Page 70 of Desperate Proposals
“Oh yes, she’s quite talkative,” Evelyn said, her voice slightly more animated.
“Hmm,” he muttered, and looked away.
The carriage lurched forward again. In minutes they would be entering the ball.
Marcus dared another glance at his wife. She sat elegantly still, studying the fan she held in one hand. It was quite a contrast to the woman who had turned up on his doorstep months ago,her clothes travel-worn and her expression scornful. Back then he would never have considered that she could be much of an asset. But once he’d settled on her and forever intertwined their futures, he’d come to realize just what a gem she was. Lustrous and strong. A quiet wit. With a charming naïveté that forced him to look at the world through her curious eyes. Not to mention an eager bed partner.
And a willing ally, if he’d allow it.
The carriage halted again, and the massive edifice of Leadon Hall loomed over them. An army of footmen, attired in their finest livery, lined up to receive them.
So why wouldn’t Marcus allow it? Why did he shy away from Evelyn’s assistance, when he had become so taken with her?
He knew the reason, the humiliating explanation for his ambivalence toward his aristocratic wife. It was the same reason he worked himself to the bone, desperate to legislate justice and earn his spurs.
For Marcus had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but no honorific to adorn his name.
The carriage door opened. His throat tightened, and he watched his wife step down and lead the way into the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Evelyn went through themotions, offering her curtsy and polite congratulations to the hosts. Though she was not used to socializing with the likes of liberal politicians and their wives, she had attended multiple balls in recent months in her search for a suitable husband, and she felt comfortable enough with the setting. She walked through the grand salon into the ballroom with her head held high, accepting her husband’s offer of the first dance.
Mr. Hartley had gone cold in the carriage when she’d pressed him. If she had thought their companionable bedsport might have ushered in a more companionable partnership overall, it appeared she’d been sorely mistaken.
Still, she kept her expression serene and her back straight as the orchestra kicked up into a waltz.Aut constantia aut nihil,she reminded herself. But reciting her family’s motto did little to soothe the sting she felt each time her eyes fell upon Mr. Hartley’s noble brow.
Unfortunately, it was inadvisable to allow one’s eyes to wander while dancing. For every time Evelyn attempted to, she eithernearly tripped over her own feet or was beset by a wave of dizziness.
So she settled her gaze upon Mr. Hartley’s face, that sting intensifying with every moment.
After what felt an eternity, he offered her a small smile, and she could bear it no longer.
“How long will you remain in London?”
“I cannot say. Weeks.”
His hand flexed upon the small of her back.
Evelyn wanted to respond, to maintain a pretense of high spirits, but her mouth went dry. How ridiculous this was, to know another person so… intimately, and yet find oneself so thoroughly incapable of speech!
Suddenly his voice dropped lower, that the other dancers might not hear.
“You might accompany me, if you’ve the inclination.”
Upon hearing that deep rumble, her body very nearly folded in half; she had to fight to avoid collapsing against his chest in total acquiescence. But she managed to stay upright, and she glanced downward, focusing on the yellow flower in his buttonhole. A chrysanthemum. The entire ballroom was decked in similarly colored bunting.
“Is that what you wish?”
Her words hung between them, both the ones said as well as those unspoken.
Ask me to accompany you once more, Evelyn silently willed him.Plead for me to come.
Why that entreaty entered her mind, she did not know. But she knew the desire was real. She had never before known want. Not until Edmund had passed, when suddenly all she could think of was safety for her niece and sister-in-law. And for herself. But something had germinated within her when Mr. Hartley had taken her to hand. A selfish wish for something—someone—just for her. Someone who was beside themselves with desire for her. But Evelyn dared not voice any of that to him.
For if he truly desired her company, her assistance… her… she wasn’t quite sure what she would do. But she was desperate for it all the same.
The strains of the music lifted into a coda. The piece ended, and with it the dance.
