Yet when her sister at last swept into view, clad in a figure-hugging sheath of red and looking every inch the haughty aristocrat, it was all Rose could do not to sneer outright at the blatant affectation. There was a petulant set to Elena's features, an all too telling downturn of her lips that put the lie to her attempts to feign grace and serenity.
The lady was offended, her pride stung, that much was clear. And oh, how that realization fanned the banked flames of Rose's barely restrained fury. She could practically scent the self-centered outrage wafting from her sister, the gall of one so deluded by her own overweening hate towards her as to believe herself deserving of utmost deference and acclaim.
"Rose," Elena drawled at last, the barest hint of a sneer curling her lip as she eyed her sister with naked appraisal. "To what do I owe the..." Her pause was deliberate, heavily laden with implication. "Unexpected pleasure of your company?"
