The Ugly Duckling Debutante(16)

His eyes flashed with anger as he walked quickly toward her. He stopped inches from her face. “I am not the one you need to be worried about.”



“So you’ve told me,” she answered boldly.



His eyes widened as an amused smile broke out on his face. He dangled his hand in front of her. “Shall we?”



“Lead the way,” she muttered somewhat sarcastically. He obviously caught her disdain and laughed ironically.



“You don’t like me,” he announced rather smugly once they were facing each other in the carriage.



She scowled. “Whatever would give you that idea, my lord?” She smiled sweetly at the end, possibly sealing her fate as his least favorite person.



His eyes crinkled at the corners giving him a cheerful look. “Have I offended you?”



“When have you not offended me?” she retorted impulsively, thinking about the masquerade and the insults of the day that followed.



At that he laughed a little too hard for Sara’s liking. His expression sobered when he saw the disdain in her eyes. “My dear, I am trying my best to help you. Tonight would be trying for the most normal of girls.”



Her stomach lurched. How often was this Adonis to remind her of her contrasting plainness. “And I’m not normal.” She said it without emotion as she looked into his icy gaze.



“No,” he finally answered. “You are not.” His voice was strained.



“I understand.” She looked down at her hands and played with her gloves. A change of subject was needed. “How long will we be in the park, my lord?”



Nicholas looked confused about the subject change but shrugged his shoulders in response, “As long as it takes.”



“As long as what takes?” she asked.



He smiled brightly. “You’ll see.”



Minutes later, he was helping her out of the carriage. Several people were walking through the park arm and arm, and many more single ladies with chaperones were chattering away. As she linked her arm within Lord Renwick’s, a blanketed hush fell upon the once chatty people of the ton. They whispered; some men smiled at her wickedly. Naturally they must think her ugly, too. She tried to brave a smile but found it terribly trying. After about ten minutes, Lord Renwick abruptly stopped the walk and turned toward Sara.



“Hold still,” he muttered through clenched teeth.



It wasn’t difficult for Sara to oblige. After all, he was yet again only inches away from her. Whenever he was near, she felt positively paralyzed with a nervous sensation in her stomach.



“I’m going to lean in,” he warned without looking at her. His words were hot on her ear. “When I say now, I want you to slap me.”



That was not what she was expecting. “My lord?” she whispered. Why on earth was she to slap him? Was this some sort of sick game?



“Trust me,” he said again into her ear. And for some odd reason she did. “Now,” he instructed.



Without a second thought, she sent her hand flying across Lord Renwick’s cheek. He wasn’t braced for impact like she had expected, and he nearly lost his balance; he grabbed her arm to steady himself then swore. “Blast! Sai! I didn’t mean for you to kill me!” His face bore the blazing imprint of her hand.



Sara smiled behind her hands as they covered her mouth. It felt good to slap him, and he really did deserve it. She looked around and was shocked to find every single person in the park staring at her. How did they know what was even happening? Before she knew it, Lord Renwick was guiding her back into the carriage, still holding his crimson cheek.



He was glaring at her as the door closed. “I said slap, not imprint your hand onto my face,” he snapped.



She smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m sorry, my lord. I must not have heard you correctly. You did instruct me to slap you, did you not?” She masked her sarcasm with the most innocent face she could muster as his eyes darted between her mouth and her eyes.



“No, you—” He didn’t finish. Instead he huffed like a little boy who was just informed he wouldn’t be allowed to stay up past his bedtime.



“I what?” she prompted, leaning forward.



He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “You slap hard for a chit.”



“Strong words from a man who merely a few years ago bedded half the ton, don’t you think?”



The look in his eyes should have made her squirm. They nearly went black with rage, then suddenly taking on a gentler illusion, he turned away and ground out, “I’m sorry I called you a chit.” The words were sharp-edged, but it was the best apology she would receive.