“We need to return to the ball,” she repeated.

“Come now, my pet. There’s no need to be coy. We both know what we want.”

Oh, Lord, now she was in serious trouble. Her left hand, so firmly planted in the center of Lord Rosen’s chest, began to tremble. The idea of wrestling with him was too undignified to be borne, but if necessary, Dorothea would fight with every ounce of her strength.

She raised her chin and met his eyes squarely. Speaking in a normal, quiet tone was an effort. “I really must insist.”

His eyebrow lifted. “I cannot believe you would be so cruel as to deny us both such untold pleasure. You see before you a man at the mercy of your beauty.”

She sent a frosty glare in his direction. “At my mercy? I believe you to be more attuned with your base appetites, my lord.”

Appreciative laughter fell from his lips. “And yours.”

“Hardly!”

He drew back slightly, his gaze openly skeptical. “You came out here willingly. You kissed me willingly.”

Dorothea swallowed past the lump that was lodged in her throat. She had come outside of her own accord. But surely he could not think she was going to bestow upon him more than a single kiss?

“One kiss is all that I allow, my lord. At least to a man who is not my husband or my betrothed. Lest you forget, I am a lady. An innocent, unmarried lady.”

Lord Rosen must have seen her temper flair, for he paused. His dark eyes surveyed her critically. “Do you believe yourself worthy of becoming my wife?”

Dorothea winced. That was rather blunt. What did he expect now, that she plead her cause? Enumerate her finer qualities, expound on her many virtues, show him her teeth? What nerve! Beneath her escalating fear, Dorothea grew angry. But she held her temper.

“That is not for me to decide, my lord,” she replied, keeping her voice cool. “Only you can determine who is worthy to be your wife.”

He smiled, seemingly pleased at her response, yet his heightened color indicated he had not fully regained his temper.

“Perhaps that is what I am attempting to do right now. Determine your worth.”

Shock forced a nervous giggle from her. She should have been prepared for this nonsense. Or better still, she should have been smart enough to avoid it altogether. The good Lord help her if by some miracle Lord Rosen did propose. He possessed in abundance that superior smugness prevalent in men who felt they needed to prove themselves with women. He would not take kindly to being rejected.

Somehow, Dorothea managed a strained smile. “This seems a rather awkward time and place to make such an important decision about your future.”

“It could very well be your future also,” he insisted.

If you please me. He did not say the words aloud, but his intent was obvious with every sultry, proud look. Pointedly, Lord Rosen glanced down at her arm, the physical barrier she held between them. His smug expression told her he expected her to lower it.

Dorothea stiffened. “I think not, my lord,” she proclaimed.

His expression of disbelief was comical, and unfortunately short-lived. Lord Rosen glared at her, clearly annoyed. Dorothea’s fear returned. If I survive this incident without harm, I vow I shall be more diligent in the future, she promised herself silently.

Dorothea dipped a quick curtsy and turned away, scolding herself not to scurry so fast, yet she could feel Lord Rosen’s penetrating gaze boring into her back.

“Miss Ellingham!” he shouted.

Her discomfort heightened. Her pace quickened. She was supremely conscious of how wildly her heart was thudding. It was undignified and a bit lowering to scuttle away like a frightened child, yet Dorothea reasoned it was far better to be a coward than a fool.

There was a sound behind her. His footsteps? Dear God! No longer giving any thought to how she appeared, Dorothea lifted her skirt above her ankles and broke into a run. Her feet crunched noisily on the gravel path, the stones cutting through the soft leather soles of her elegant dancing slippers.

Ignoring the pain, Dorothea kept running. Her shoulder brushed the side of a lush hedge as she turned the corner, but she dared not slow her speed. She was concentrating so intently on the sounds behind her that she paid little attention to what was directly in front.

It was like hitting a brick wall. A wall with powerful arms. Dorothea screeched as those masculine arms encircled her, imprisoned her. Twisting from the hold, she backed away on unsteady legs, trying to prepare herself to meet her attacker. Lifting her head, she met his eyes fully.

Lord Atwood! Dorothea’s mouth dropped open, aghast. Feeling off balance, she caught his arm and tried to steady herself, physically and emotionally.

“Gracious, woman, what is the matter?”

