Page 35 of King of Rogues
She gritted her teeth at the worrying sight. Her jaw clenching tight when polite laughter was exchanged within the gathering.
When a smiling Monsale escorted the earl’s daughter out onto the dance floor and slipped his hand about her waist, Naomi feared she might be physically ill.
He has gone too far this time.
She stood rooted to the spot, fighting a rising tide of nausea, as Monsale twirled Lady Euphemia around the floor with effortless grace. So much for his long-held protestations of a lack of dancing skills. The swine.
“He is dancing with her? What the…”
A gentle hand on her arm had Naomi turning from watching what was fast becoming her worst nightmare. Kitty nodded at Monsale and Lady Euphemia. “Don’t they make a lovely pair? Monsale looks absolutely smitten.”
Naomi glanced back at the dance floor just in time to catch Monsale’s eye. He smiled sweetly at her as he and Lady Euphemia swept by.
Traitor.
“He needs to get this marriage business sorted and quick smart. The prince has given him a time and date for the oath ceremony. Eight days from tomorrow, Monsale and his wife have to attend Carlton House.”
It took a great deal of effort for Monsale to keep the smile he gifted Naomi to a small one. Given half the chance he would have beamed at her as he twirled by, Lady Euphemia held in his embrace.
See what you are missing dear Naomi.
As soon as his back was to her, he stopped smiling and leaned in to speak to his dance partner.
“When this waltz is over, I would like for you and me to take a stroll out into the garden. Your mother no doubt has explained that there are matters of timely importance for us to discuss.”
Lady Euphemia silently nodded. On her face sat a look of heartbreaking despair.
All of Naomi’s plans lay in disarray. The sight before her was terrible. As soon as the orchestra had finished playing the waltz, Monsale had taken Lady Euphemia by the arm and led her from the dance floor. They headed through the open doors and disappeared out into the night garden. A man didn’t escort a lady to the terrace unless he was serious about her, and his intentions honorable.
This cannot be happening.
She intercepted a passing footman, quickly helping herself to a glass of wine. Before the servant had the chance to walk away, Naomi had downed her drink, then come back for a second. But no amount of alcohol was going to numb her pain.
Somewhere she had made a mistake. A horrid miscalculated, misstep. But where? He couldn’t have given up on her after their encounter in the carriage. He must know she had been simply raising the stakes of the bet.
Didn’t he?
For the next ten minutes, she stood with her gaze fixed on the French doors. Waiting, praying for Monsale to return. When he finally did, she took heart in the fact that he was alone. But from where she stood, it was difficult to see the expression on his face. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, instead he made his way directly across the floor to where Lady Marshall stood.
They conducted a brief conversation, at the end of which they embraced. A grinning Lady Marshall raced toward the terrace, while a more somber looking Monsale headed for the front door.
What just happened?
Something clearly had been agreed. She could only hazard a guess as to what.
The sickening sensation in her stomach threatened to overwhelm her. Making a quick dash to the ladies retiring room, Naomi found a chair in the farthest corner and dropped into it. She threw her shawl over her head and hid, not caring what anyone else would think if they saw her.
He told me to put my name on the list. I said no. I even slapped him. Oh, dear god, what have I done?
The door of the room opened and was shut firmly. The unmistakable click of a key being turned in the lock echoed in the quiet of the room. Naomi froze.
“I don’t want to marry him. I don’t love him. I love Walsall.”
“Hush now Euphemia. What has love to do with any of this? Monsale is a duke. One of the richest men in all of England. You owe it to your family, and yourself to seal this union.”
She caught the sound of skirts shuffling across the room. If she had any sense of decorum, Naomi would make her presence known. But this was the enemy, the woman who was about to steal her man. She sat silent in the chair, listening.
“I don’t want to be a duchess. I am quite content to be a viscountess. Walsall is a lovely man; he will make me happy. Monsale is, well…I have heard rumors,” replied Euphemia.
