Page 21 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

“Careful, Charlotte,” Margot said from beside her. “Your ears are going to start steaming soon if you don’t control your temper.”

Charlotte tore her eyes away from the now-empty alcove into which her husband had disappeared. “I am in full control of my temper, I will have you know.”

“Are you?” Margot asked with a laugh. “It seems as though you’re in high dudgeon.”

“Why would I be in high dudgeon?” she said, but the strain in her voice indicated that she was, in fact, livid.

“I have known you all our lives. Even when we used to communicate only through letters, I could always tell what mood you were in. And right now, you are as mad as a disturbed bee.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? And if I am, do I not have a reason? My husband and I are attending a ball for the first time, and he flirts with another woman and now disappears with her?”

Margot looked at her, one eyebrow raised as she tilted her head to the side. “Are you suggesting that your husband is up to no good with Lady Clarissa? Lady Swanson’s daughter? In the middle of a ball? Surely you cannot think that.”

“Shouldn’t I? Has he not been reckless all his life?”

Margot considered. “Not having spent much time here the past few years, I cannot attest to what he has or has not done. However, I will say that from what I have heard and said, while he is a notorious rake and has been engaged in much debauchery, he has never been known to cause true damage or act in any way that would put a gently bred lady in danger. His activities appear to be concentrated mostly around those already, shall we say, below us in station.”

Charlotte shook her head. To her, it did not matter that the women he had kept company with were mostly ladies of ill repute. What mattered to her was what he was doing now.

“What reason would he have to walk away with Lady Clarissa?”

“Why not follow him and find out?” Margot suggested.

“Follow them? What, I am to trail after them like a jealous fishwife? I think not.”

“Aren’t you?” Margot teased. “Not a fishwife, that is, but jealous?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. She was ready to round on her cousin, scold her with a wag of her index finger about the silliness of her comment, when realization dawned on her.

She was jealous.

The way her stomach had lurched when she saw Rhys talking to Lady Clarissa. The way every hair on the back of her neck had stood up when Lady Clarissa had stepped closer to him—far too close for comfort. Her blood had boiled so much that she had heard it pulsing in her ears.

Even now, as she thought about it, the merry chatter in the ballroom, the sounds of the orchestra, all faded away as her eyes once again fixed on the doorway.

“I think what was smoldering between you has slowly ignited,” Margot intoned.

“Margot, you are not helping in the least.”

“It is not my intention to be helpful. I intend to observe.”

“Perhaps you could do so quietly,” Charlotte said.

As much as she adored Margot, sometimes she missed Marianne. Marianne, who was always practical and clever and known to be quiet. Unlike Margot. In that way, Margot was a lot like Evelyn.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—their conversation was cut short when Rhys reappeared without Lady Clarissa. She noted that his hands hung at his sides in an odd manner. He and Lady Clarissa spoke once more, briefer this time, and then he turned his gaze to her.

“Why not ask him what they were doing back there?” Margot pressed. “They weren’t gone very long. They cannot have engaged in scandalous behavior.”

Charlotte looked at her cousin and then shook her head. However, before they could say anything else, the music stopped, and the master of ceremonies stepped to the center of the ballroom. He banged his staff on the floor twice.

“The waltz!” he announced.

Charlotte’s shoulders tensed at once. Rhys crossed to her and extended his hand.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked with a smile. Then, he lowered his voice. “I realize you haven’t much choice in the matter. We must show the entire ballroom that we are indeed a happily married couple.”

“Well,” she drawled, “it is very good that I have always been interested in theater.”

“So you have told me,” he quipped and led her to the dance floor.

They lined up with the other couples, but she made sure that there was ample space between them.

He chuckled. “You have not danced the waltz before.”

“I know the steps,” she assured.

“That is not what I asked. You have not danced it in public before, have you?”

“No,” she admitted. “Only with my dance instructor.”

“Right,” he said.

He took a step closer, so close that it would have been indecent if they were not already married. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer.

“Surely that is close enough,” Charlotte remarked.

But she couldn’t deny that the sudden closeness made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

His hand on the small of her back moved slightly, almost seeming to caress her. Which, of course, was silly. He was merely adjusting his grip; she knew that. Still, her mind insisted on turning it into something quite different.

His hand curled around her gloved fingers, and she was grateful for the barrier between their skin. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if she were able to feel the warmth of his strong hands.

He placed her hand in the correct position and then smiled.

“Right,” he declared, “now we are ready.”

His breath smelled of peppermint, and she saw the small bulge in his jacket pocket where he kept his comfit box.

The music started then, and he led her into the steps with more force than she had expected. He was, she realized, an excellent dancer, and she easily fell into step with him.

She raised her chin, looking at him directly. The sensations that flowed through her were ten times stronger than the fluttering she had felt before. Her fingers curled as if seeking closer contact with him.

A lump formed in her throat, and she was all too aware of the many eyes on them. As he twirled her, she saw fans going up as women covered their mouths to gossip, no doubt about them.

She forced the lump down by swallowing hard.

“Where did you go with Lady Clarissa?” she asked.

