" I cannot dance with you because I... well..." She cleared her throat. "... That is to say..."
"Miss Greene cannot dance with you," a deep, smooth voice rumbled behind her, "because she has already promised the next to me."
She swallowed a lurch of dread, instantly recognizing to whom the sultry, lazy drawl belonged.
Witherby recoiled from the intrusion. "I say," he replied, looking up at Rothbury with distrust, "no wonder the young lady hesitated over my offer. I know for a fact Miss Greene is not permitted to dance with you."
Rothbury only chortled, low and deep. Charlotte could feel it thrum through her spine and down to the soles of her slippered feet.
Turning, she stole a sidelong glance at him. He stood with his feet braced firmly on the floor, his hands behind his back. His burnished gold hair was swept back into place but for a thick lock that hung low on one side of his forehead.
His hooded eyes stared down Witherby as he gave a lopsided grin that on any other man, she supposed, would appear utterly charming in a boyish sort of way. On Rothbury's handsome face, however, it looked watchful, lethal. Quite like he was silently daring Witherby to touch her just so Rothbury could have the pleasure of breaking his fingers. "

― Olivia Parker , To Wed a Wicked Earl (Devine & Friends, #2)