The Marquess Move Page 2

  She stopped and glanced back at him. The man was gorgeous, to be certain, and apparently he was a mister—thank heavens—but he’d already indicated he didn’t enjoy dancing. More’s the pity. She needed to find a gentleman who liked to dance…and quickly.

  “To dance with a handsome gentleman at the ball,” she announced over her shoulder, and she couldn’t resist sending him a grin. She paused for a moment before tapping a gloved finger to her cheek and adding something that had just occurred to her. “And perhaps eat an hors d'oeuvre or two.” And with that, she shot him a wink and slipped from the room, even though a part of her wanted to stay.

  Chapter Four

  Justin watched the space where the young lady had just been. For a moment, he wondered if the entire encounter with her had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. It had been so odd. And he wasn’t entirely certain he’d heard her correctly. Had she said her goal was to dance with a handsome gentleman at a ball? That was a first. He’d never heard anyone say such a thing. No one except his younger sister Jessica, who couldn’t wait to make her debut.

  But if the woman he’d just encountered was a debutante, what was she doing in here alone? Where was her mother? Besides, usually when he encountered debutantes who wanted to dance, they were looking to make him their partner. But this young woman hadn’t seemed to know who he was. She appeared solely interested in dancing and in a hurry to quit his company.

  Justin absently scratched his chin, still staring at the doorway. Who was she? She was certainly pretty. She had thick blond hair, irrepressible dimples, and cornflower blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. And her voice had been happy and full of life. He’d never wanted to prolong an acquaintance with a debutante, but he had to admit he’d been disappointed when she left the room. Odd. All of it. And she wasn’t even an acquaintance, was she? She hadn’t so much as given him a name. In fact, she’d refused to tell him her name.

  He wanted to follow her. That was a first as well. The thought surprised him. There was something captivating about her. Of course, he wasn’t interested in dancing. Justin never wanted to dance, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to see her dance. Perhaps only to learn whether she’d accomplished the goal she’d seemed so intent upon.

  Justin shook his head and rubbed at his forehead with a knuckle. He was being absurd. Why did he care about a fanciful young lady’s desire to dance? He had his own goal tonight, and it involved finding Edgefield, spreading word of his sister’s nonexistent illness, and getting the hell out of this ball filled with married couples and boring little innocents.

  Though, now that he thought on it, the young woman he’d just encountered hadn’t bored him. That was a first too. She looked slightly older than most of the debutantes, and she didn’t have a mother with her. Was she a debutante? Perhaps she merely didn’t want anyone to know she’d been in a room alone with a man. He couldn’t blame her for that. Reputations were easily lost with less fodder.

  If she was a debutante, perhaps she’d yet to make her debut. But that made little sense. She wouldn’t be at the ball if she hadn’t made her debut. And she’d said she wasn’t supposed to be in the drawing room. He’d assumed that was only because she should be out in the crowd with her mama keeping a close eye on her.

  But why had she refused to give him her name? In fairness, he hadn’t told her his name either. Not his real one, at least. When she’d declined to reveal her name, he’d decided to keep his identity secret as well for some reason. He hadn’t mentioned that he was a marquess and not just a mister. She’d assumed he was a mister so easily, he hadn’t wanted to disabuse her of the notion. It was rare that a debutante wouldn’t know who he was. He wasn’t given to tossing his title about, but somehow they all seemed to know who he was…not that he relished it. On the contrary, it was refreshing to find a debutante who didn’t know him. Quite refreshing, actually.

  Justin shook his head again. What was the matter with him? It was unlike him, spending so much time wondering about a young woman. Any young woman, debutante or not. He usually avoided such innocents like a case of the pox. He preferred the more experienced women he met at the gaming hells around London. Women who were used to pleasure and knew how to give and receive it. Oh, he would have to marry, eventually, he knew that. He already had a sound plan for it. He intended to find a woman who wanted his title and would bear him an heir, but who didn’t care one whit about him. That was the secret to a marriage free from pain and disappointment. In the meantime, he would find his pleasure in dalliances at the hells.

  Justin scrubbed a hand through his hair. The unexpected encounter with the young woman who wanted to dance had distracted him long enough. He should return to the ballroom, find Edgefield, look for a few more people to inform of Veronica’s unfortunate illness, and then get on with his night. He exited the drawing room, closing the door behind him and putting thoughts of the pretty young blond woman firmly from his mind.

  The ballroom was just as he’d left it, filled with people and music and laughter. And this time, Lady Hazelton and Henrietta were thankfully nowhere to be found. He politely nodded to a few acquaintances and stopped to speak briefly with some friends, who obligingly asked after Veronica’s health. As he made his way through the crush, he kept an eye out for Edgefield…and if he spotted the blond woman, so be it.

  Justin decided to tour the perimeter of the room. He had no sooner made his way toward the closest wall when he spied Edgefield in a small group that included Lord Hazelton, by the double doors at the front of the room. Justin changed his course immediately.

  “Ah, Whitmore,” Edgefield said the moment he looked up and saw Justin striding toward him. “Good to see you.” The duke turned to the group he was with. “I was just telling Hazelton here that Veronica isn’t feeling well this evening.”

