The Marquis At Midnight (7 page)

‘A dance,’ she repeated rather blankly.

‘Indeed.’ His blue eyes,
which had held no trace of warmth for weeks, were twinkling now and
his smile was an apology and a declaration in one. Hester moved
forward tentatively and he gathered up both her hands in his,
kissing each in turn. ‘I’m sorry. What you said the other night
about not trusting you? I realized today that I’ve been behaving
like a fool. I
do
trust you, my love. And I’m damned if I’m going to let some
nonsense ruin things between us. When I returned home tonight and
found you were out I knew… Well, let us just say that we’ve both
been overwrought of late. I’ve come to beg your
forgiveness.’

‘Oh,’ Hester whispered, blinking back her
tears. ‘Oh Porter, I’ve been beastly!’

‘We’ve both been complete fools. Put it down
to overwork, for my part, at least. Now then, shall we dance? For I
do so enjoy dancing with my wife.’

‘
Why yes, I think a dance
would be delightful.’

‘Excellent.’ Turning, he looked at the
marquis, who was still standing there, solid as a rock and equally
inscrutable, if his expression was anything to go by. ‘Morvyn. How
astonishing to find you here. I didn’t think this was your kind of
affair at all.’

‘It isn’t,’ Morvyn replied shortly. ‘I came
for a word with Lady Pemberton.’

‘With Grace?’ Porter seemed surprised. ‘I’m
sorry, I did not know you were acquainted.’

‘We are not!’ Grace interjected swiftly.
‘That is to say, we have only met on several occasions and never
socially.’

‘I see.’ Porter murmured, although clearly
he didn’t.

‘Perhaps we should all
return to the ball.’ Grace had no idea what Morvyn wished to talk
about, only that she was sure she would not want to discuss it. For
what could he say? Did he intend to apologize for his behavior
towards Justin? Dear God, did he intend to apologize for the
other
night
?
Either option seemed utterly unbearable. He could not undo the past
on either count.

‘An excellent idea,’ Porter agreed. ‘Why
don’t you come along, Morvyn? You can dance with Grace.’

‘I would enjoy that.’ The marquis said, just
as Grace vehemently shook her head in protest.

‘Oh, I don’t think so! That is, I promised
the next dance to Bertie.’

‘Did you?’ The man had risen to his feet and
was waiting; quite placidly it seemed, for the next part of his
night to unfold. ‘I don’t mind. We’ve already had one and I’m sure
I’ve been told there’s a limit.’

‘No more than two dances is
seemly,’ Hester agreed breathlessly, still grappling with the joy
and the horror of her husband being at the ball. What if he ran
into Lovington?
What could she
do?

‘That’s settled then,’ Morvyn said, moving
forward to offer his arm to Grace.

She looked at it as if it were a live snake,
but refusing would be shockingly rude and, reluctantly, she laid
her gloved hand on it. However, she simply could not bring herself
to thank him.

They arrived back among the
throng of people just as a new dance, a country-dance, was starting
up, couples lining up on the floor. Porter led Hester onto the end
and Morvyn and Grace followed on. Facing each other, Grace found
she could barely meet her partner’s eye. Was there anything more
mortifying than having to stand up with a man who one cordially
detested? Of course there was, she reminded herself savagely. She
could stand up with a man she not only detested, but she had
kissed. Or at the very least, had been kissed
by
. Not that it mattered. He had been
left in no doubt as to her willingness to reciprocate. The thought
brought a flush to her cheeks and she stared determinedly at the
top button of his waistcoat as the music started up and they moved
with stately grace down the line of dancers. At least this was not
the kind of dance where one had to converse with their partner. Not
like a waltz. At the thought of the two waltzes they had shared,
Grace flushed again and wondered if a body could die of
embarrassment.

Looking up, she caught his
eye and saw something in them; something that in no way chased the
warmth from her cheeks. The marquis was not a man who would ever
wear his heart on his sleeve, so much she knew of him, but it
seemed to Grace that she saw something in his eyes that evoked that
kiss, a kind of hunger that was both disturbing and exciting. She
did not want to
be
excited. Not by this man. He was responsible for her situation
in the world; a woman alone, a widow, childless and
heartbroken.

