He bit back a curse as Oxford and Callie were swallowed up by the teeming crowd of dancers. He could see the shimmering blue of the gown peeking out at him as the wave of people ebbed and flowed, and his mood descended into blackness as the couple moved farther and farther away.
Ralston began to prowl his way around the outside edge of the ballroom, unwilling to allow them to move completely out of sight. As he passed clusters of people, he nodded his acknowledgment halfheartedly, attempting to move slowly enough not to spark curiosity but quickly enough to keep up with the swirling dancers.
“Lord Ralston, it is such a pleasure to see you in attendance this evening,” purred the Countess of Marsden as he pushed past her.
He stopped, unable to be rude despite the woman’s predatory look. Ralston wouldn’t have been surprised to see her dart her tongue across her rouged lips salaciously. “Lady Marsden,” he said, affecting a bored tone that he knew would irritate the countess, “I am happy to have been able to oblige. I should very much like to pay my respects to your husband,” he said, pointedly. “Is he here?”
The countess’s gaze narrowed on him, and he knew his aim had struck true. “No. He isn’t.”
“Ah,” he said, already moving away, distracted. “A pity. Do give him my regards.”
He looked back at the dancers to find Juliana laughing up at Rivington as he whirled her across the ballroom, showing all of London that, half sister or no, foreign or no, Juliana Fiori was as fine a dance partner as any in the room. A burst of emotion flared in Ralston’s chest as he watched his new sister—who had so quickly found a way into his heart—smile up at the duke as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be dancing with one of the most revered members of the aristocracy. The ton would be hard-pressed to find fault with the girl, although it would try its very best to do so. Between him and Nick and the Rivington and Allendale families, however, Juliana would be protected—as much as she could be. Forming an alliance with Callie had been one of the best decisions he could have made to ensure Juliana’s acceptance into society.
Callie.
She was remarkable. Even as she had pushed and prodded and refused him, she had delivered on every one of her promises, turning Juliana into a debutante that would make any brother proud. Lord knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, not even with his newly honorable intentions. It was only because of Callie that Juliana was here tonight. She was a vital part of Juliana’s success. And, somehow, she had become a vital part of his life.
The thought spurred him on; all of a sudden, he knew he had to get Callie alone once more. It was no longer that he had to marry her out of respect for propriety and responsibility. It was that he wanted to marry her. Perversely, it seemed that the more she denied him, the more he wanted to marry her, infuriating though she was. Now he just had to convince her that she wanted it, also.
He scanned the crowd, frustrated, searching the writhing mass of bodies for her—eager for a glimpse of blue satin, eager for the dance to be over so that he could steal her away for a private conversation.
The music came to a swirling crescendo, and the couples whirled to a stop. Ralston watched as they began to promenade from the floor as the orchestra paused in its playing. He saw Juliana and Rivington find Mariana and Nick and resume their earlier conversation, but there was no sign of Oxford and Callie.
Where the hell had they gone?
After their waltz, Oxford guided Callie to a small, private antechamber off a long, dark corridor beyond the Salisbury House ballroom. The doors to the hallway had been left open to increase the flow of air into the stifling ballroom and Oxford led her into the secluded area after their waltz, insisting they enjoy a quiet moment together.
Eyeing the doorway, left barely open, Callie offered Oxford a wavering smile. “Thank you, my lord, for your escort,” she said, graciously. “I forget how very cloying balls can be.”
Oxford took a step closer. “Please, do not think of it.”
Callie inched away as he closed the distance between them. “I find I am rather parched, my lord. Perhaps we could return to the ball and find the refreshment room?”
“Or, perhaps, we could distract ourselves from thirst with…other pursuits?” He paused. “Darling.”
Callie’s brows rose at the endearment. “My lord,” she said in protest as he stepped closer, forcing her up against the wall next to the door to the hallway. Nervousness coursed through her. “Baron Oxford!” she exclaimed, uncertain of his motives.
He leaned in, closer. “Rupert,” he corrected, “I think it is time we dispense with formalities. Don’t you?”
“Baron Oxford,” she said firmly, “I should like to return. Now. This is highly inappropriate.”
“You won’t think so when you hear what I have to say,” he replied. “You see…” he stopped on a long, lingering pause. “I’m offering you the chance to be my baroness.”
Callie’s eyebrows shot up at his words.
He noted her surprise and tried again, this time speaking to her as though she were a child. “You have the opportunity to marry. Me.”
Dear Lord, was there not a single man in London in possession of an ounce of romance when it came to marriage proposals?
Callie swallowed back a nervous laugh, edging toward the door. “My lord. I am quite honored that you would think of me…” She paused, attempting to find the appropriate words to delicately refuse.
And then his arms had snaked around her and his lips were on hers, wet and soft and not at all pleasant. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and Callie recoiled from the touch, her hands flying up to his shoulders to stay his advances. He mistook the movement for a caress and pressed on, towering over her, crowding her into the wall until she felt the hard edge of the doorjamb pressing into the back of her as he pulled back briefly to whisper, “Do not be shy. We shan’t be caught. And if we are, we are betrothed.”
Callie leaned away from the baron, shaking her head at his unmatched arrogance. The idea that she would simply collapse into gratitude at the mere hint of a proposal would have stung if it weren’t so preposterous. Pushing against him with all her might, Callie said, “I am afraid you are severely misguided.” He stopped his advancement as she squeezed out from between him and the wall. “I have no intention of marrying you. I should like you to leave.”
Oxford blinked twice, as though unable to comprehend her decision. “You cannot be serious.”
The irony of the situation was not lost on Callie. After twenty-eight years of waiting for someone, anyone, to show interest in her, two men propose to her and she rejects both suits. Was she mad?
“Indeed, I am quite serious. It appears that you have mistaken my friendship.”
“Friendship!” Oxford sneered, sending a bolt of fear through Callie at the harsh change in his tone. “You think I’m looking for friendship? On the contrary. I’m looking for a wife.” He spat the words at her as though she were addle-pated.
Callie recoiled instinctively from him, surprised by this new Oxford—gone was the brightly smiling vapid dandy, replaced by an angry, unpleasant man. “Then it appears you have been laboring under a misapprehension that I am seeking a husband.”