Page 105 of Madcap with a Marquess
It was the truth. He may not want to be Prime Minister, but he had parliamentary ambitions. And Franny was determined to be a help, not a hindrance, to her husband’s aims. And it started here, an attempt to mitigate the impact of her bastard status.
Rich brown eyes locked on Franny, and she nodded to the dowager, still not able to coax her mouth to form words. Not now that her husband was striding toward her, bearing down on her like she was his target. Which she was. A thrill raced over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“Now, if only you could convince my grandson or Lord Dunmore to settle down with a woman like yourself,” the dowager muttered quietly.
Franny’s gaze flicked to the woman. “I don’t mind assisting in that area, Your Grace.”
The dowager’s dark eyes glinted, her gaze narrowing slyly. “Oh, I knew I liked you, Lady Rutledge.”
The three men stopped before Franny and the dowager, all gazes aimed at Franny. And goodness, what a display of masculine virility. All directed at her. Franny fanned herself, the temperature in the ballroom escalating from slightly uncomfortable to scorching.
A throat cleared delicately next to her, and that imperious brow arched again. The Duke and Lord Dunmore shrank into chastised boys before Franny’s eyes, dark and broody bravado evaporating. They scrambled forward and bussed the dowager on the cheek in unison, the Duke on her right and the Marquess on her left.
The woman’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “Much better.”
Yes, this woman most definitely could have commanded troops.
Rupert stepped forward and bowed over the dowager’s hand. “Thank you, Your Grace. I cannot put into words what your support means to me. Throwing this ball in my and my wife’s honor. I will forever be in your debt.”
“Nonsense, Rupert. And enough with the honorifics. That mother of yours may have prevented you from being around as much as Derek, but you know I consider the both of you as de facto grandsons.”
Rupert stiffened, nearly imperceptibly, but Franny caught it, as attuned to him as she was. The cords of his neck went taut, and he tapped his thigh twice. Her heart squeezed, and she fisted her hand to keep from reaching for him. To offer comfort. He still struggled with any mention of his mother.
He smiled, though it was tight. “I truly appreciate that, Dorothea,” he murmured. “We hope to be around much more often now.”
“I am glad to hear of it. You arealwayswelcome here. As is your lovely wife.” The dowager glanced at Franny and sent her a subtle wink.
The Duke stepped forward and bowed low over Franny’s hand. “What an absolute treat, finally meeting you, my lady.” He dragged his lips over her knuckles, and her eyebrows shot off her head, surely lost somewhere in the ceiling.
A throat cleared—a verydispleasedthroat clearing—from behind the Duke, and his lips flashed in the briefest wicked grin. Her gaze flicked to meet the Duke’s, and a chill stole over her. His grin spoke volumes, but his eyes were empty.
A low growl.
Franny’s attention snapped over the Duke’s shoulder to where her husband looked seconds away from strangling his friend. And then the Marquess of Dunmore shouldered the Duke out of the way and repeated the very untoward greeting. Her husband seethed.
But Franny giggled. It was so obvious his friends were pulling his leg. But poor Rupert couldn’t handle even a jest when it came to another man touching her.
Lord Dunmore stepped back and leaned toward the Duke. “She’s delectable, Rafe. What a shame Rupe got to her first.”
The dowager’s eye twitched, and Franny had the faintest inkling the woman was desperately trying to avoid rolling her eyes.
Rupert shoved through his friends. “That is quite enough,” he bit out. “And unless you both have a wish to be put six feet under, do notevertouch my wife again.” With that, he tucked Franny to his side and led her to the dance floor. Though led might be a mite generous. Dragged was much more fitting, but that was splitting hairs.
The faint notes of the orchestra settled over the ballroom and the thrum of chatter ceased, all attendees’ attention drawn to the two lone guests on the dance floor, she and Rupert.
He bowed low and brushed a kiss over the back of her glove. His lips danced over her hand, sending shivers coasting up her arm as he murmured something she couldn’t quite hear, something that felt very much like the wordmine.
She dipped a curtsy, but he didn’t let go. He retained his hold on her until she rose, then he pulled her into his arms. The music picked up, and he whisked her into a waltz. Her eyes flew wide. A waltz wasscandalous.
“Rupert!” she whispered. “What are you doing? This will not help your reputation.”
It wasn’t as though the waltz was entirely forbidden. There had been other notable hostesses who had embraced the provocative dance, but if they were trying to quell the scandal, this hardly seemed to be the best battle plan.
His gaze never left hers, and it was heady, untamed emotions spilling from its depths. “I am not hiding myself any longer, Franny,” he murmured, nearly inaudibly. “This is us. So, this is what they will see. They will do with it what they will.”
Something expanded in her chest, warm and glowing. She could hardly believe it. Which was why it took Franny’s mind so long to register the melody of the piece the orchestra was playing. Her mouth parted. Her song. The one she hummed to herself when she snuck to one of her favorite places in the middle of the night. Only ever hummed there. Her fairy tale waltz in the ruins.
He spun them around, her skirts drifting around his legs. He led so assuredly, so strong and confident. His stare dropped to her mouth and back up, his lips tugging up in a half-smile.
