Rosalie ducked her head evasively. “I should not speak on her behalf. Perhaps you should ask her yourself.”
He returned his gaze to the ballroom floor, stiffening the moment he spotted Mackenzie cutting a direct line for Aurelia. What the hell was he doing here? He’d seen the man around Town, and he knew his reputation. The Scot was ruthless. He was also big. Muscular like a dockworker. He owned several gaming hells and other questionable establishments in Edinburgh and Glasgow and had recently begun expanding into England after he won a popular hell in the rookery.
There was much scandal attached to his acquisition of Rapture. Rumors that he cheated abounded. He had heard the former owner was deep in his cups at the time of the card game, and several people questioned Mackenzie’s right to claim Rapture through such spurious means. Of course, no one challenged him directly. It was said the man carried the vouchers of too many noblemen.
It was also rumored that the Scot’s ruthlessness extended to the bedroom. He was purported to enjoy bed sport of the rough variety. Max’s hands clenched as he thought of Aurelia beneath the burly Scotsman.
And aside from all that, he recalled hearing something about Mackenzie being on the hunt for a blue-blooded bride to give him an added stamp of legitimacy among the ton. He watched grimly as the Scot cut a path for Aurelia, thinking only one thought. Hell no.
Mackenzie stopped before her and bowed over her hand. Surely she would not think him an appropriate suitor. There was a brief exchange between the two and then she was suddenly swept up in the Scot’s arms and waltzing around the room. Senseless chit. He glanced around, searching for Will or Dec, determined that they put a stop to this at once. Only they were nowhere in sight.
“Oh, see there. He’s a handsome gentleman, is he not?” Rosalie commented. “They make a fine couple. She with her dark looks, and he a fair Viking.” He glared briefly at Rosalie. She stood on tiptoes to whisper up at him, “They would make such beautiful babies, do you not think?”
She had lost her bloody mind. Until that moment, he had quite liked Dec’s wife. Now he could toss her out the nearby French doors. If she thought Aurelia and Mackenzie would be making babies together, she was sorely mistaken.
He returned his attention to the dancing couple. At that particular moment, Aurelia tossed her head back and laughed at something Mackenzie said. Clearly she did not know the manner of man with whom she danced. Nor the way that action pulled the bodice of her gown lower, revealing more of her delectable décolletage. Of course, Mackenzie noticed. With her head thrown back, every man in the room feasted on the sight of those impressive breasts.
Max growled low in his throat, wondering at the surge of aggression he felt.
He suddenly lost sight of them among the couples and had to step to the side, searching for them among the whirl of bodies. His tension eased only marginally when he identified Mackenzie again. Fortunately, the Scot stood taller than most of the other dancers, so he was able to spot the man’s dark blond head.
“He’s not eligible,” Max muttered.
“No? What’s wrong with him?”
Was Rosalie still here? He had forgotten about her. He looked down at her, still irked with her earlier comment. She watched him keenly, waiting his explanation. “Everything.”
Rosalie frowned. “You dislike him that much? If he’s truly ineligible, then perhaps I should fetch Will to—”
“No need. I’ll take care of it.” Max started off through the crowd, cutting across the ballroom floor, ignoring the people staring after him, who doubtlessly were marveling that Lord Camden had not only graced the ball of a very proper dame of the ton, but was actually on the dance floor.
He dodged a lady that reached for his arm in an attempt to drag him into conversation—or perhaps a dance. He walked with single-minded purpose toward Aurelia, ready to save her from herself.