  “That’s right,” Justin smoothly interjected, shaking his head as if it were a shame. “My dear sister is under the weather again. I swear there must be something about the Christmastide season that doesn’t agree with her.”

  “She sends her regrets, of course,” Edgefield added.

  Lord Hazelton eyed Edgefield warily. “How unfortunate. I must ask Lady Hazelton to stop by your town house to see if Her Grace needs anything.”

  “Nonsense,” Edgefield replied, a fake smile plastered on his face. Justin knew that inside Edgefield was wishing he could punch Hazelton in the gut. “She has me and a team of maids at the ready. She’s been asleep most of the day. I’m certain she’ll be fit in no time.”

  “Very well,” Hazelton allowed, still eyeing Edgefield with a look that indicated in no uncertain terms he didn’t believe a word the duke had said.

  Justin returned Hazelton’s careful stare. The earl clearly knew the rumors that Veronica had left Edgefield barely two months after their wedding nearly eighteen months ago. She’d fled to their country house and not been back. London had been rife with chatter about her marriage ever since. Both Edgefield and Veronica were absurdly stubborn and refused to listen to reason, and so they remained at odds. Justin could only hope they made up soon. He doubted the ton would believe his lies for a third year.

  As the group’s conversation switched to another topic, Justin scoured the ballroom for a head of blond hair and a sapphire gown. He found no trace. He frowned, wondering for the dozenth time why he was looking.

  Soon, Hazelton and his friends drifted off to speak to other guests, and Justin was left alone with Edgefield.

  “Thank you,” Edgefield said, expelling his breath, his shoulders relaxing.

  “You’re quite welcome,” Justin replied. “Besides Hazelton, I spoke to the Rothchilds, Lord and Lady Pembroke, and the Cranberrys.”

  Edgefield nodded. “Excellent.”

  “Is there anyone else you’d like me to inform of my dear sister’s poor health before I take my leave?”

  “No,” Edgefield said with a shake of the head. “That should suffice.”

  “You know you’ll need to speak to Veronica eventually. This cannot go on forever.”

  “Tell that to your stubborn sister,” Edgefield replied with a tight smile.

  Justin rolled his eyes. Sebastian and Veronica were far too alike, which made them both an excellent match and formidable enemies when they so chose.

  “Will I see you later, at the club?” Justin asked to change the subject. He’d learned long ago it did little good to try to convince either Sebastian or Veronica to see reason.

  “Yes. I intend to win back the fifty pounds you stole from me last night.”

  “I think you mean you plan to lose fifty more to me tonight,” Justin replied with a wink. The two friends often bet on hands of cards, and neither was up for long before the other won back his money. They’d been winning and losing the same fifty pounds for years. “At any rate, I’ll stop to thank Lady Hazelton for her hospitality, and then I’ll be going,” Justin said.

  Edgefield nodded and drifted off into the crowd, most likely to talk to some of the other members of Parliament about an upcoming bill or some other boring nonsense. Sebastian took his duties seriously. As a duke, he had to. Justin was far less inclined. He might be a marquess, but he’d yet to settle into the years of obligation men in his position seemed destined for. There would be plenty of time for that later…when he stopped having so much bloody fun.

  Justin soon located his hostess and offered the obligatory thanks. He might be a profligate rake, but his mother had drilled manners and decorum into him from the moment he was born. He turned to make his way out the doors toward the foyer. As he went, he pulled his gold timepiece from the inside pocket of his coat and consulted it. Excellent. He could be at his favorite hell within twenty minutes if the streets weren’t crowded.

  But instead of continuing toward the door, he found himself…stopping. Stopping, turning, and looking around for…her. The blond woman from the drawing room. He took a spot along the edge of the dance floor and scanned the crowd. Had she found her handsome gentleman? Was she dancing? If he saw her, that would be enough, and he would leave. But even as his gaze searched the dance floor, he chastised himself. Why the hell did he care if a complete stranger got her dance? He didn’t even know who she was. And he certainly would not ask anyone to tell him her name. That would only cause gossip. He was leaving.

  He turned on his heel. But just before he made it to the doors, he couldn’t help but glance back one more time…

  As if the light had caught it solely for his eye, a swath of sapphire satin illuminated on the far side of the room. It was paired with a head full of blond hair and a lovely profile that had been etched into his memory. It was her. He’d found her. She was not on the dance floor, however. Instead, she stood on the far side of the dancing, and she seemed to be…in an argument with a man.

  The middle-aged man wore a bright green coat atop ungodly peacock-blue pantaloons. He was jabbing a large finger toward the dance floor while the blond lady stood with her gloved hands on her hips and an animated expression on her face, which included a decided frown. Justin watched in silence for a few more moments until the peacock grabbed the lady’s arm and pulled her along behind him toward the dancing.

  Justin didn’t stop to think. He pushed through the crowd and strode forcefully past the dancers to make his way to her side.

  “I don’t care to dance with you, my lord,” she was saying while tugging against the older man’s obviously too-strong grip.

  The peacock wasn’t listening. He continued to pull her toward the dance floor.

