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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ I do not think I have ever talked to so many people in my entire life,” Teresa gasped, feeling as if she had climbed the highest hill near Grayling House instead of merely greeting a seemingly endless tide of guests.

Cyrus, who had not yet abandoned her, gave a small nod of approval. “You are managing very well.”

“Careful, Cyrus,” she teased a little. “Do not be too effusive, or it shall go to my head.”

He frowned, pulling his broad shoulders back at the expense of his waistcoat’s heroic buttons, his expression one of a man who was trying to solve a very difficult puzzle.

It reminded her of what her own face liked to do when she was trying to find the right word to describe something, though her attention was somewhat divided, her gaze flitting to his muscular chest, waiting for the moment that his poor buttons finally gave up.

“What I mean is,” he began to say, but she did not get to find out the rest, as a loud, lively voice interrupted.

“Darnley, you old goose! Where have you been hiding?” The Marquess of Leighmoor slid into view before them, where they stood on the periphery of the ballroom. “And where have you been hiding this rare bird? Does your wife know you brought a goddess in her stead?”

Teresa snorted at the terrible comment, her own tongue loosened by the feat of verbal endurance she had just had to experience. “That cannot possibly ever work to charm a lady. Please, tell me it does not.”

“I believe you know my friend, Anthony,” Cyrus said gruffly, his arm brushing against Teresa’s, as if to lay claim to her.

Teresa nodded, rather pleased by his closeness, and that subtle touch.

“I remember him from the wedding, and I daresay I remember him at a ball not unlike this one, though everyone was masked.” She cast Anthony a cool smile.

“If I am not mistaken, you wrote a list with my name on it and had a few things to say about me.”

She doubted she would ever forget that wretched list for as long as she lived.

The only reason she had not held it against Cyrus was because he had not been its author, and he had crossed her name out before he knew anything about her, at his friend’s behest. It still hurt, though, even if she did not want to admit it.

Anthony paled, a nervous laugh leaving his lips.

“Ah… yes, about that. My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.” He put his hands together, bowing his head.

“As my friend here has undoubtedly told you, I am a fool, and am often wrong. That being said, I am delighted that Darnley remedied my mistake by marrying the most eligible young lady on that list.”

“I suppose I should thank you, really,” she said crisply. “I would still be in the midst of my third Season, destined for spinsterhood, if you had not walked in when you did.”

“Oh, gratitude is not necessary.” Anthony waved a dismissive hand. “My own evening, that night, could not have fared worse, so you may take that as my punishment. I had taken a liking to Lady Juliet, you see, but that has gone swiftly out of the window for obvious reasons.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Lady Juliet?” He peered down at Teresa. “Was she the one screaming about the incident, that night?”

“My tormentor,” Teresa replied, nodding. “Still, I feel sorry for her.”

“You feel sorry for your tormentor?” Cyrus sounded confused, searching her face for some explanation.

She shrugged. “She is ruined, with no hope of fixing the mistake or her reputation. That is not a situation I would wish upon anyone.” She dared a smile, feeling somewhat bold after the success of their arrival. “At least I had the good sense to be caught in a scandal with an un married gentleman.”

His dark blue eyes widened, the ghost of a smirk trying to pull up one corner of his lips.

“A duke , no less,” she added, chuckling. “All because you crossed my name off a list and enraged me.”

A soft sound, not quite a laugh, left his throat. “I seem to be doing that quite a lot.”

I forgive you. She wanted to tell him so, wanted to make peace after their disruptive start to married life, but the words would not leave her tongue. Not with Anthony standing there, making her shy, making her remember how they had ended up married in the first place.

“What are you whispering about?” Anthony chimed back in, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“Are you whispering sweet nothings? Declarations of love? Do you know, there are ladies in society who could not have conjured a scheme that successful, yet you managed it quite by chance. Extraordinary, really. I commend you, Your Grace, I really do.”

Teresa shot Anthony a confused look, the piece of a puzzle trying to wiggle itself into a place where it might fit.

Was that why Cyrus had been distant with her?

Was that why he stayed away from her? Was that why he had told her that he expected nothing from her?

Did he think she had schemed her way into a marriage with him?

