Page 26 of A Spinster's Unexpected Marriage
“It should not come as a surprise to you that the gentleman you are betrothed to wishes to dance not only once but twice, I suppose,” Lord Billington said with a smile. “He has the country dance and the waltz, Lord Childers has the quadrille and I shall take the minuet and the cotillion, I think.”
“Twodances?” This time, it was the Marquess himself who spoke up, the surprise echoing in his voice and making heat billow in Martha’s chest.
“Why ever not?” Lord Billington grinned and, before the Marquess or Martha could say anything, wrote his name down. “I find myself eager to know your betrothed a little better, Lord Granton.” Taking the dance card, he handed it back to her, that broad smile still on his face. “I do hope that you like dancing, Lady Newton for it looks to me as though you shall be dancing every one!”
Martha took the dance card back from him, a slight tremble in her frame. “Not yet, Lord Billington,” she answered, forcing herself to smile. “There are still many dances remaining that are, as yet, empty.”
“Ah, but do look behind you,” he told her with a smile. “I am sure that Lord Rochester has come to make amends, as I have done, for the time he did not treat you as you ought to have been, Lady Newton. And I believe that Lord Middlesex and Lord Abernathy are coming to join you also.”
Martha did not know what to say, her stomach twisting this way and that as she caught the eye of Lord Rochester, seeing him smile at her. Evidently, what Lord Billington had suggested was just as things were to be – which meant that, very soon, she might find herself dancing every single dance this evening. She looked up at the Marquess of Granton, hoping to see a flicker of a smile there, hoping to see relief that there was so much interest from so many other gentlemen but there was nothing but a heavy frown written on Lord Granton’s face. She did not know why and did not dare ask him but as Lord Rochester came to join them, that frown only grew deeper. Was she doing something wrong? Ought she not to be accepting every dance that was asked of her? Or was there something more to the Marquess’ dark expression?
***
“The waltz, my dear.”
Martha put out one hand and took the Marquess’ offered one, a flicker of heat beginning to burn in her fingertips as he lead her towards the centre of the ballroom. The evening had progressed very well and her conversation with both Lord Billington and with Lord Rochester had gone very well indeed. Both had apologised, both had complimented her and both had made her some very pretty promises about how they would not treat her in such a way again. That had been gratefully received though Martha was still a little wary given the dark expression which had lingered on Lord Granton’s face. She had begun to fear that there was something amiss, something dreadfully wrong with ether Lord Billington or Lord Rochester which, as yet, she did not know about.
Perhaps now might be my chance to ask.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” she asked, a little tentatively as he reached the centre of the ballroom and, stepping back from her, dropped into a bow. “Have you danced with anyone else?”
“No, and I have no intention of doing so.”
“Oh.” Martha dropped into a curtsy and then, after a moment, stepped into the Marquess’ arms. She did not ask him why, finding herself a little confused as to why a gentleman of distinction would refrain from dancing. Lord Granton’s hands were settled now, one on her waist and one holding her hand, though his grip was not too tight but yet still strong enough to lead her without difficulty. Martha’s breath hitched as he stepped close to her, reminding herself silently that she could not give in to any flirtations that the Marquess sent her way. Dancing the country dance was one thing but stepping out for the waltz was quite another. In this dance, they were as close as two people could be whilst still maintaining propriety and, much to her own frustration, the way her heart began to race made her feel uncertain and a little overwhelmed. The music began and the Marquess led the dance without any difficulty, spinning her around the ballroom without even a momentary hesitation.
“You are wondering why I did not dance with any other,” he said, his eyes catching hers as she looked up at him before returning her gaze to his shoulder, finding his gaze much too intense to remain looking at steadily. “The reason is, Lady Newton, that I am meant to be a gentleman besotted with his betrothed. I want to make certain that it appears that you are nothing but distinguished to me. Therefore, in doing as I am, it makes all of society recognise that there is a great alteration in my behaviour.”
“For previously, you would dance every dance?” she asked, a little breathless from the way she whirled around. “Yes?”
Lord Granton looked back at her, his lip curling. “Do not think you can judge me for that, Lady Newton.”
She frowned, a little confused. “Judge you? Why should I do that?”
“You know very well why.”
Finding herself rather lost – not only at the Marquess’ dark manner but also the questions and statements he was offering her, Martha chose to fall silent again and to continue on in the dance. She kept her gaze fixed, her hand still in his, the other on his shoulder as the dance continued.
And then, much to her astonishment, the Marquess spun her into a corner of the room, a place where the shadows crept over them, hiding them from the sight of others.
“I do not want you to judge me simply because I take hold of as many opportunities as I can,” he said, his hand still on hers, the other still at her waist and his body now pressed back against her own. “You know very well the gentleman I was – the gentleman I am – and I tell you now that I have not changed in the least. Yes, I would dance every dance I could in the hope of flirtation, in laughter and mayhap, in something a little more. I will not have your gaze settling on me in that way.”
Martha blinked up at him, her cheek feeling the heat of his breath as it rushed across her face. She did not know what to say or what to do, finding herself a little flustered.
“There is nothing I can do or intend to do to change my character,” he growled, lowering his head all the more, keeping it close to hers. “I do hope you understand that, Lady Newton.”
“I – I do not think to judge you,” she whispered, seeing the way his eyes suddenly flared, surprise filling them. “I had no intention of suggesting anything of the sort when I asked about the many times you would have danced. Truly, that was not my thought.”
Lord Granton blinked, frowned, and then opened his mouth to say something more, only to close it again. Instead, he looked down into her eyes, seemingly captured by something he saw there. He did not move. He did not speak and as Martha looked up into his face, she felt something shift within her. She did not know what it was and certainly could not explain it but there was certainly… achange. The Marquess’ expression appeared almost astonished, his eyes rounding, his breath hitching and his hand tightening on hers… and then he stepped back.
“The waltz.” Pulling his hand from hers, he pushed it through his hair and then, with a set of his shoulders, reached for it again. Without another word, he led her back into the dance, continuing on as though nothing had ever happened. Martha felt herself clinging to him, feeling a little weak, a little stunned by all that had just happened. The Marquess had been angry, it seemed, only for that anger to then fade into something completely different – but exactly what that was, Martha did not know. She could not even say for herself what it was that had altered within her as she had stood close to the Marquess, feeling his hand on hers and his breath brushing her cheek. What was it that had swept through her? What was it that had made him catch his breath?
No answers came and as the waltz came to a close, Martha found herself relieved to be able to step back from him. Miss Stockton was waiting and Martha, after curtsying and murmuring a thank you, went quickly to take the arm of her friend, glad now to be far from her betrothed. Miss Stockton was full of excitement over her dances with Lord Childers and Martha was glad to listen. As they walked, Martha could not help but glance over her shoulder, only for another streak of lightening to course through her.
The Marquess was looking straight back at her, his eyes dark and his expression heavy. And as she held his gaze for a moment longer, he did not either turn or look away but his expression never changed.
Martha shivered.
Chapter Fifteen
