The Earl of Raymore played billiards for part of the day, but soon after luncheon he secluded himself in Standen's library, where he drew down volume after volume, trying to interest himself in a pastime that was usually among his favorites. Nothing would do. Each book found its way back onto the shelf when less than a page had been read. He should leave. It was torture to be in the same house as her. In London, he could at least leave the house and spend a whole day away. Here that was impossible. Luncheon and dinner yesterday had been an acute embarrassment. He had stolen a glance at her only a few times, and though she had not been looking at him on any of those occasions, he knew that she too felt desperately uncomfortable. He did not even have the consolation any longer of believing that he disliked and hated her. And he could no longer persuade himself that she was ugly. Her startling southern beauty made everyone else at the table look insipid, even Sylvia. He knew what that dark hair looked like falling in heavy locks around her face and over her shoulders, making her skin appear like alabaster. He knew how her eyes and lips looked when they were dreamy with passion. And he knew how very womanly her body was beneath the flowing gown.

He needed a few days to accustom himself to the knowledge that he loved her but could never have her. For a while she had responded to his lovemaking, but she had made it very clear before leaving him that she hated and despised him. And she had conversed almost exclusively with Crawleigh during dinner. Afterward, in the drawing room, she had sung for a while, but not for the entertainment of the room at large. Her songs had been quietly directed at her fiance, who leaned against the pianoforte the whole while gazing into her face. Raymore had been tense, though he appeared to be relaxed as he made up a table for piquet. He was terrified that she would sing the song about the rose. He would not be able to stand that. He was greatly relieved when she moved away from the instrument and joined Crawleigh on a love seat a little removed from any other members of the company.

Despite his need to distance himself from Rosalind, Raymore knew that he must stay. He had joined the party only two days before. It would be entirely rude to leave before the end, especially on the day of the ball. He must be present as the guardian of the girl whose betrothal was to be celebrated. And his talk with Sylvia the morning before had bothered him. He had thought her to be a thoroughly predictable young lady. He had expected her to be mindlessly satisfied with any marriage, provided the man were eligible, wealthy, and tolerably good-looking. He was not seriously alarmed, as he believed the words she had spoken to him had been prompted by prenuptial nerves. He could think of no rational explanation of why she would suddenly wish to withdraw from her engagement. However, he felt that his presence was necessary. He must certainly watch to see that she did not do anything foolish before she had time to recover from her strange mood.

Rosalind was not alone on the day of the ball. She was out riding with Sir Bernard Crawleigh, and she was in a deliberately gay mood. She had just agreed, in fact, that their wedding should take place during early August in Shropshire, where his parents lived. They did not enjoy city life and would be far happier to organize the wedding among their friends, he explained. Rosalind had her own reasons for agreeing. She did not want a big society wedding. The thought of limping down a long church aisle watched by all the prominent members of the ton horrified her. And she wanted to move permanently away from the Earl of Raymore's home as soon as she possibly could. She did not wish to have to move back there after the summer while her wedding was organized. She did not wish to have him give her away. It would be quite intolerable to have to walk down the aisle on his arm. She hoped that he would not come to Shropshire.

They spent the whole morning riding, going even as far as the hills that rose to the north of the estate. Sir Bernard told her about all the places to which he planned to take her during their wedding trip to Europe.

"I must take you to Austria," he said. "You will love Vienna. And in Italy, of course, Venice is the city of romance. You shall ride in a gondola, Rosalind."

"And Rome?" she asked eagerly. "Will we go there too, Bernard?"

"How could we miss it?" he replied.

By the time they arrived back at Broome Hall Rosalind was feeling quite cheerful. She had certainly made the right decision. In four or five weeks' time she would be married and traveling as she had always dreamed of doing. She would be with Bernard, who was always cheerful and attractive and who understood her. Once she was married, she would be able to forget about the Earl of Raymore. She would be safe from him.