Yes Grace, remember the heartbroken part.
The Marquis of Morvyn broke your heart.

That was as may be, but it did not stop
Morvyn from pursuing whatever devilment had taken hold of him. The
dance turned into a series of words, fired like balls of lead every
time the opportunity to converse came around, usually when they
were circling each other before rejoining the line.

‘Lady Pemberton, I wish to speak with
you.’

‘Indeed, sir? I cannot imagine about
what.’

‘That is what I wish to discuss.’

‘I am sorry, I am not available.’

‘But I have not mentioned a time.’

‘Any
time, sir.’

And they broke apart again.

Several minutes later…

‘I do not understand why you are making this
difficult.’

‘Really? And yet you do not strike me as a
man who is obtuse.’

‘Lady Pemberton, may I please pay a call on
you tomorrow?’

‘Certainly not! I
never
receive
callers.’

‘You do not receive callers? Good God!’

And once again, they parted.

If it were anyone else, Grace would have
found the entire situation amusing, these low voiced conversations,
uttered, for the most part, with the mask of civility in place.
Under the circumstances, however, it was anything but. She did not
know what Morvyn was about, but she did know there were a dozen
reasons why she did not wish to spend more time with him than was
strictly necessary. Some were obvious, but it was the unexpected
one that ambushed her, taking her by surprise while leaving her
doubting her own good sense.

For Grace had discovered that dancing with
the marquis, even when his arm was not holding her close, had an
extraordinary effect on her body. It was like being heated from the
inside, her earlier flush translating to the rest of her skin, so
that every part of her was suddenly sensitized. And his touch made
her tingle. Tingle! How was that even possible?

‘Lady Pemberton, you are a most exasperating
woman!’

‘I am surprised you wish to call on me
then.’

He was silent at that, for several long
moments, then, ‘Nobody is more surprised than me, but I do. In
fact, I must.’

How fortunate it was that the dance finished
shortly after, the men bowing low, the women dropping into a deep
curtsey. Standing, she met Morvyn’s eyes before turning away
abruptly, forcing him to move quickly to at least keep up the
appearance of escorting her from the floor.

‘I need to return to Hester,’ she told him
abruptly, knowing full well she sounded ridiculous. Hester was only
a few feet away, arm through her husband’s, laughing at something
he’d said, her face alight with all the happiness it had been
missing in the last few weeks.

‘Certainly.’

Early as it was, Grace knew she wished to
leave. It seemed to be the only way that she could ensure no more
unexpected meetings with the marquis. His presence was a bane, once
again chasing her home, but she was suddenly tired of the noise and
the nonsense.

Catching up with her host and hostess, who
were acting as if they had not been alternately fighting or
freezing each other out for the past week, Grace gave a strained
smile, conscious of Morvyn at her back.

‘I was wondering. As Porter is here now,
perhaps you might go home with him, Hester? I’m feeling very tired.
I think I would like to leave.’

Hester looked at her with
swift concern. ‘Oh, poor Grace. But certainly you must not go by
yourself. I will accompany you,’ she shot her husband an arch look,
‘and perhaps you will accompany
me
?’

Porter smiled at her. ‘It would be my
pleasure.’

Relief flooded through Grace, but it seemed
she was not to be rid of the persistent marquis, for he followed
them as they collected cloaks, a silent, ominous dark cloud
trailing behind her.

Drat the man, Grace thought crossly. Why
won’t he go away?

Goodbyes said, at least by
Hester and Porter, they were almost through the door when somebody
hailed them. As Porter was already on the front step he did not
hear, but the ladies did and they turned quickly to see Lord
Lovington walking towards them. Hester’s face went so white Grace
thought she might faint.
Oh no you
don’t,
she thought grimly,
this is not how the evening will
end
. Not when things were smelling of April
and May between husband and wife again. Grace cast a look of
loathing towards Lovington as she caught hold of Hester’s
shoulders, giving her a little push towards the door.