Shocked speechless, Dorothea stared at him. The moonlight reflected off his face, giving his features an almost angelic glow. Normally, physical beauty did not overwhelm her so intently. It had taken several years for her to come to the realization, but she did know that physical appearance did not directly correlate to a person’s character.

Lord Rosen being an excellent example of that fact. His very appealing face and form hid a darkness in his personality, a sharpness of temperament that was at odds with his outer beauty.

Something about the marquess’s looks…or maybe it was his bearing, drew her near. A kind of magnetic virility that made her take notice. Even when she did not want to be looking.

“Are you in distress, Miss Ellingham?” the marquess asked in a gentle tone. “Can I be of assistance?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The lift of his brow told her of his skepticism at her response, but thankfully he did not press her. There was a strained silence, broken only by her harsh, labored breaths. Mortified, Dorothea attempted to stifle the noise, which made matters worse.

“I was unaware that Mr. Pengrove was in attendance this evening,” Lord Atwood commented.

“He is here?” Dorothea gazed wildly about the garden.

“Wasn’t that him in the lower garden with you?”

“No, that was Lord Rosen.” Dorothea, still feeling terribly rattled, replied without thinking. Then nearly groaned at her answer.

“Lord Rosen?” Ill-concealed surprise shadowed the marquess’s moonlit features. “I thought you had an understanding with Mr. Pengrove.”

“An understanding of what?”

“Marriage.”

Oh, dear. Embarrassment and mortification fought for domination in Dorothea’s heart. How did he know about Arthur’s proposal? And why did he know only half the story, for clearly he believed she had accepted Arthur’s suit?

“Mr. Pengrove and I are merely friends. We have no plans to marry.”

She nearly laughed at Lord Atwood’s blank look of amazement and might have, if she had not been so stunned herself.

“Forgive my mistake,” he said, eyeing her with puzzlement. “Then you will gladly accept the title of Lady Rosen?”

“No.” Dorothea looked away, then sighed. “I must say, my lord, you appear to have far too keen an interest in my marital status.”

“Do I? I beg your pardon. Marriage is too much on my mind these days.”

“On mine, too, I confess.” Her heart skipped. Was Lord Atwood in the market for a bride?

“Did you not mean to say love and marriage are too much on your mind?” he asked, his voice lilting with humor.

“Love and marriage?” Dorothea took a moment to consider her reply. “Marriage is an act of combining family, fortune, and convenience.”

“It is, but I thought most young women strive to fall in love before they marry.”

“Do they? I’m not certain. I only know I wish very much to marry, and love is not a major factor under my consideration when searching for a husband.”

His mouth curled. “You surprise me, Miss Ellingham. I would have wagered anything that you were a starry-eyed romantic.”

Dorothea gave him a faint smile. “I have grown beyond that stage. I know that genuine love can exist between couples, but it is rare to find and even harder to hold.”

“I can agree with that sentiment.”

“From personal experience?”

He winced. “Heavens, no. I myself have never been in love. But I have borne witness to couples who profess themselves madly in love when they marry and within the year their relationship has fallen to apathy or boredom or worse.”

“I too have seen the same.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “That is why I am resolved to control my own fate when I marry and leave love out of the decision.”

He cocked his head to one side and studied her. “Are they mutually exclusive?” he asked. “Love and marriage?”

“For some. For too many.” She couldn’t help but smile. This was the most unusual conversation she had ever had with a man, but the most honest. “I think in the very best circumstances, love comes after marriage.”

“Between a man and his wife?”

“Sometimes. If they are very fortunate.” She studied her dancing slippers with a great intensity, then suddenly lifted her head. “And if not, then the world will not end. One can learn to be content with whatever parts another person is willing to share.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Does that not make for a very cold marriage bed?”

“I know very little of either love or passion yet I cannot fathom that love is necessary in order to achieve fulfillment when sharing a bed with your spouse. Is it?”

Her question seemed to surprise him. “Not from a man’s point of view. Yet I always believed a gently bred lady would feel differently.”

“Yes, some might.” Dorothea could not hold her tongue. “I am not one of them.”

His face registered shock, but that quickly turned to curiosity. “You are not horrified at the notion of being labeled a wanton?”