I would never do such a thing. She turned her gaze up to Cyrus, startled to find him glaring at his friend with such ferocity that it made her heart jump.

“Apologize,” Cyrus growled.

Anthony squinted. “Pardon?”

“Apologize to my wife.” Cyrus curved his hand around her arm. “I know you did not mean to, but a lady might take your words as an insult. An accusation.”

Shaking his head, his hand flying to his chest, Anthony gushed, “Goodness, I am sorry. You see, Your Grace, I am a fool. I speak before I think. Of course, I was not suggesting that you schemed this. It is more than obvious that you did not.”

“Thank you. There is no harm done,” Teresa said quietly, flushing with secret pleasure at the grip of Cyrus’ hand around her upper arm, and the strength with which he had come to her defense.

His expression relaxed, though his hand did not leave her, his callused palm rough and warm and pleasant against her bare skin, his grasp reassuring. “It is an excellent ball, Anthony,” he said, the quarrel forgotten. “Indeed, I think I might dance with my wife.”

Teresa blinked. “What?”

“A dance,” he replied, gazing down at her. “What do you say?”

Anthony looked equally shocked, his mouth agape. “I never thought I would see the day…”

“Oh, well, I… I…” Teresa faltered, her heart thundering in her chest, her gaze darting toward the dance floor she feared so much.

It was where everyone could laugh and whisper, muttering unkind things about her, pointing at every misstep she made.

In her three years in society, she could count on fewer than two hands the amount of times she had been asked to dance, her talents firmly in the library and the outdoors, not in dancing.

Everything has been going so well. I will embarrass him if we dance.

“Perhaps, I ought to find my sister and Beatrice first,” she blurted out, terror creeping through her veins, taking over. “They will be wondering where I am, and I?—”

“I thought I felt my ears smoking,” Beatrice’s voice swept in with her, a glass of punch in one hand, lemonade in the other. “For a moment, I thought I had stepped too close to a sconce.”

Anthony’s face brightened at the new arrival. “Lucky for you, you have two drinks to put out any fires.”

“Why else would I have them?” Beatrice replied with a smile, sipping from one and then the other.

“You never know when a lady’s hair might go up in flames.

Not two minutes ago, I saw an old dear with feathers in her hair pass just beneath a candle.

She does not know how close she came to catastrophe, but I would have doused her in an instant. ”

Anthony stepped forward, putting out his hand to take Beatrice’s. “I do not believe we have been acquainted.”

“Nor shall we be,” Beatrice replied, gesturing with both of her glasses, making a point of having no free hand for him to kiss. “I am here for my dearest friend, not unscrupulous list-writers.”

A horrified gasp escaped Teresa’s throat as a startled cough erupted from Anthony’s. “I beg your pardon?”

Oh, Bea, no! You do not need to do this. I have forgiven it already. The last thing Teresa needed was for her best friend and Cyrus’ to be at odds with one another.

“Do not look so shocked, my lord.” Beatrice smiled. “At least I did not mention your even more questionable endeavors. How is Lady Katherine? No… forgive me, it was Lady Lucille, was it not, who so captured your heart? No, wrong again, it was Miss Setterfield you were proposing to, yes?”

Teresa was about to jump in to rescue Anthony, when the man suddenly grinned, giving a slow nod of approval to Beatrice. “Now, I really must know who you are. I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“And I have never heard that before,” Beatrice retorted, smirking.

“You shall have to remain in suspense, Lord Leighmoor, for I am going to retrieve a third beverage, and my beloved friend here is going to dance with her husband. If she does not, then who knows what I might say, for I shall have to continue to rattle off the list of poor young ladies that have been charmed and abandoned, and?—”

“I will dance!” Teresa gasped, flashing an apologetic look up at Cyrus. But as she met his gaze, she saw a glimmer there that quietened her fear, an intensity that she had seen twice before. “I… will dance with you.”

His hand slid slowly down her arm, the brush of his skin upon hers making her heart race and her head spin. She could not breathe, his touch like wildfire, leaving her struggling for air as her stomach fluttered wildly. As he reached her wrist, he turned his hand around, resting it beneath her own.

“The music is starting,” he said, leading her off toward the dance floor, unaware of the injuries he was about to gain to his feet.