‘Go
on
.’ Lord Lovington would hardly be
likely to follow them outside. It would look very odd. Grace
turned, quite prepared to delay the man in case he was determined
to cause trouble.

The marquis looked at her, eyebrow raised.
‘Lady Pemberton?’

‘I must stop that man.’ She hadn’t even
realized she’d said the words out loud, but Morvyn glanced towards
Lovington, gave her a last look, and moved forward, his deep voice
murmuring a greeting.

Grace blinked her surprise at this
unexpected gift, but did not linger. She had no idea if the marquis
knew Lovington or was just being chivalrous, yet again, but escape
beckoned and she hurried out the door after Hester and Porter.

However, on the way home in the carriage
sitting opposite from a once again happy couple, Grace could not
stop herself from wondering. Had Morvyn really come to the rescue
again? As it was doubtful that he and Lovington were friends, it
seemed likely, which made her black and white view of him blur
towards gray just a little more. She wished he would behave as a
villain should. Instead, he insisted on acting the knight, which
made it all the harder to know what he was about.

Surely she could not be mistaken about him?
Justin himself had told her how Morvyn, one of his oldest friends,
had betrayed him. It was an inescapable fact and she would do well
to remember it.

The man might play the hero, but at heart he
was every bit as bad as Lovington.

At least Silas Lovington did one the
courtesy of acting like a snake.

He did not pretend to be a hero.

Morvyn regarded Silas Lovington with all the
distaste of a Corinthian for a dandy. He did not count the man a
friend. He barely called him an acquaintance, as they did not move
in the same circles. Morvyn liked horse riding, fencing, boxing,
and any number of things that involved physical activity.
Lovington, on the other hand, appeared to be interested only in his
tailor, although Morvyn had heard rumors that he was fond of
fleecing green young men of their ready or even, once or twice,
that the man was an ivory turner, but that was a slur not to be
leveled lightly.

It was one thing to best a man at cards,
quite another to be accused of using loaded dice to do so.

Still, Lovington sailed pretty close to the
wind and nobody was at all clear where he found his seemingly
limitless funds. He wondered what the man had to do with Grace or,
and this seemed more likely, with Lady Woodward, considering the
interchange he had just heard between the two ladies. He had seen
the look on Hester’s face when she had caught sight of the man.

Not that Morvyn could blame her. The man’s
waistcoat should have been brought up before the magistrate for
contravening the laws of bad taste.

‘Good evening, Lord Lovington.’

Lovington paused and gave him a narrow look
out of stone black eyes. ‘Morvyn. If you’ll excuse me, I have seen
some acquaintances of mine.’

‘I believe they were leaving.’

Lovington looked at him again and this time
Morvyn saw a flicker of speculation. ‘Indeed? My mistake. I was
hoping for a word, but another time will suffice.’

‘Excellent.’ The two men stared at each
other for a few moments more. In that space of time, Morvyn’s
indifference to Lord Lovington solidified into firm dislike. He did
not know why he found the man so disagreeable. Perhaps it was the
reek of perfume exuded by the lace edged handkerchief that he
carried in his hand, an affectation that was unforgivable in
itself. It could have been any number of things, but the truth was
that the marquis sensed that Lord Lovington was a wrong ‘un. He
wondered what he wanted with Lady Woodward and was prepared to
swear it wasn’t anything to the good. Lovington was the kind of man
a sensible woman steered clear of. He’d have to make sure Grace
knew that the man was a snake.

This last thought brought
him up short.
Let Grace know?
What did it have to do with
him
what Grace Pemberton did or
didn’t know? Not that she didn’t know already, for if her
expression had been anything to go by, she disliked the man
heartily.

It was none of his affair.

‘If you will excuse me,’ Lovington smiled
and, giving a half bow, turned and strolled back into the throng of
revelers. Morvyn watched him go with distaste.