Page 3 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“I should expect not. If you brought me here expecting I should talk to him, I may be forced to disown you,” Albert argued. His uncle laughed, but there was no humor in it. He took out his silver pocket watch and checked the time for perhaps the fifteenth time that evening.
“Out with it, old man,” Albert said, weary of his uncle’s hesitation as much as he was curious about his apparent jitters. “Why are we here? And why do you keep looking at that infernal device?”
Jonathan cleared his throat and checked the smell of his breath by breathing into his hand. “I have it on good authority that a lady will be in attendance tonight. A lady whom I’ve had my sights set on for a rather long while, but who always manages to slip through my fingers."
Albert’s heart lifted, and he clapped his uncle on the back hard enough that he stumbled. “Well, why didn't you say? I’ve never been one to stand between a man and the object of his affections. Tell me, why has this intriguing specimen managed to evade you for so long?”
“You must promise that you will not laugh.”
Another high-cocked eyebrow, this time on the other side. “I absolutely refuse.”
Jonathan groaned and let his head hang sadly while the pair of them made their way along the red carpet and under the arcading that led to the ballroom. Albert had been to this home before though he was having difficulty remembering why or when. He presumed that meant he’d had a very good time.
“Her name is Violet Rees,” Jonathan managed to squeak out after a disconcertingly long pause. “The Dowager Countess of Larkvale."
“The Countess of Larkvale?”
“Have you heard of her?”
“Yes, of course. The woman has quite a reputation in certain circles.”
Jonathan turned to him with wide eyes, the tip of his long nose reddening. He was clean-shaven, his white curls peeking around the sides of his hat. He was yet young, having turned fifty only a few months before, and his face held few signs of age. In fact, when he opened his eyes like that, he looked positively a child.
“Don’t give me that look,” Albert groaned.
Jonathan twitched and rolled his shoulders to straighten his back. “What reputation do you mean, my boy?”
He’d heard many things about Violet Rees, had even had the pleasure of meeting the woman once at an opera-house after-party. The main thing he remembered about her was that she was loud. Loud dresses, loud makeup, loud bright-red feathers in her hair. She was an abrasive gossip and a woman of independent means who didn’t worry too much about what others thought of her.
“Only that she’s the life of any party she attends,” Albert said at last.
Jonathan smiled sweetly and breathed a sigh of relief. “She is that. Clever, beautiful, and intoxicating, not to put too fine a point on things.”
“No, not at all.” Albert smiled at the butler that approached and passed over his coat and hat. “I never would have imagined you with such a woman. How do you know her?”
“We knew one another when we were young. I used to spend my summers at her uncle’s home in Keswick. She was a year older than me and hounded on every side by eligible men, including the Earl of Larkvale, Jamison Rees—who eventually became her husband.”
As Albert listened to his uncle’s story, the pair stepped into the ballroom where the evening’s events were already in full swing. His gaze swept from the crystal chandeliers down to the painted floors underfoot. A string quartet was playing somewhere at the end of the room though Albert couldn’t see them through the throng of people. As men in dark suits and women in muted shades of pink, blue, and yellow took to the dance floor, Albert caught sight of the face he did not want to see. Tall and lissome with blue eyes that sought to freeze anything they came into contact with—his father, the Duke of Craster. He had taken the hand of a young woman with chestnut curls and was leading her to the dance floor.
A painful chill raced down his spine, which was unfortunately familiar. He turned his back on the dance and smiled at his uncle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Earl of Larkvale died some three years ago, did he not?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then can you explain why, if you’ve been pining for this woman since you were a child, it has taken you until now to decide to pursue her?”
“Well, it’s only proper to give a woman the chance to mourn.” Jonathan sucked in his bottom lip, his gaze shifting. “Besides, I decided to pursue her long ago. This isn’t the first time I’ve come to a party intent on seeing her.”
“Then why, pray tell, is she not my aunt yet?”
“It’s only that, well…”
“Out with it, old man. Or shall I have to argue it out of you?”
Jonathan’s lips stretched into a flat line, his bulbous eyes wider than ever. “I can’t bring myself to approach her.” Albert’s mouth fell open, but the words stayed coiled in the back of his throat. He laughed incredulously.
“Now, now. You promised you wouldn’t laugh, nephew.”
“I most certainly did not.” He laughed harder and had to put a hand over his mouth to try to hide it. “Imagine at your age being afraid to speak to a woman!”
