A Most Mysterious Gentleman (#1 Sweet Nineteenth Series) VERY SLOW UPDATES

AMMG ~3~

She noticed he wasn't the fine boned men favoured by the women in the society. He was tall and broad, the biggest in the room, excluding the pot bellied older men. It was how she recognised him. His muscle was clearly from hard work, and most other men only did riding for sport. She also noticed he had the same navy breeches on from their earlier encounter.

She had watched him watch her, and was infuriated with herself at the flush that had appeared on her cheeks.

Letting go of her Father's arm she held her hand out to him from the bottom stair, ignoring society conduct and several gasps of the other young misses in the room next to her. Her Father had begun talking to someone she didn't recognise, so she knew it would go unnoticed by him.

"You are going to offer me the first dance which I am going to write on my dance card, and while we are dancing, we are going to have a nice talk." She hissed underneath her breath, aware of onlookers.

He smirked, whispered leaning close to her ear, "Save me the waltz," before bowing quickly and walking off into the crowd.

The cheek! The waltz was an extremely close held dance, one that a girl her age shouldn't be dancing unless matrons approved it for her, and even then she had to earn it.

She resolved to call his bluff. She was the Duke's daughter, she did not care what others said and the society pages were such a bore.

She noticed her father making pointed looks from her to the man walking away, a delighted smile on his face whilst she made her way to a crowd of young ladies. Rosalie sighed, she was going to have to disappoint. She was not interested in romance with a man who was rude, impertinent and cheeky, no matter how young, rich looking and handsome.

Another man, a Baron she'd said quietly, judging by the fact his clothes were cheap last season imitating the higher fashion, came up to her offering a dance whilst she was stood talking to the other ladies. He had introduced himself as the Baron of Wentworth, making Rosalie smile and the other ladies titter as she realised she had guessed correctly.

At first she declined his advances, she was not looking for a serious relationship with a man who looked to be at least half a century old.

Nevertheless, when others joined the conversation and he asked again, she felt she could not decline and embarrass him in front of his peers. Even though they were all middle aged, they still gave the Baron winks and sly looks between him and herself.

Rosalie decided she should have just embarrassed him as he kept stepping on her toes, and his breath stank as he kept trying to make, what she saw as pointless, conversation. She almost cried with relief and pain as the dance, a quadrille, ended.

He stuttered as they got off the dance floor. "I must apologise for my dancing, I have two left feet."

She tried to smile kindly at him, patting him on the hand. "Dear Sir, we all struggle with these country dances! I fear they were made to be a challenge."

At this comment she politely tried to fend him off, but he stayed close her for the next dances. She felt very irritated quickly within the hour, how was she supposed to meet men if one kept close to her and shooed others away? He was being remarkably brave, and showing her a marked interest in front of the ton at this party would cause all sorts of gossip, none of which she particulary wanted.

"Baron Wentworth,' she paused to try to tell him to leave politely in the nicest words she could muster, "I'm afraid that I must be excused."

He blushed and let her past.

She walked away to the inner circle of the crowd, the younger generations, curious as to why she hadn't seen the strange man again, she'd been looking out for him in all the dances she'd been in, and yet she hadn't seen him.

Another older man, with salt and pepper hair and a gaunt face approached her. "You are the Duke of Trent's daughter are you not? My name is the Earl of Hartlebury, at your service. Could I possible have this next waltz?"

"Dear Sir, I am rather sorry but," she realised she didn't know the mysterious man's name, "The next dance is taken by someone."

"Yes it is." She gasped as she felt a large warm hand on her elbow, and recognised the velvety voice.

She watched as the Earl stuttered and blushed, pushing others out of his way to get away from the man beside her.

She raised an eyebrow at the man at her side, not sure whether to be wary or amused by the situation.

He peered down at her, "Shall we?"

He placed her hand on his hand and guided them to the dance floor, both unaware by the sudden whispers.

She was intently aware of his body warmth and masculine smell of horses and touch of cologne.

She glared up at him as the music started. "Still wearing the same cloth I see."

Again, what seemed to be his signature smirk framed his face. From here she could study the strong jaw, cheekbones as sharp as Cook's favourite carving knife. His brown eyes were framed with uncharacteristically long eyelashes, warm with amusement.

"You know many wouldn't cross me with words."

His tone was light, but his undertone was serious.

Rosalie was startled by the change in coversation. "Why ever not? You don't look very terrifying to me."

"Look around."

She did, and was shocked by the amount of wide eyed stares the crowd was giving her.

"Well you've made an impression."

He laughed, a musically rich timbre of sound, and pulled her even closer in his embrace.

"I wouldn't risk the burn if I was you."

And let her go, leaving her alone on the dance floor.

-------------------------

She was mortified. Left in the middle of the dance floor with so many looking on at her, judging her. This was only her first season, and she was already being left by men.

Trying to dodge the others as they danced elegantly beside her, she tripped over her long skirts, and fell over head first into a dancing couple.

The scream of the woman, and the grunt of the man underneath was enough for the orchestra to stop playing and everyone to turn around and watch the scene unfold.

Rosalie felt like crying. She sat up as ladylike as possible, making sure to try to keep her skirts from flying up. As she grabbed an offering hand to help pull her up, she felt her corset rip.

When she heard her Father thunder over, the tears, mortification and anger overtook her, and she turned away and did something she knew she would regret later and sped away to the gardens.