Page 4 of The Seductive Love of a Lady
The final seats were occupied by another aunt and uncle, the Duke of Bradford and his wife.
When the time for introductions came, Drew cringed internally, his instincts prickling with a desire to run. This was an endurance test, but his determination was set. He would survive it for Mary. Let her family believe whatever they wanted to about him, and say whatever they would. He knew his reputation, but he also knew the truth.
Her father watched, hawk-like, as Drew answered questions and participated in the conversation as best he could, while Mary glowed beside him, like the sun, burning bright and keeping him warm. It was novel indeed to have watched her seated among her family like this, as an outsider looking in, and now to be within.
He actually began enjoying himself as Lord Nettleton shared a joke and the table broke into laughter. Then the bell rang, indicating the performance was about to recommence.
He had never attended a musical evening. He expected to be bored.
He rose and offered his arm to Mary, then led her back into the drawing room among her family. Mary’s father sat on theother side of her, and Drew had her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Pembroke, beside him. The lady he had flippantly propositioned once.
She kept her distance, leaning against Pembroke’s shoulder, her hand clasped in Pembroke’s, resting on his thigh. The man must have some redeeming qualities because she still looked in love with him.
Drew lifted his right leg, his body jolting a little as the rib her father had broken jarred, and set his ankle on the opposite knee. Then he reached for Mary’s hand and wove his fingers through hers, leaving their joined hands in her lap.
‘I did not think you were attending,’ Pembroke whispered in Drew’s direction.
Drew turned, lifting one eyebrow. He was here to be with Mary, he had no intention of making the place a battleground. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘John.’ Pembroke’s wife dug an elbow into her husband’s ribs.
Smirking, Drew looked away. At least Pembroke’s wife was sensible. Mary squeezed Drew’s hand. Drew looked to see the tone he had heard in the Duchess’s voice reflected in Mary’s expression – she was annoyed with her half-brother too. He smiled, pleased with his restraint. He had come here to continue making peace with her, not start another fight.
He faced forward as a harpist began to strum.
Mary’s shoulder touched his arm, her delicate weight leaning upon him.
A tight constraint clenched about his heart. It hurt that she did not believe he loved her, that she thought him a rogue, a wastrel and a fortune-hunter. He had come to prove those things were not true. He wanted her to trust him, to rely on him, to lean on him always, just like this.
When the harpist sang, the music reeled him in. Perhaps his awakening emotions gave him new ears. Music had never touched him before. The woman’s voice was haunting. A piano concerto followed, and then the night’s entertainment was closed by a soprano, who again was outstanding.
Letting go of Mary’s hand, he applauded the performers with the rest.
When everyone stood to leave, Drew possessively rested his hand at Mary’s waist as they filed from the row. Her father looked down at his hand, then up to Drew’s face, but he said nothing.
‘Will you ride home with us, Lord Framlington?’ the Duchess of Pembroke asked. ‘We were to take Mary, so we could take you both.’
Her words were an olive branch. He was willing to accept it but he wished Mary to be reliant on him not her family. He turned, smiled and bowed to Pembroke’s wife. ‘Your Grace, thank you, but I shall take my wife home. We can hire a hansom.’
Pembroke eyed Drew with a hard glare.
Ignoring the judgemental look, Drew turned to Mary. ‘I will say goodnight to my friends, then we will go. Please excuse me a moment.’
Her eyes opened wider at the mention of his friends but she did not deter him, merely nodded and turned to her father.
Drew could not see them in the room, and Miss Smithfield stood with her parents. He presumed they were in the room set up for cards and headed there.
‘I cannot believe Mary would take a man like Lord Drew Framlington willingly. Do you think he forced her?’
Looking sideways, Drew sought the owner of that voice. It came from a group of young people, some of whom were Mary’s friends. They had not noticed him.
‘Emily said she ran away with him, and now Mary told her not to trust any of his friends, or even Lord Framlington himself.’
‘Have you seen his black eye? It’s a beaut. I heard Marlow did it. He caught them up, knocked the hell out of Lord Framlington and forced him to wed her there and then.’
The last came from a tall young gentleman – one of Lord Farquhar’s boys. Drew knew the family, far too well. His mother was a friend of Drew’s mother – and that was not a good recommendation.
The woman clutching Farquhar’s arm caught Drew’s eye and her jaw dropped open.
