Page 21 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
It was an innocent move really—perhaps not quite so gentlemanly as it should have been given the intimacy of their company, but innocent still, or so Edna thought. But the innocence was loaded with possessiveness, protectiveness. The feel of his fingers splayed against her back shook the breath from Edna. Her legs felt like jelly, her cheeks burning. She was only grateful he did not look down to see her pining for more as he led her down the grand staircase and into the house’s entrance hall.
* * *
Edna felt like she was trapped in a fishbowl. Round and round she went, drifting from this lady to the next, barraged by an innumerable amount of questions about her match, and her plans, and her wedding—all of which was entirely imaginary. She had never thought she was a good liar. She didn’t have a quick enough wit nor enough moral laxness to get away with it.
She shot a look through the crowd to Albert, who seemed to be entertaining a group of lords with stories somewhere between fact and fiction. Not that Edna could hear. She couldn’t hear anything over theooohsandaaahsfrom the ladies in their circle, dangling on a hook of Violet’s making as she so desperately filled in the details of Edna’s lackluster stories.
“Truly, it was like something out of a periodical,” her godmother said as she capped off the third retelling of Albert’s wager, leaving out the less palatable developments.
“I do not believe I have seen the Duke this evening,” Lady Delacour interrupted, scanning the room as though the Duke might suddenly materialize.
Violet shot a knowing look to Edna which said,“Do not say a word,” and Edna nodded. “You know, I do believe it is time for a tippling before supper,” she added with all the ease in the world and lead Edna away by the wrist so quickly the other ladies could not hope to follow. “Are you all right, my darling?” she asked when they were amongst themselves, veiled in shadow beneath the stairway.
Edna was relieved to see the tippling had not been part of the act as Violet pulled free a bottle of ratafia from a nearby cabinet. How Violet knew it was there in a house that was not her own, Edna could not fathom. A talent.
“I am,” she breathed then swiped up the crystalline glass before Violet had finished pouring. She downed it at once, feeling suddenly warm. “Whyisthe Duke not here?” she whispered, and the question buzzed against the air like a hiss.
Violet set a hand on her shoulder then took the glass from her and refilled it. “No doubt because we did not invite him,” she said flatly and looked around. “The last thing either of you needs isCrasswatching your every move. Do not fret. I highly doubt he would have attended even if we had invited him.”
Edna swallowed. She wondered whether Albert had had a hand in it. “And you don’t fear some sort of retribution from him? He’s hardly the most tempered of men. What if he takes this as a slight? What if he—”
“Darling! Oh, Edna,darling,” Violet hushed, her voice sounding like a lullaby as she drew her goddaughter in close. “Everything will be all right. I swear it to you. I will not let an old cad tamper with your happiness. Do you trust me?”
Edna breathed a laugh. The question didn’t need asking. She trusted Violet with her life. “Of course, Godmother.”
“Then let me be your shield,” she declared, and she poured another drink and handed it to Edna. “And for what it’s worth...you’re supposed to sip at this.”
* * *
“I am still not convinced this is not some strange dream, Remington or an experiment to test the limits of my credulity. Why, you’ve forever sworn you would rather exile yourself than be forced into marriage and quite readily at that.”
Albert looked up from his veal, finding the offerings at supper no more appetizing than the conversation. He felt like a prize mare, and the attendants the fielders—except, try as he might, he couldn’t gallop away fast enough.
He shot a quick look down the other end of the table where Edna was locked in conversation with her socialite friend, of whom he had completely forgotten the name, though she seemed rather disquieted by it all.Good. It meant they were on the same page at the very least. He tore into his meat and looked back up at Gregson.
“I know what I said, my good man, but it does not change the facts.”
Gregson smirked, his blonde hair twinkling in the candlelight. “And what are the facts? That you have fallen in love? Within the space of three weeks?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Not to you; that is saying something.” Gregson leaned in close, putting Albert righteously on the spot. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is this something your Uncle has forced upon you? His Grace?”
Albert’s grip on his knife tightened. “You act as though we’re still at Eton, Gregson. Is it so ludicrous to think that that I have changed?”
This gave his interrogator pause. “It’s just all so sudden. And why her, but not Lady Jennifer or Miss Hetherton or Sissy or any of the women you’ve dallied with? What is it about Miss Worthington that has captured your attention to the point of wanting to marry her?”
Albert felt himself growing hot. He sat back, snatching up his drink. He feared the answer to Gregson’s question more than anything. Whyhadhe done what he had done if not only to save her? He looked back at her from across the table, and he thought. Hard.
“Well,” he began, clearing his throat, priming himself for a lie. “She’s beautiful. She’s funny and full of spirit—perhapstoomuch spirit. There’s a boldness to her, not that you’d guess it just by looking at her. She’s brave and devilishly smart. And her eyes...” Suddenly, he found himself quite smiling and his confession quite honest. “Thereissomething to her that makes her different than all the other women you so graciously listed off... but I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell you exactly what it is. Only that it’s in those blasted eyes.”
Gregson grinned and settled beside him. “The way she incites love in you?”
“I suppose that’s as good an answer as any,” he said, not quite pronouncing himself either way. But, funnily enough, Albert found himself grinning too.
ChapterTen
Edna stepped toward the painted dance floor with sweaty palms and a belly full of pudding. Never before had she felt the gaze of the ton press so heavily upon her then as she stepped toward Albert to open the dancing. His hand was outstretched toward her, preparing them for a waltz, and Edna altogether forgot how towalkwhen her fingers touched his over the fabric of her laced-trimmed gloves—only God knew how she would manage a dance.
