Page 2 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“Of course.” Edna forced a smile as she turned back toward him and offered her hand. “I would love to.”
He lifted the card on her wrist and scribbled his name on both the first slot and the last—the two most important dances of the evening. She looked up at him in surprise. Then he pulled her out onto the dance floor so quickly she almost tripped twice on the hem of her skirt. He twirled her around and yanked her close enough that her cheek brushed against his lapel. She pushed herself back from his chest, but he pulled her in closeagain. There would be no reprieve from him, not while the music played.
They danced in disquieting silence for near half the piece before the Duke sought her attention. “No need to fear a waltz, little jewel. No one will dare say a thing about me—nor you while you’re in my company. And I would very much like to get to know you. I shan’t want there to be rumors. A gem tarnished isn’t worth nearly as much.” He chuckled again, and the sound was cold, but his grip loosened. She took a deep breath, wishing heat weren’t coloring her cheeks and the exposed skin of her chest.
“I see, Your Grace,” was all she managed.
“You are quite the talk of the season, did you know?” he asked, his eyes boring down upon her, the icy blue making her as uncomfortable as her blushing.
“I strive to make my father proud. But every woman here shines in her own way.”
He made an approving grunt in his throat and squeezed her hands just a bit more tightly. “You do what you’re told, then?”
“I…” she stumbled, trying to figure out what she could possibly say to such an absurd question. Instead, all that came to mind was a burning desire to kick him. And to kick him hard.
His eyes swept around the room, seeming to linger in a corner before turning back to her. “I have a son roughly your age, did you know? The Marquess of Remington.”
Edna let out a breath, relieved he had moved on to other things. “I did not, Your Grace.” His eyes slid once more up and down her frame. She blushed and turned away, looking for Violet.
“I’m surprised,” he said, tugging her closer. “I would think you would know all the eligible bachelors in the room, and what they’re worth. Here I worried Violet had trained you as one might train a bloodhound.”
“Well, I have never been one for hunting. I think I shall leave that sport to the gentlemen.”
“You would station yourself as prey, then?” He smirked, and her stomach churned. “But you never did answer me, little gem.” He stopped them in their tracks as the lilting music came to an end. “Will you do as you’re told?”
“I…” she stammered once more, dropping her gaze to the hem of her skirts.
“That’s quite enough of that!” A cream fan with ruby jewels flashed open between them as the dancers fell away from the floor, thankfully quite distracted. “My sincerest and most deep-felt apologies, Your Grace, but I am in dire need of my goddaughter’s assistance. If you’ll excuse us.”
Violet grabbed Edna’s arm and yanked her hand free from the Duke’s. Edna managed to fumble a curtsy as she followed her godmother away. Before they turned from the glimmering ballroom and into the hall, she turned back. The Duke stood bent over in a bow, his head high, so his cold eyes could follow her out of the room. But what unsettled her most was the cool grin that dusted his lips.
It was the grin of a predator and of one who was not like to be satiated.
* * *
“I would rather hang myself to be perfectly frank with you, Uncle.” Albert pulled the cuff of his shirt, so it stuck out from his jacket just so. “I say, the Count of Islington is throwing a soiree right this moment that is much more my speed. I’m sure if you kicked your heels up you might be able to keep pace.”
Jonathan’s upper lip curled in disgust. “The Count of Islington is a fool and a scoundrel.”
“Those are two of his best qualities, aye.” Albert laughed then grunted as their carriage went over a bump in the road. The city smelled of smoke that night, hot and dirty, while a red sun boiled away in the western corner of the sky. Albert had a strange feeling about the night that was upon them. It was a feeling of dread, in part, for this event his uncle had insisted on dragging him to. But there was something more to it, like an implacable excitement, like lightning tickling his veins.
“You’re not a schoolboy anymore, Albie. It’s time you started associating with more auspicious persons,” Jonathan said, his soft tone bordering on condescension. The old man had made quite an effort tonight, commissioning a new suit in the Frenchmode, despite its having gone out of fashion a decade past, and dabbing himself with enough cologne Albert might have found him in a pitch-black room. Albert had already asked him once what, or more importantly whom, he was preening for, but his uncle had just smiled and strode out the door like a peacock.
Albert chuckled and shook his head. He was about to respond when the coach lurched to a stop, and he heard the patter of the footman’s steps approach the door. “You know I adore you, Uncle.”
“Yes, of course, my boy.” Jonathan patted his nephew’s cheek and grabbed his hat. The door was pulled open, and they both stepped out into a lively atrium. Horses and gentlemen were moving quickly from place to place under the light of stars and bright glass lanterns.
A slight chill was in the air. Unseasonable. Albert couldn’t help but think that it was appropriate. “And you know that I would do absolutely anything for you,” Albert continued.
Jonathan turned to him slowly, suspicion clouding in his pale green eyes. “Yes…?”
“In that case, I know you won't take it too much to heart when I say, I shall never forgive you for forcing me to attend a party where my father will be present.”
Jonathan sighed and put on his tall hat with its beaver fur trim and black silk. “I appreciate that, but if I might be allowed a small appeal…?”
Albert cocked one long dark eyebrow. “If you must. Though I’ve no intention of being any more receptive to appeals than Pilot or King Herod.”
“We are not here for your father, and if you spend the entire night avoiding him, it would be no skin off my rosy nose."
