There was something in his voice, some hidden meaning she couldn’t quite understand.
“I suppose so,” she replied.
The silence stretched between them.
“Well, I need to go back to the music room. I am sure my father will be looking for me by now.”
“He has gone,” the Count declared flatly.
“Oh?” Marguerite went cold. There was a callous tone to the Count’s voice that warned her something was dreadfully wrong.
“Yes.”
“Did you see him? Where is he now?” Her voice betrayed every ounce of the worry she felt.
“He said to tell you that he didn’t feel well and was going home.”
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. She was horrified that she had been abandoned at the recital, especially when she hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place.
I cannot believe Papa would do this to me, she thought angrily.
“
I shall escort you home instead, my dear,” the Count declared somewhat pompously.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
“No, I insist,” the Count interrupted.
Unnerved at being pushed so, she frowned at him. “Thank you for your generosity but I am sure it won’t be necessary.”
She made her voice a little firmer, hoping he would take the hint. To her dismay, he merely issued her with a hard look.
“I won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” The tone of his voice could only be described as deadly.
The small hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
“Where is he?” She tried not to sound desperate, but she did.
“Gone,” the Count snapped.
“Home?” she asked, silently pleading with him to confirm it.
She had no idea why she asked that. If her father had left he would go home yet there was something about the Count’s behaviour that was disturbing. Could she trust him? Was he telling her the truth? She wanted to go home right now, just so she could see for herself that her father was alright. A part of her struggled to comprehend that he would be callous enough to abandon her at such a social function like this. But, if the Count was right and her father had left that was exactly what he had done.
Abandoned you? He has probably left because you disappeared into the study without telling him.
She mentally groaned when she realised what she had done. Of course her father would go home to check on her. He would want to know that she was alright once he realised she wasn’t there anymore. He would be awfully angry with her as well, for not telling him she was going, well, anywhere.
“Oh, dear. I need to go and make sure he is alright,” she replied. Now that her father wasn’t at the recital, Marguerite could see no reason why she should stay either.
“My dear, you haven’t heard what I have to say yet,” the Count began.
“But, I thought you came to tell me about my father,” she murmured.
The Count shook his head slowly.
Marguerite read the intent in his gaze and panicked. When she tried to hurry past him, he stepped toward her. To Marguerite’s horror, one long arm slid around her waist. The Count dragged her against his lithe frame whereupon he held her firmly against him with his surprisingly strong arms and leaned over her until she was bent backwards at an uncomfortable angle.