Page 1 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

one

Marcus was at his happiest when he was alone, but he wasn’t a solitary person; he was simply very selective about the people he wished to spend time with.

In the crowded, bright ballroom, he stood in a quiet corner, holding a glass of cordial and searching for his father.

They’d arrived on time, paid their compliments to the host, and chatted with many of the guests about things no one cared about.

Surely, he could return home now. He would need a week of solitude to recover from that social event.

After all, Father was the person people wanted to talk with, not Marcus—an almost graduated civil engineer with no title or particular achievement to boast about.

He exhaled in relief when Father walked over to him, smiling and bowing at the passing ladies.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Father asked.

“May I go home?”

Father angled towards him. “Don’t you like it here? Good music, great food, and many people your age.”

“I’m a bit tired.” He gripped the glass harder.

He didn’t have anything in common with those people. They were interested in parties and other activities requiring large gatherings.

“The day you’re at the head of our company, you’ll learn that mingling with potential clients during social events is a vital part of the job.

Just tonight, I’ve received a commission to strengthen the beams of a bridge in Hertfordshire and another to restructure an ancient mansion in Oxford.

” He gave a pat to Marcus’s shoulder, bursting with happiness.

“Smile, ask a lady to dance, and make new friends.”

“So I can’t leave.”

Father cocked his head. “Not until you enjoy yourself.”

“I would spend the summer here, then.”

“A little enthusiasm has never killed anyone.”

“I might be the first one.”

“Good Lord.” Father tapped a foot briefly. “You are like your grandfather. The life and soul of the party he was!” he said sarcastically. “He left my wedding reception because he felt there was too much fuss.”

Marcus took a sip of his drink just to do something. He wouldn’t attend any wedding receptions anytime soon. Maybe never.

“Sir Albert!” A gentleman shook Father’s hand with energy. “I was talking with Wiscombe about the excellent work you did on my estate. He’s interested in working with you on the renovation of his castle in Devonshire. Come with me. Wiscombe is eager to meet you.”

“Absolutely.” Before leaving, Father gave him a pointed look as if to say, ‘That’s what I meant.’

A castle was thrilling, but Marcus was alone again.

No, that wasn’t correct. He wasn’t alone, but he was lonely, which was ironic, considering that when he was really alone, he never felt lonely.

Since he couldn’t leave and he had no intention of dancing, he would at least take a walk and admire the architecture of the building.

No one would notice his absence. He would quietly slide out of the ballroom and take a breath of fresh air that would last for a few hours until Father decided to leave.

“Excuse me.” He brushed past a group of young ladies.

At the centre was Lady Emma, the daughter of the Earl of Pembroke.

They’d been introduced earlier that night, but he doubted she remembered him.

Her friends laughed out loud at something she said.

Every gaze was on her. Including his. She was a golden jewel with a smile spreading beauty.

Everyone would look at her. But she wouldn’t look at everyone. “Excuse me.”

He walked past a group of young men laughing and chatting and ignoring him. “Excuse me.” Finally, he squeezed himself through a group of matrons, watching the ballroom with sharp eyes, and arrived at the end of the room. He sped up once he was in the corridor.

Peace at last.

When the chatter and music died down behind him, he heaved a sigh. His mind was already clearer, thanks to the dim lights and the muffled sounds.

He barely reached the set of double doors opening to the garden when someone called.

“Mr. Kingston?”

So someone did notice him leaving the ballroom. Just his luck. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to him except when he needed to pass unnoticed.

He turned around. “I was—”

Lady Emma was running towards him, leaving him speechless.

Her blonde hair formed a golden crown around her head, and as she closed the distance, her large hazel eyes turned green in the gas lamp lights.

She looked beautiful when she was still, but when she smiled and ran, she was as captivating as a shooting star.

Her sparkling white and yellow gown with golden flounces completed the picture.

“May I have a word?” she asked.

His tongue was in a knot as her brightness overwhelmed him.

She stopped in front of him, but her gold drop earrings kept moving back and forth right under her lobes, catching the light. He wasn’t even sure why he noticed those things. A whiff of her refined honeysuckle scent teased his senses.

Being in a crowded room or alone with her was the same for him.

He felt lonely. Terribly lonely. And he didn’t even know why.

