Page 72 of Marry in Scandal

Lily liked the sound of “your Mr. Galbraith.” Not that he was yet.

“And the other one—well, you know what they say: ‘Hell hath no fury’—and no, don’t turn around! Look at them later when the tea comes around.”

It took all of Lily’s willpower not to turn and stare at the woman who’d tried to seduce Galbraith and been rejected. The reading recommenced but Lily barely heard a word.

The incident, brief as it was, had brought one fact home to her: She was marrying a rake. How many other women would she come across in society who knew Edward better than she did?

Chapter Thirteen

Told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late. Hope had already entered.

—JANE AUSTEN,SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

Wednesday evening came, and Edward presented himself at Ashendon House, immaculately attired in a black coat, black knee breeches, and white silk stockings, a chapeau bras tucked under his arm.

He looked, Lily thought, magnificent. “Did you get a voucher?” she blurted. She’d worried about it all night. It would be mortifying if he was turned away.

He smiled. “Of course. Did you doubt me?”

She heaved a sigh of relief.

“You look beautiful,” he told her, and she flushed with pleasure.

“So do you.”

He laughed. “Men, my dear, are never beautiful.”

Lily disagreed, but she wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you for the flowers, and the book of poetry.”

“Did you like it? I’m told that young ladies cannot get enough of Lord Byron.”

“Oh, yes, he’s wonderful.” Lily had learned a couple of verses by heart—she might not be able to read, but she had a good memory—in case she needed to have a conversation about the book, but just then Rose and George came downstairs followed almost immediately afterward by Emm and Cal.

There were two carriages to transport them to KingStreet; Cal and Emm and George rode in the first, and Edward, Lily and Rose in the second. “Playing gooseberry,” Rose murmured to her sister with a grin.

But nothing could dim Lily’s pleasure in the evening. They were admitted without hesitation and the gasps, the small silence and then the buzz of conversation that followed Lily’s entrance on Edward’s arm was everything any hurriedly betrothed girl could wish for.

Edward had broken his own rule; more, he had brought her to Almack’s of his own accord. And everyone knew it.

“I won’t be staying to the end,” he told her. “They have this ridiculous rule that I can only dance with you twice, so I’ll be leaving after that—you don’t mind, do you?”

Lily didn’t. It would only underline the reason he had come—for her.

He led her out for the first dance, a cotillion, which he performed with surprising confidence and grace. Somehow, Lily hadn’t ever imagined him as a dancer, but it was obvious he’d spent many hours on dance floors in the past. She tried not to wonder with whom.

After the cotillion, he danced in turn with Emm, then Rose, then George—and even with Aunt Agatha. Then, for his second dance with Lily, he chose a waltz.

She stepped onto the dance floor, initially aware of the envious eyes on her, but the music started and soon she was aware only of Edward, his strength, his dark masculinity, and the masterful way he twirled her around. She was floating on air. Never had she imagined a dance could feel like this.

She was flushed and breathless when the dance finally finished, and not just because of the dancing. Edward led her to a seat. “May I fetch you something to drink?”

“That would be lovely. Ratafia, please.”

He returned shortly with a glass of ratafia and as he handed it to her, he pulled a face. “Abominable refreshments they serve here. Not a decent drop of wine to be had!”

She laughed. “Almack’s is famous for it, didn’t you know?”

“I’d heard. Didn’t believe it.” They sat companionably side by side, watching the dancers, as she sipped her drink.