Page 39 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
He knew that was what she was doing because he was trying to do the same thing himself. Their pairing here was the object of many gazes.
He turned them again and saw Lady Hermione conversing with Jarrow, a serious look on both their faces. He had a brief glimpse of Mrs. Jarrow, who’d stepped a few paces away from Lady Hermione. Lips moving, she leaned conspiratorially close to the white-haired matrons gathered near her. The curate had disappeared.
His hand on Blythe’s waist tightened.
“Too close, sir,” she hissed, a note of panic in her voice.
“Are we?” He looked down into her upturned face. Her hair had been coiled onto the back of her head, a dark fringe of it framing her face and calling attention to winged eyebrows and eyes the color of a stormy sea. “I should like to hold you even closer, Blythe.”
Twin flames of color rose in her cheeks. At the next step, her foot came down on his toes.
“Ouch,” he said. “Apologies. I think I deserved that.”
“Step back,” she said with a frigid smile.
He obliged her and they danced on a while in silence, but though she looked away, he couldn’t.
He wanted her, and the White Horse Assembly room was a damned inconvenient place for him to express the desire that had been plaguing him since his return, a desire he ought to try to ignore.
For what did he know of her? It should be a countess holding sway over the social order of her neighbors, not some magistrate’s cow of a wife. Something had happened to ruin Blythe.
Something that might be repaired? Would a good marriage do the trick?
Not to him. Not if he wanted a plum post as Diddenton had called it.
The thought of her married to anyone else had jealousy rearing inside him.
What other sort of power could an earl wield to help her? Taking her as his mistress wouldn’t help his ambitions and would destroy any she might have. And it would be wrong.
He put another few inches between them and glanced toward Lady Hermione and Jarrow.
The elder Mr. Stockwell had joined Jarrow and Lady Hermione and appeared to be having words with a third man.
Blythe noticed the gathering and stiffened in his arms but her face gave nothing away.
“Do you know the fellow?” he asked.
“Not by name.” She turned her gaze up to him, a tense smile fixed on her face. “Years ago, he accompanied Lord Vernon on a visit to Archie.”
“One of Diddenton’s men then.”
“His steward, Mr. Stockwell said. He happened to ride over at the same time as Lord Vernon and paid a call on Stockwell.”
As the dance came to an end, he gave her waist and hand a squeeze and bowed. “I shall go meet this fellow and have a manly discussion about farming. But first, let us go and meet the dragons.”
Blythe took Graeme’s arm and straightened her spine. Mrs. Jarrow’s circle of ladies included Mrs. Addison, Mrs. Swarby, and Miss Smith, a spinster sister of Mrs. Swarby. They were the formidable local ladies.
It was amazing that she could find such as these more intimidating than the highest sticklers of the ton. But then, the rules of the upper class were less restrictive, at least where a noble husband’s behavior was concerned.
She would brave this. She could put her nose in the air even higher than this lot.
“Mrs. Jarrow,” Graeme said with a bow. “How lovely to see you. Stockwell, I’m happy you are able to attend. Mrs. Jarrow, you remember Lady Chilcombe?”
“Good evening, Mrs. Jarrow,” Blythe said.
The besom pressed her lips together.
Graeme frowned and raised one eyebrow. “Will you not introduce your friends?” he asked. “That is, introduce them to me. I’m sure Lady Chilcombe is already acquainted.”