Rosalind was very grateful to Bernard for urging her to agree to bring forward their wedding. He had suggested it the evening before at the end of a nightmare day. She had been desperately in need of some distraction. She had spent most of the day alone. After leaving Raymore, she had ridden, not even aware of the direction she took or the landmarks she passed. She had tried to outride her thoughts, but the visions crowded in: Raymore dragging her from her horse, his hands iron hard on her arms, his face furiously angry; shaking her until she thought she would lose consciousness; kissing her and caressing her on the ground; calling her by name, calling her his rose. Her face grew hot as visions of her own response came unbidden to mind. As soon as she had felt his mouth on hers, she had been lost, given up entirely to mere physical responses. His weight on her when he took her to the ground had been such an erotic experience. She had wanted him with a raw passion.

She might have stopped him from unbuttoning her jacket and her blouse, but she had eagerly cooperated. She had had to feel his hands on her bare flesh, on her breasts. She had not even been ashamed of their fullness as she had been ever since she had realized years ago that she was developing far more than any other girl she knew. She had wanted him to see her, to touch her. And she burned with shame now at the memory of the way she had allowed him to raise her skirts. She had even lifted her hips so that he could pull away the fabric. She had wanted him so desperately, had chafed at the tantalizing slowness with which his hand had moved up her thighs. And she had been close, so close, to losing herself completely. Some instinctive part of her womanhood told her that they had been within moments of the ultimate touch, the one to which everything else had been building.

And she had desired it, desperately wanted it, with Raymore! The thought was terrifying, nauseating. Was she so depraved, so out of control of her own reactions, that she could have allowed him of. all people to make love to her? She could not even have accused him of ravishment if the act had been carried to completion; she had been an eager partner.

She found it very difficult to understand her own behavior. She knew that she was physically attracted to her guardian. He was Alistair in appearance, after all. But surely mere attraction should die when one found the person cold and unlikable. And what of him? He disliked her just as much as she did him. Why, then, had he made such violent love to her on two separate occasions? Did he experience a similar sort of uncontrollable passion? It was hard to believe because she knew that he was a man of impeccable taste in beautiful things, and she was far from lovely. Was he merely trying to punish and humiliate her? She would have believed so, but his behavior had not seemed cold and calculating. He had spoken to her, almost as if he did not know that he did so, calling her his rose. What had he meant by that? Was it a reference to her name?

Rosalind could not find any interpretation of Raymore's behavior that satisfied her. But she did know that their relationship was dangerous. They could not be in each other's presence without quarreling, and when they quarreled, this disturbing passion flared. She had to get away from him, and stay away.

She had contrived to spend the afternoon alone as well, keeping to her room, complaining of a recurrence of her headache. At dinner she had been relieved to find herself seated next to Sir Bernard. Only by talking and joking with him could she cope with the terrible ordeal of having to share a table with the Earl of Raymore. And after dinner, in the drawing room, her fiance had taken her apart and asked her if she could be ready for a wedding the following month when they visited his parents. He had made a joke of the proposal. Since he could not get her to bed this side of the wedding, he said, he would have to move the wedding ahead in order to save his sanity.

"Of course," he had added with a grin, "the offer that you so heartlessly rejected yesterday still holds for tonight. Will you, Rosalind?"

She had slapped him playfully on the hand. "Patience, sir," she had said. "All good things come to those who wait, you know."

"I shall hold you to those words," he had replied.

While Rosalind had crossed to the tea table in order to pour tea for them both, Sir Bernard had watched Raymore with narrowed eyes as the latter contemplated the cards in his hand, apparently engrossed in his game. From his bedroom window he had seen the earl ride after Rosalind that morning. It had been a full hour before he returned, alone. He had not stayed with her. But still, an hour!


***

There were more than thirty people invited to the grand dinner before the ball. All the leading gentry of the countryside had been invited. Sylvia was dressed to perfection. She wore white satin covered with delicate Brussels lace threaded with silver. The gown, with its high waist, low neckline, and short puffed sleeves, emphasized her delicate beauty. Rosalind was pleased to notice that her cousin was looking happier than she had looked for days. In fact, she positively glowed. She must, then, have convinced herself that her betrothal was right, that she really did love Lord Standen.