Maybe because Father hadn’t always been wealthy.

His family had survived on potatoes and hope for years before Father’s construction company had become huge.

And Lady Emma made him painfully aware of his humble origin and gloomy character.

“My lady.”

“Your father told me you’re particularly good at repairing devices.” Her angelic voice matched her golden appearance.

“My father exaggerates.” Telling her he studied engineering at King’s College and that mechanics was one of his favourite subjects would likely bore her. Silence was more appealing, wasn’t it?

“Perhaps you could help me.” She took out a small, heart-shaped metallic box from her purse. Porcelain roses adorned the pink lid. “This is my mother’s carillon music box. I think it’s broken. Would you be so kind as to take a look at it?”

Carillons weren’t exactly his speciality. In fact, anything under the size of a building wasn’t. She would have more luck with a clockmaker, but he opened his palm anyway. Her hopeful expression tugged at his heart.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and he remained quiet for a moment, wanting to enjoy her smile.

“I need the light.” He walked to the end of the corridor where a gas lamp burned over a table.

“I don’t want Papa to know the music box is broken.

He would be upset. I’m upset, but I swear it wasn’t me.

I didn’t do anything. One day, it simply didn’t work, but Papa won’t believe me.

I often break things, you see. Not that I want to.

These things just happen.” She inched closer as he examined the box in the light, and he couldn’t deny a flutter in his chest.

“It means a lot to me.” She was so close that her breath touched his skin.

He cleared his throat, studying the tiny screws. “I need a hairpin, please.”

Her arm brushed his when she raised her hands to search through her hair.

“I find it fascinating, the fact you can repair something with a hairpin, I mean. I once destroyed a mirror with a hairpin. Can you believe it? I was dancing in my bedroom when a hairpin flew out of my chignon and hit the mirror. Seven years of bad luck. How horrible. Have you ever broken a mirror, Mr. Kingston? Dreadful noise. Although Papa told me the mirror was old and likely corroded. So I don’t count the broken mirror among the many things I have broken. ”

Her chatter was calming. He didn’t have to fill the uncomfortable moments of silence while she chatted so lively, and it helped him focus on the work. And it made him smile.

He lifted the cover of the case to reveal the inner cylinder and vibration plate.

“Goodness.” She edged closer to him until her chin touched his arm, and he trembled at the contact. “That’s the secret thingamabob that makes the music. Lovely.”

She sounded so enthusiastic he couldn’t help but release the tension in his shoulders.

“The crank is blocked.” He used the hairpin to point at a golden hair wrapped around the crank. “A hair stopped it.”

“Oh, the crank is being cranky.” She laughed. “Sorry, I’m just being silly. I think it’s my hair. I carry the music box with me often, and it stays in my purse with my comb and spare hairpins. I need to be more careful.”

It was amazing how she could point out her carelessness and scold herself in the same speech.

He gently worked on the crank. “I would need a pair of tweezers to completely remove the hair, but the music box should work now.”

He put the case back in place and rolled the handle. When he released it, a sweet song sounded.

“Heavens. You’re a genius!” She hugged him, and he couldn’t breathe. His pulse spiked, and his skin tingled. She stepped back, giggling. “Apologies, Mr. Kingston, but you have no idea how happy I am.”

No, he had an idea. She was radiant and contagious. Even the marble floor was jubilant.

“Thank you. Thank you.” She stared at him as if he’d invented music in his spare time.

“You’re welcome.”

“Emma?” a young man called from the other side of the corridor. “The cotillion is starting. You promised to dance it with me.”

She waved at the man. “Yes, of course.” She slid the music box into her purse. “Are you free for the next dance, Mr. Kingston? It’s a quadrille.”

“I don’t dance.”

Her smile dropped. “Just the quadrille or anything?”

“Anything. Dancing isn’t my cup of tea.”

He’d disappointed her if the way her shoulders stooped was any indication. Somehow, it hurt.

“Then I’ll see you after the cotillion, so we can talk and have a drink. Thank you again.” She briefly touched his arm before rushing down the corridor.

As she ran away in a flutter of silk and a cloud of perfume, Marcus remained in that quiet corner with his heart beating in his throat, wondering what the hell had happened.