The lessons her brothers had taught her returned. She curled her hands into fists and began beating on Lord Lordly’s broad, infuriating back. “Let me down at once!”
“No,” he said smoothly, before delivering a swat to her rump that rather stung.
Oh! Curse the devil!She was going to do far more than box his ears when she was on her feet. Her need to find Aidan had paled in comparison to her desire to inflict some vengeance upon his brother.
How dare he? He had no right to carry her about. To demand anything of her. He had asked her why she was here. She ought to have asked him the same question. What was he doing at The Garden of Flora?
No, she didn’t want to know that, did she? The notion of him kissing one of the beautiful ladies added some muscle to her fists. She hit him harder, beating on his solid back to no avail. He delivered yet another sound spank to her bottom as she wriggled and fought, his strides never hesitating.
“Madame,” she called, her desperation rising, “will you please aid me?”
But no one answered her, and she found herself being carried over a threshold, into a chamber with rose carpets. Red and white roses, everywhere. They swam beneath her as she bobbed on Lord Lordly’s shoulder. A door snapped closed, indicating they were alone. She landed another few blows and was gratified at the grunting sound he emitted. She could only hope she had caused him some pain.
It would serve him right, the arsehole.
“That is quite enough, Miss Sutton,” he said, bending to deposit her on the floor.
The moment she touched the floral carpets, she launched herself at him, intent upon doing him some manner of harm. He had been dogging her for days. Calling her everything but a lady. Insulting her with his bribery and his insistence she was nothing but a greedy, fortune-hunting manipulator who would marry any man as long as he was of the quality.
But he was quicker than she, blast him. He caught her wrist in a firm grip before she could plant him a proper facer, and his other arm snaked about her waist, hauling her tight to his body.
“Calm yourself, madam,” he bit out, his tone harsh.
Well, he had only immobilized one fist, hadn’t he?
Pen let the other one fly, taking him by surprise as she landed a blow on the sharp angle of his whisker-shadowed jaw. Pain shot from her knuckles, past her wrist, and all the way to her elbow. But she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Lord Lordly had gone still. Pink blossomed on his jaw where her fist had connected with his flesh. “You will regret that,” he said, part promise, part threat.
“Don’t think I will,” she countered, doing her utmost to keep her expression calm and controlled. “And there is more waiting for you if you run your rig any more than what you’ve already done.”
She would not hesitate to punch him again, it was true. Although the red blooming on his otherwise flawless jaw did send a pinch of guilt lacing into her heart. She had never done another violence before. Leave it to Lord Lordly to be the first.
“I have no notion what you are speaking of, but if you dare to strike me again, you will suffer the consequences.” His blue gaze was searing, his hold on her as rigid as his bearing.
He was all planes and sharp angles, Lord Lindsey, cutting as any blade, from his appearance to his voice to his words. Still, she would not be cowed by him. He was more powerful than she was, wealthier, taller, stronger, but she was a Sutton, by God. She was not afraid to stand up to anyone, his high and mighty lordship included.
“How?” she demanded, her defiance getting the better of her.
His nostrils flared. “Strike me again, and you shall see.”
Even in his icy pique, he was strikingly handsome, and he had an effect upon her she could not like. Her insides were warm and melting and quivery, despite her outrage.
“You began this battle between us, as I recall,” she pointed out.
And foolish, foolish, weak-willed Pen…her gaze dipped to his lips and her mouth tingled with the remembrance of his kisses.
His own lips parted, ever so slightly. For a moment, she wondered if he was plagued by similar thoughts.
But then he spoke again and rather ruined it.
“The only one responsible for the madness in which we find ourselves entangled is you, madam. If you had never attempted to ensnare my brother in matrimony, our paths would have failed to cross.”
“Have you seen Aidan since you paid your last call upon me?” she asked, hoping that whilst her friend had clearly been ignoring her, he may have at least spoken with his overzealous brother and corrected some of his many assumptions about her.
“No,” he said, spoiling those hopes.
“Neither have I,” she admitted. “I was hoping to find him here tonight. He has ignored every note I have sent him since his announcement of our betrothal.”
The despicable coward.
Perhaps she needed to rethink her choice of friends.
The viscount’s gaze searched hers. “You came to find Aidan? What makes you believe he would be here?”
“Because he tends to think with his prick, much like every other man in London,” she said crudely, hoping Lord Lordly would flinch, or at the very least go pale, at her inexcusable lack of manners.
But she was doomed to disappointment, for the viscount did nothing of the sort.
Instead, he continued to exhibit his signature, unflappable elegance, all flawless masculine perfection. “What a poor opinion you have of gentlemen, Miss Sutton.”
“Perhaps it’s because the lot of you do nothing but give me an aching head,” she countered, feeling rather spiteful toward both Aidan and his insufferable brother. “And because none of you are truly gentleman. Not a one.”
Briefly, she thought of one gentleman in particular and how easily charmed she had been. But then, she struck him from her mind.
“The sentiment is a mutual one,” he told her. “From the moment my idiotic brother first spoke your name, I have been beset with nothing but problems. I dislike problems immensely, especially when they cannot be solved.”
“I thought you already solved the problem of the mésalliance,” she could not resist pointing out. “That was your intent in telling Aidan about kissing me, was it not? I imagine you sent him a note at once.”
A hint of color shaded his angular cheekbones. “I have yet to inform him of your duplicity.”
“Just my duplicity, Lord Lordly?” She raised a brow, vexed anew that he continued to pretend as if she had been alone in those passionate kisses.
As if he had been unaffected.
A certain portion of his anatomy most certainly had not been impervious at all.
His lip curled. “You are the one who betrayed your betrothed.”
“And you are the one who betrayed his own brother by kissing his betrothed.” Never mind that she and Aidan were not truly betrothed. The viscount didn’t know that. Therefore, he was every bit as wrong and duplicitous as he supposed she was. Only more so, because she had no ties binding her to Aidan aside from his reckless declarations. “Need I remind you that your tongue was in my mouth and you were harder than—”
“Do not,” he bit out, interrupting her, “say another word.”
“Or what?” she dared to challenge him.
* * *