Page 39 of My Lord Rogue
Amelia’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “Indeed. One hears that Lady Pattishall’s appetites are rather… singular. But that’s none of my affair.” She sipped from her glass, the gesture elegant but weaponized. “Although I do wonder what your poor husband would think of your shameless pursuit of Baron Teddington, Theodosia. It’s the talk of the county.”
Theo froze, every muscle in her body turning to ice. She could feel the eyes of the group—hungry, expectant—waiting for a reaction, a collapse, a scene. For a moment, she saw herself as they did, a woman too eager, too alive, too visible.She remembered the last hours with Charles, the whispered promises at his bedside, the way his hand had gone limp in hers. The memory seared her, and for a moment she could not speak.
She set down her glass. “My husband is beyond such concerns, Lady Whitmore. If he were here, he would scold you for your lack of tact.”
The reply, though steady, cost her, she felt the tremor run up her spine, and knew it would not go unnoticed.
Amelia shrugged, her smile never wavering. “Perhaps. But the living must look to their own reputations. I should hate to see you hurt, my dear.”
The women exchanged a series of glances, each one sharper than the last. The air between them bristled.
It was then that Theo realized she was not the only one listening. At the edge of the circle, half-concealed by the shadows and a riotous column of gladiolus, stood Teddy. He had abandoned the pretense of conversation, his entire attention fixed on the tableau before him. The mask made his expression unreadable, but the way he held himself—tense, dangerous—spoke volumes.
He moved. Not with the lazy arrogance of the earlier hours, but with a purpose so singular it cut through the crowd like a blade. The revelers seemed to part before him, sensing the approach of something inevitable. The jeweled hilt of the rapier at his hip caught the light, and the lanterns threw his shadow across the marble, making it seem larger, more animal.
Theo watched him come, heart thundering. For an instant, she saw not the baron of legend, but the boy she had known at Oxford—the one who had always waded into a fight, not out of bravado, but because he could not tolerate the suffering of others. She saw him, and she wanted to run, but her feet would not obey.
Teddy reached the group just as Amelia was delivering the next, softer blow. “Of course, the baron is known for collecting widows. He has a particular taste for the melancholy, I’m told.”
The circle of matrons tittered, one or two pursed their lips, scandalized but hungry for more.
“Lady Amelia,” Teddy said, his voice low and cold enough to draw the attention of everyone within earshot. “Your concern for Lady Pattishall is touching. But I find it curious that your advice is always so public.”
Lady Amelia turned, startled. For a moment, the mask slipped, and her mouth tightened in something very close to fear.
“My lord Baron,” she said, “I was only?—”
“Gossiping,” Teddy finished for her. “With a subtlety that would do credit to a Covent Garden bawd.”
A ripple of shock moved through the group. Several women covered their mouths with their gloves, one or two looked away, feigning disinterest.
Lady Amelia tried to rally. “I see I’ve offended you, Baron. But surely even you must admit?—”
“I admit nothing to a slanderer,” Teddy said. His voice did not rise, but it carried, clear as glass, to the farthest edge of the hall. “Lady Pattishall’s conduct is above reproach. I regret that the same cannot be said for all present.”
The air seemed to crystallize. For a long, trembling moment, no one spoke.
Lady Amelia’s cheeks flushed, visible even through the beaded mask. “You take great liberties, Baron.”
“I take nothing that is not freely given,” he replied, his gaze never leaving Theo’s. “And I will not stand by while your spite poisons the air.”
He turned to Theo then, and for the first time all night she saw something real in his eyes—a fury so naked it made herknees go weak. He offered his arm, the gesture both an invitation and a shield.
“Would you care to dance, Lady Pattishall?” he asked.
For a heartbeat, she could not breathe. She was aware of every gaze in the room, every rumor and whisper now focused on this moment.
She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, the heat of his body radiating through the layers of costume and resolve.
“I would,” she said, her voice small but unbroken.
They left the circle behind, the hush of the crowd following them like an echo.
As they crossed the ballroom, Theo could feel the eyes on her—the curiosity, the judgment, the envy. But with every step, the noise faded, replaced by the steady cadence of Teddy’s heartbeat, the certainty of his grip, the promise of something more than survival.
At the far end of the room, Verity stood with her lieutenant, eyes wide and shining. She gave Theo a nod, small and fierce, and Theo felt a jolt of gratitude so intense it nearly made her weep.
The music was a waltz, lush and hypnotic, its rhythm all slow-burning promise. The dancers circled the floor in concentric rings, each couple an orbit of secrets and thinly veiled ambitions. At the edge, Lady Amelia lingered, peacock tail trembling with every motion, her mask tilted just enough to conceal the worst of her expression.