He could not remember ever being so angry in his life. The girl had done that quite deliberately. It was a well-calculated move to show her contempt for her guardian. And how well she had succeeded. Little fool! Did she think that any man would willingly be seen with her after this? Even Axby must have taken her in everlasting disgust. His one aim now was to find her so that he might have the satisfaction of placing his hands around her throat.

He did not have far to look. She and Sir Bernard were sitting on the bottom step leading onto the lawn that circled the house, laughing softly.

Rosalind looked over her shoulder when Raymore stood three steps above them. She had expected this encounter, was prepared for it. She looked up at him with a mixture of defiance and triumph in her eyes. He held her eyes with his, his expression impassive.

"Crawleigh, I wish to speak to my ward, please," he said softly and pleasantly.

"Miss Dacey was about to faint with the heat," Sir Bernard explained gallantly. "I suggested that I escort her outside for some fresh air."

"I thank you for your concern," Raymore said, his eyes still on his ward. "Would you leave us now, please?"

Sir Bernard glanced uneasily at Rosalind, but he really had no alternative but to turn and climb the steps again and disappear into the ballroom.

"Stand up," Raymore instructed, still very quietly and pleasantly. He descended the remaining steps until he was standing in front of her.

Rosalind knew without a doubt that if she did not comply immediately, she would be yanked quite unceremoniously to her feet. She stood.

"Take my arm," he said, extending it with the utmost courtesy.

"Where are we going?" Rosalind asked suspiciously.

"Would you prefer to walk there with me and find out, or to be carried over my shoulder like a sack and find out that way?" he asked, his words quite at variance with the air of courtesy that he still assumed.

Rosalind took his arm. They walked in silence along the lawn close to the house until they came to a servants' entrance. Raymore opened the door and ushered her inside. He grasped her elbow and led her along dark passageways until they arrived unexpectedly in the main hall. He guided her across to the library, opened the door, and ushered her inside.

Rosalind drew a deep breath, walked across to the desk, and turned to face her guardian, her chin held high. He busied himself for a while lighting candles that stood on the mantel and then turned to her, his eyes for once alive-with blazing anger, she realized.

"You will explain that exhibition you just put on for the benefit of my guests," he said.

"I needed air, my lord," she replied defiantly.

"Don't lie to me, ma'am," he snapped. "It was for my benefit, was it not? Your revenge for what you consider to be tyrannical treatment?"

"Yes," she said, a light of triumph in her eyes. "You insisted, my lord, against my wishes, that I meet the ton. Well, tonight the ton met me. Me!" She pointed to herself emphatically. "If people are to meet me, they must know that there is more to me than black hair and dark eyes and clothes that Madame de Valery has made as flattering as she can. They must know that there is more to me than a name and a comfortable dowry. They must know that I have two legs, just like them, but that one is shorter than the other. I showed them what you had so carefully tried to conceal."

"Fool!" he said through his teeth. "Do you expect that any man will wish to ally himself with you now that you have shown such shocking lack of taste? I have been working for your own interests, trying to find you a husband. You seem bent on alienating everyone who is anyone."

"Do you think I would care for any husband who was tricked into offering for me?" she cried. "Do you think the only purpose of a woman's life is to find herself a husband? If I ever marry, my lord, it will be to a man who loves me just as I am, limp and all, to a man who will not care that much"-she snapped her fingers above her head-"for the fact that I cannot walk elegantly or dance."

"Love!" he said, throwing a world of scorn into the word. "Have you been living with your head in the clouds all those years in the country? Here you will learn that marriages are alliances, carefully made for the advantage of both parties. And who would wish to ally himself to a woman who can so brazenly make herself the laughingstock in public?"

"Then let me go home," she said, "where I may dream of love if I wish and you can forget about alliances."

"Home!" he mocked. "Is that what this is all about? Have you been hoping that I will pack you off back to the country? You can forget that, my dear. Raymore Manor is my home. Do you think I wish to encounter you there every time I decide to visit?" The words were meant to be brutal and had their effect.

"Then I shall stay," she spat out at him, "and you may find me a husband if you can. But from now on, my lord, your prospective buyers must see me. Bring them here to the house and I shall strut up and down the drawing room for them. If any man can tolerate what he sees, he may make you his offer."

Her voice had risen to near-hysterical pitch. She held her arms out to the sides and demonstrated the strut she had described. She greatly exaggerated her limp as she walked the length of the library and turned to walk back again.

"Stop it!" he hissed.

She looked across at him haughtily and continued to move. "Can you not see me walking down the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, toward my bridegroom, my lord?" she goaded. "On your arm?"

"Stop it!" he repeated. When she continued to prance past him, he strode across to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Stop it, do you hear me?"

"Perhaps you would like to offer for me yourself, Edward," she said, her voice becoming even more shrill. "You spend little enough time at home and would not have to look at me often. I might be prevailed upon to accept, you know. You are handsome enough." She smiled dazzlingly and tried to whisk herself away.

"Stop this, Rosalind," he ordered again, pulling her against his chest. "Enough!"

And because indeed she had no more to say, Rosalind did stop. They glared at each other for a few seconds, both breathing hard, and then inexplicably his mouth was on hers, pressing her lips against her teeth quite mercilessly.

They both jerked away almost immediately and gazed with something like horror into each other's eyes. There seemed no sensible reason why a moment later they were kissing again. This time his mouth came down across hers open, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world, when his tongue pressed insistently against her lips, to open her mouth to receive it. Heat flared between them as his arms drew her closer and as she molded her body to his, thighs, hips, breasts straining for closer contact.

His hands moved around to explore her breasts as his tongue stroked the warm recesses of her mouth. Her hands twined into his thick hair as she moved against his hands. They were both in the grip of raw desire.

It was Raymore who finally succeeded in pulling his mind free of his physical passion. He grasped her arms and put her from him as if she were a deadly snake. He watched her heavy-lidded eyes resume normal consciousness.

"So!" he said, imposing iron control on his voice. "It is now crystal-clear how you have occupied your time in the country, ma'am, and why you wish to return there. How many lovers have you had to roll you in the hay?" The usual ice had returned to his eyes and his voice. "It was nicely done. Did you think to bend me to your will by offering me your body when your defiance had failed? You forget, Rosalind, that your body disgusts me,"

Rosalind felt unexpectedly calm. "I hate you," she said quite dispassionately. "I did not expect ever to dislike anyone as much as I do you. No one else matters in your life except the Earl of Raymore, am I not right? You were born with a heart of stone, my lord, and are totally incapable of feeling the finer emotions. Love, kindness, compassion: they must be just words to you. You think you can hurt me by making cruel references to my physical appearance? You are far more crippled than I will ever be, Edward. You do not have the power to wound me,"