had recovered, as gentlemen’s reputations often did. No sensible woman would go near him, however. That was not on account of his rakishness, as reformed rakes could be quite popular. In reality it was dueto his insurmountable debts which were mounting with every successive year.
Being seen with him alone, in the dark gardens, would ruin Ursula’s reputations irrevocably.
“It would be best if we parted ways,” she tried again, taking a step backwards. “I’m sure you mean no harm, but it really is not proper to be here alone. I’m positive you understand. I don’t intend to ruin your walk, sir, but I…”
“What’s the rush?” Sir Roderick interrupted, taking another step forward. Ursula retreated, conscious that she was now moving further away from the house and safety. “Private locations allow for more intimate meetings, after all.”
Ursula bristled. “This is not ameeting, sir. It is an accident. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
She made to dart past him again, and this time she fully intended to push her way past, even if she had to go through the undergrowth.
A hand wrapped around her upper arm, shoving her bodily backwards. Ursula staggered, gasping in shock. Sir Roderick grinned at her, as if her shock and fright were amusing to him.
Gentlemen never,neverlaid hands on a lady in such a manner.
But he is not a gentleman, is he?Ursula thought, heart hammering. In a rush, she understood exactly how much danger she was in.
“I won’t stand for this treatment,” she gasped. “You…”
“Oh, I believe you’ll stand for whatever treatment I see fit to give you,” Sir Roderick murmured, eyes glinting. He began to walk towards her, and Ursula scuttled backwards. The path opened up into a circular crossroads, with a stone bench at the centre. At once, Ursula rushed to put the bench between herself and Sir Roderick.
What am I to do?She thought frantically.I can’t get past him. Can I outrun him? Doubtful. I certainly cannot overpower him.
Sir Roderick was a tall man with a full girth, but she suspected that he was deceptively strong underneath it all. His thinning fair hair plastered against his scalp, and large hands opened and closed at his sides. His eyes were bright, and she did not like the look in them when he stared at her. He was sweating already, droplets rolling into his eyes.
“Stay back,” Ursula managed, her voice wobbling rather pitifully. “I warn you; I will not be threatened.”
To further emphasise her point, she darted forward, aiming a slap towards his face. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it in a painfully tight grip.
“Oho, so you’re a vicious little thing, are you?” he hissed. Then his hand shot out, a stinging backhand catching her across the face. Ursula gave a cry, stumbling backwards.
“Keep your claws to yourself, little cat,” he added.
“You’re a devil!”
Sir Roderick did not even bother to respond properly this time. He laughed, throwing back his head. Then, quite without warning, he lunged.
