“I do love a bit of fire.” Sir William laughed, becoming more aggressive, his fingers roving lower.
Kate’s eyes narrowed to slits. She reached into her beaded bag and her hand emerged clutching a small bulb of stiff rubber with a narrow silver spout. She raised it to Sir William’s face and squeezed the bulb. An oddly sparkling dust shot out. He froze almost instantly and proceeded to launch into a series of violent sneezes that nearly toppled him to the floor. Kate slipped from the corner and left him to stumble against the wall.
“Sir William, I do hope you’re not coming down with some horrible pestilence.” She knew very well he was only mildly indisposed since the dust was her own concoction.
The man’s beady eyes were already red and he vigorously rubbed his hand under his nose, trying to catch his breath. He managed to regain a semblance of a lurid smile. “Merely momentarily assailed by your heady feminine fragrance.”
“How odd. I am not wearing perfume. Perhaps you smell your own cologne water. It is reminiscent of the stench of puddles one would leap over in the street.”
He grabbed her arm. She was about to put a knee to his unprotected privates when someone tall and dark seized Sir William’s shoulder and hauled him back with barely restrained fury.
“That, sir, is enough!” The voice of the stranger rang loudly even over the distant music of the quartet and the hum of party chatter. The rondo missed a beat and faces appeared in the doorway.
Kate straightened and stared in astonishment at the figure she recognized as the notorious Simon Archer. From the dark hair to the sharp cut of his jaw, he was the model of masculine strength and good looks. Kate’s cheeks actually colored.
Sir William Titchmarsh spun around. “How dare you, sir!” His expression faltered when he saw who had laid callused hands on him. Then he brought his bluster to bear once more in the form of a flailing right fist.
Simon easily dodged the blow and promptly riposted with a lightning-fast jab of his own. Sir William slammed into the amphora. Kate’s hand darted out quickly, righting the teetering vase but allowing Sir William to drop to the floor.
Kate’s dark eyes flashed at Simon as the gaping silence of the rest of the room was noticeable. “What is wrong with you? I was in no danger, I assure you.”
From his place on the floor, Sir William countered in a nasal drone, “The lady was thoroughly enjoying my repartee.”
Kate let out her breath slowly and said to Simon, who leaned upon his walking stick as his gaze swept over her, “Sir, I appreciate the exhibition of your manly virtues; however, I am perfectly capable of deflecting his repartee. But by all means, continue with your pummeling if you feel the need.”
Surprised, Simon’s jaw snapped shut. There was only a moment’s pause before he said, “I profusely apologize for coming to your rescue.”
“I accept your apology, sir. And I thank you for making me the center of attention.”
“Most women find that appealing.”
“I’m not most women.”
“Clearly.”
Sir William reached up for help. Both Kate and Simon saw the hand but ignored it. The fallen man struggled to his feet. Thanks to her dusting, his crimson face was swollen as if stung by a hive of bees. His eyes were nearly crusted shut. Kate tried not to smile as he brushed his tailcoat with a huff.
“Of course you must realize,” he mumbled, “that this rather endangers the remainder of our evening together.”
“Oh!” Kate lifted a hand to her cheek. “I had hoped we would have several hours more of your amateurish groping to look forward to.”
“You are an insufferable harridan, Miss Anstruther,” the man sputtered through puffy lips. “It is no wonder eligible men flee at your approach.”
Kate sneered back at the blotchy prig. “I advise you to do the same, Sir William, while you still can.”
She whirled away and stalked from the library, parting the amused and tittering watchers. As she emerged onto the ballroom floor and turned around, she nearly bumped into Simon Archer, who had followed her.
“Miss Anstruther, I apologize again for my behavior.”
She searched his face for a sign of sarcasm, but it wasn’t there. “No need, Mr. Archer.”
“I’m most grateful.” Simon stepped back and regarded her with his piercing eyes. Perhaps this was the time-tested gaze of the playboy, no doubt guaranteed to bring the most hesitant London maiden to her knees.
Kate steeled herself for his approach. It always happened. Whether skillful or blunt, like Sir William, she had suffered this same scene endless times in countless ballrooms.