Page 14 of The Marchioness of his Desire
He would be able to discern whether she had entered the betrothal willingly, which was unlikely, or under duress, which was undoubtedly the case. In which case, he reasoned, he would do everything in his power to see her out of it.
“She smiles too much.” Despite his intent surveillance, Nicholas had been unable to detect any signs of discomfort or constraint in Rebecca’s deportment. He turned to Ian.
“Why does she smile so much?” Rational thought had become a challenge as the night wore on. Perhaps Ian could give him some insight into her peculiar behavior.
They regarded the scene before them.
Rebecca stood next to Johnson, where she had been all evening. She smiled at the couple with whom they were conversing. She even allowed Johnson to place his arm possessively around her shoulders briefly, and still she smiled.
She looked … happy.
“I hazard a guess, Nicholas, when I say perhaps she smiles because she is happy.”
“Damn you.” Nicholas shoved Ian’s arm and stood up.
Ian jumped up beside him, steadying him. “Easy, Nicholas.” Ian looked round the room. “Perhaps we should find an empty room where you can clear your head a bit.”
“My head is perfectly clear.”
“Of course it is. Perhaps just someplace away from …” Ian looked pointedly at Rebecca and Johnson, “… here.”
“Agreed. The scenery has grown quite tiresome.”
They exited the ballroom without ceremony and found their way to a small, darkened room, Lord Sefton’s library. Nicholas collapsed on a sofa as Ian lighted a candle he found on a small table next to a chair, illuminating the rows of books all around.
“Right. Well, I think I shall just leave you to rest a bit then, shall I?”
Nicholas sighed as he heard the door close.
Sleep. Unlikely. He was not nearly as far gone as he had let Ian think. He had just needed an excuse to leave the ballroom, to leave the “happy couple.”
Visions of the Rebecca of his childhood flashed through his mind, tumbling and merging with more recent memories. Memories of their last meeting when she had accused him of keeping secrets.
Well, God knew that was true. Under no circumstances could he reveal his true feelings to her. Especially not now, now that she was happy. That was all he wanted, truly: for her to be happy.
He had thought, once, that being with him made her happy, and it had. Heknewit had. They had been friends, good friends, through the years.
Until three years ago. Until he turned into some deplorable blend of the worst traits of both his parents.
Her questions, her probing, had pressed dangerously near the truth. The truth that must remain hidden at all costs. The truth that he loved her, had loved her for years, and she had nearly unmanned him in her relentless pursuit.
She could not know because he could not be the man she deserved. With his blighted, twisted childhood and his current barren existence, he had nothing to give her. Nothing except the anger and hatred imbued in him from infancy.
She had come too close to exposing his love for her, and so he had lashed out, lost all control, and flayed her with the venom usually reserved for his mother.
He had let her think the rumors about him were true. Had destroyed her vision of him as a man of honor. Had removed forever any hope that he might someday live up to her ideals of him.
And now, God help him, he had to live with the consequences.
* * *
Rebecca looked nervously around the room. She was enduring the congratulations and adulations of the ton,though it pained her to do so.News of her betrothal to Edward was now the only talking point of the evening, and there was little she could do but smile and nod, thanking those who offered their best wishes. Talk was already turning to the wedding itself, which would surely be a highlight of the forthcoming calendar.
“I am the happiest man in all of London, nay, all of England,” Edward said as yet another of the guests offered their congratulations.
“And to think that it was here you made the proposal! I shall never forget this happy evening,” Lady Sefton said, as she offered them both a glass of punch from the tray of a nearby footman.
But Rebecca was barely listening. The shock of seeing Nicholas arrive at the party was enough to dispel even the slightest sense of happiness she might have felt in marrying Edward. She did not love him, nor did she ever think she would. It would be merely a marriage of convenience, the convenience of escaping her uncle, who now stumbled over in their direction.