He shrugged. “She assisted me in a matter,” he replied. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Nothing to concern herself with? Anger immediately replaced every other sensation she had been grappling with.

“As I said to you before, it does not bother me what you do when we are apart. But it does concern me when it is impacting our public appearance. You may take a mistress if you choose, but not in public and not so early in our marriage,” she protested, whispering the last part.

“Mistress?” he hissed. “Have you lost your mind? You truly think me so very foolish, so reckless as to have a mistress? No, not only have a mistress, but also flirt with her at our first ball together? Do you know me so little?”

“I know—we—I do not know you at all,” she replied, although she knew that wasn’t true.

She knew that there were sides to him that he kept hidden. She knew that he was capable of great kindness, but also of deep pain, which he had not revealed to her. Not that he was obligated to.

“It is a shame then that we have spent this last fortnight living in the same house. If you must know, I have not once ventured into the brothels since we were wed. Lady Clarissa, though she had set her cap for me for many years, is merely an acquaintance of mine. But pray tell, how did you even know that I was speaking to her? Were you looking for me?”

“I could not help it. You were directly in my line of sight.”

“I see,” he murmured. “Well, for future reference, if we are out together, I will not—I shall not be looking at any woman other than you. Especially not when we are trying to fool the entire ton into believing that we are the happiest pair since Mary and William.”

They fell silent and continued their dance while her mind raced.

He mentioned that he hadn’t visited a single brothel since they got married. But what did that mean? Was this because he wanted to keep up appearances, or was there something more?

She sighed, irritated that her thoughts had once again gone to that place.

The dance continued for some time, and still they didn’t speak. It was almost as if they had used up their allotted words for the day.

“I will have you know that while you were busy imagining what I might or might not have done with Lady Clarissa, I was trying to help you.”

She pursed her lips and studied him.

He was quite serious.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I spoke to Lord Woodhaven about your school. About the benefits that the high and mighty might receive from educating the poor. Paupers, as they like to think of them. And I think it was quite successful. He will speak to his wife and see if they will support you, after all.”

“The ladies already said they would not. They said it was not something their husbands would like to get involved in and referred me to the reformers.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “But you haven’t even been able to speak to the reformers yet, and you do not know that they will support you. Lord Woodhaven seems quite determined.”

“What did you say to him?” she questioned.

He shrugged. “I pointed out the benefits of having the lower classes educate themselves and how it improves their lives and lessens their reliance on the public purse. One must speak to these men in a way they understand. Telling them that it is the right thing to do to help those less fortunate does not penetrate even the first layer of their armor. Those who have everything cannot imagine the lives of those who have nothing.”

Charlotte wanted to be upset with him. The school was her venture, something she wanted to bring to fruition.

In fact, she already looked forward to aligning herself with the reformers.

It matched her newfound rebellious spirit.

Yet, she had not managed to secure a meeting with any of those ladies.

And here her husband was, having breathed hope into her project.

Still, she didn’t know how to feel.

“Do not tell me you are disappointed.”

“I am not. I want the school. But after spending an afternoon with Lady Woodhaven and her circle, I do not know that I wish to spend quite so much time with them. After all,” she lowered her voice, “they most certainly would not approve of my reading material.”

“I do not know that the reformers would either,” Rhys said. “In any case, they may approach you sooner or later. What you do with that is up to you.”

The dance was coming to an end, and she suddenly was not sure how to react. He had done her a kindness. For what reason, she didn’t know, but he had.

Of course, this would help their charade. His speaking to Lord Woodhaven regarding her school would make him look like a devoted husband seeking to help his wife.

Perhaps that was the reason for it. Perhaps that was why he had done it.

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.

For a moment, he seemed to flinch again, as though she had said something hurtful. “Must there be something in everything for me? I cannot simply do you a favor?”

She watched him, wondering if she should continue her questioning or drop the matter.

However, the orchestra made the decision for her when they played the final notes of the waltz and the music faded away. They stood across from one another.

“Well, I suppose that was—” Before she could finish, her world tilted upside down as he dipped her toward the floor.

Suddenly, her eyes were cast upward toward the painted ceiling while all around them, applause erupted. His face appeared above hers, and he smiled.

Then, before she knew it, he had pressed his lips to hers. Quite against her will, her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the moment. His lips were full and warm and tasted of peppermint, reminiscent of his breath.

Her entire body was overtaken by a wave of heat as she curled her fingers into his shoulders, both to channel some of the sudden sensation somewhere else and to hold herself up because she was entirely dependent on him not dropping her.

The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and he pulled her up once more.

The crowd chattered at this most scandalous display. Surely, by tomorrow, they would be the headline of every scandal sheet in London, again.

“Why did you do that?” she breathed.

“To sell the lie,” he replied with a smile, rolling his eyes in such a way as to indicate the crowd.

When she looked around, she saw that they were being stared at by every single person in the ballroom. If the guests hadn’t believed that they were a real couple before, now they certainly would.

However, as she followed him off the dance floor, her legs weak and her thoughts spinning, she had to wonder: at what cost?