Page 10 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“Of course,” Edna bowed her head in apology. “I do not know what came over me.”
Violet’s forehead creased, something Edna had only ever seen once before. “What is the matter? What happened?” She touched Edna’s cheek and forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you unwell? Your skin is flushed, and your breathing rapid. Shall we take you home?”
Edna glanced toward the hallway to the gentleman’s game room then chided herself for it. He would not be there, watching. And she did not want him to be. She swallowed and focused on the red of Violet’s rouge. “Yes, please. I am not feeling well at all.”
“Yes, of course, dear.” Violet took her arm and led her gently through the room. As they waited for the footmen to pull up their carriage, she leaned in. “I know I missed something important, and for all the years I’ve slaved away ensuring your happiness and health as your godmother, you will tell me what it is.”
Edna pressed her lips together so hard they hurt. She gave in. “You were correct in your description of the Marquess of Remington. He is a scoundrel of the first order.”
Violet’s eyebrows shot straight up into her powdered hairline. “What happened? Tell me now. My heart cannot take the suspense.”
“I fear I am to marry him.” Edna glanced sideways, noting how smooth Violet’s face became when surprised. “At least… I think I am. Papa gambled me away in a game of cards, and as far as I am to understand, the Marquess won the hand against his very own father, the Duke of Craster. But he also told me no wife of his would be won in a hand of cards.” She turned to her godmother, one hand pressed to her cheek and the other to her stomach as the threat of tears warmed her eyelids. “What does that mean? Am I to marry or not? And if I am to marry, shouldn’t I know it?”
“There, there,” Violet said, wrapping an arm around Edna’s shoulders. “You shall not marry the Marquess. Or his perverse father for that matter.”
Edna sniffled and pulled back to look in her godmother’s gentle brown eyes. She very suddenly felt like a bag of wheat torn apart by the little hands of mice. “So, you think he does not want me?”
“Oh, darling, no!” Violet wiped a tear away with her gloved finger. “Of course, he wants to marry you; you’re the Diamond of the Season. And if he doesn’t, it is solely because he is a lecherous man who cannot fathom settling down at all. I simply mean I will not allow it to happen. You deserve better than to marry into any part of that family.”
“But how? Papa has already declared it in front of a room full of men. I am all but taken. And if the Marquess backs out, there is his father waiting next in line. And who shall cross a duke?”
“Tut, tut, my dear child. You do not understand men at all.” Edna raised a brow. That was the second time she had been told that this evening. “The more other men think you are desired, the more they will desire you.”
“I fear I do not want to be desired at all.”
“How much were you taken for?” Violet asked, and Edna’s eyes widened. “I meant in the game of cards,” her godmother clarified, laughing again with a shake of her head.
She sniffled and thought back to what the Marquess had said. “I first thought a horse, but I was soon informed it was the Marquess’ home in London.”
Violet smiled then, nodding approvingly. “You understand what that means, child?” Edna shook her head, feeling as helpless as the fish she had been so rudely compared to.
“The only home the Marquess has in London is Remington Manor. And that, my dear, is nothing of a trifle and ten times the amount of your dowry. Even for a duke or his son, it would be quite the sting. I guarantee, the second the other men in the room heard how much he was willing to give for the chance at your hand, every one of their greedy hearts skipped a beat.”
“Do you really believe so?” Edna gently ran a finger under each eye to dry her lashes.
Violet smiled and flicked open her fan. “I know so. Tomorrow, your drawing room will be full of suitors come to call.”
“But what of Papa?” Edna fiddled with her glove, trying to get it on as the coach pulled up with a clatter of wheels. “What do suitors matter if he owes me to another? He will not forsake his gambling debts, not when it would preclude him from foolishly losing more at cards in the future.”
“Leave your father to me, dear. And in the meantime, don’t give the rake of a Marquess or his father any hope. You are stunning and intelligent, artistically gifted and brave, and even a man fearful of commitment could fall for you. Be cold. Be unkind. And avoid being alone with him. He simply cannot be trusted."
Edna absentmindedly brushed her fingers against her lips. A tiny fire lit once more inside her chest as she thought of his emerald green eyes and the way his hand pulled through her hair, soft and urgent at the same time. She would not tell Violet of the kiss. That was her secret. But she would heed her godmother’s advice.
She nodded resolutely and turned toward Violet. “On my honor, I will never be alone with the Marquess.”Again.
ChapterFive
“Time to go, old boy.” Albert grabbed his uncle’s shoulder as he passed and pulled him toward the exit.
Jonathan quickly said goodbye to the men he’d been standing with and stumbled along. “Is something wrong, Albie?”
“Oh, yes. Nearly everything.” His heart was like a hummingbird in his chest, a taste of silver and sweetness on his tongue. He shouldn’t have taunted her, flirted, or allowed himself to bask in the glow of her bright blue eyes. More than anything, he shouldn’t have kissed her. He knew these things on an almost academic level, but he didn’t feel any of them. He’d delighted in every clandestine moment.
What he regretted was coming to this ball in the first place. Jonathan was a good man, far more like a father to him than his own father was, but this was the last time he was ever going to let his uncle decide on the social scene for an evening.
“What is it, boy?” Jonathan gasped, his breath heavy from trying to keep up with Albert’s long, quick strides. “Where did you disappear to?”
Albert paused at the coat check just long enough to pull on his wool jacket then tied his apricot cravat around his neck. He didn’t pause to wait for Jonathan, who took much longer to pull on his accouterments, and headed into the atrium. Albert whistled for the carriage to be drawn up and tapped his foot as he watched the coachmen rush from one end of the space to the other.