  Justin stepped directly into Peacock’s path, where he squared his shoulders and pushed the flat of one hand hard against the man’s puffed-out chest. “I believe the young lady said she’s not interested in a dance with you.” His voice was deep and gruff, intended for absolutely no misinterpretation on Peacock’s part.

  “Who are you?” the man asked brusquely, giving Justin a look intended to burn through him.

  Justin returned his penetrating gaze. The man was half a foot shorter than him and though quite a bit heavier, Justin had no doubt his years spent mastering the art of fencing, specifically an esquive, would send this oaf crashing to the floor if he attempted to lunge at him.

  “Who are you?” Justin demanded, glancing around. Where in the world was this young woman’s mother? She wasn’t doing a very good job of chaperoning her charge tonight.

  “I’m Lord Julington,” the man replied, narrowing his eyes on Justin.

  Justin crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Lord Julington. “Suffice it to say, I’m someone who doesn’t take kindly to seeing ladies forced into unwanted dances.”

  The man attempted to push past Justin. “Get out of my way. This is none of your concern.”

  Justin stopped him with an arm to his throat. “I’m about to make it my concern if you don’t unhand this lady immediately.”

  The man released the young woman’s arm but continued to glare at Justin. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Sir,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t believe I provided it,” Justin replied, stepping back and straightening his coat.

  Justin glanced around briefly. The partygoers nearest to their little trio had stopped talking and dancing and were standing in a semicircle, staring at them. They had caused a scene. From the corner of his eye, Justin spied Lord Hazelton himself marching toward them.

  The next sound Justin heard was the lady’s inhaled breath and a sharp squeak. He glanced at her. Stark terror flashed in her eyes before she turned on her heel and rushed away in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Five

  Maddie slammed the door to the drawing room behind her. She rushed to the far end of the room, pacing and wringing her hands. Oh, no. Had Lord Hazelton seen her? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be certain. All she knew was that she’d fled the moment her employer had walked in her direction.

  This was precisely why she shouldn’t have taken this chance tonight. It all sounded like a lark when one was giggling about it with Anna in the wee hours, but it was much less fun when one was hiding in a drawing room wearing stolen clothing, hoping that one’s employer didn’t find her.

  No. No. No. This had all been a mistake. There would be no dance with a handsome gentleman at a ball. She’d been a fool to think she could manage it. She’d just wait until the corridor was empty and then she’d sneak back upstairs, surreptitiously return the clothing, and be done with this entire idiotic plot. And she—

  The door to the drawing room swung open and Maddie’s heart stopped. But it quickly started again when Mr. Whitland poked in his head. He saw her, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  He was alone. Thank heavens. She expelled her pent-up breath in a rush, beyond grateful for her good fortune.

  “There you are,” he said in his affable tone from earlier, quite unlike the tone with which he’d addressed Lord Julington.

  “I…I’m sorry.” Her voice faltered. “I wasn’t…feeling well.” She lifted her chin. There. Wasn’t that what debutantes always said? Lady Henrietta tended to, at least.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Whitland replied. “I hope you haven’t allowed your unfortunate encounter with that fool Julington to stop you from having your dance.”

  “Oh, er, yes. Yes, indeed. I’m no longer interested in dancing,” she declared. “In fact, I’m just about to leave…the ballroom. Er…leave the party.” She closed her eyes briefly, chiding herself for the ridiculously high pitch to her voice. She squeaked when she was nervous.

  “Where is your mother?” Mr. Whitland asked next, his eyes narrowing on her. “Allow me to escort you to her.”

  Fear streaked through Maddie’s chest again. “I, er, that is to say… I—”

  “My apologies,” he interjected. “I didn’t intend to be forward. Only, it seems to me that you’re lacking a chaperone and—”

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Whitland. But I must go.” She grabbed her skirts and made to step around him.

  “Wait.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m uncertain if I qualify, but I’m willing to dance if you would still care to.”

  Maddie froze. A tentative smile curled her lips. Did she dare take him up on the offer? The strains of a waltz were barely audible. Anyone might walk into the room at any moment, including Lord Hazelton himself. For all she knew, Lord Julington was still looking for her. But none of it mattered. Her heart pounded and excitement shot through her middle. She would be a churl and a fool to allow this opportunity to pass. It was so…perfect. They could dance here, in this room, with no prying eyes. Would she still care to dance? Yes, indeed. She would care to. Though she was entirely certain that she shouldn’t. She turned and eyed Mr. Whitland carefully.

  “Come on,” he added, tugging his bottom lip with his straight white teeth in an utterly irresistible, vulnerable way that made her belly flip. “Try it. I’m told I’m not the worst dancer in the world.”

  She bit her lip, quite willing to take him up on the offer but still a bit hesitant. “I thought you said only lovesick fools and fops dance?”

  “And married men,” he replied with a sigh. “I am none of those things, but I am willing to make an exception…for a beautiful woman who wishes to dance.”

  Oh, well, that was charming.

  Maddie tentatively reached out and placed her hand on his. He pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in his warmth, the scent of sandalwood stronger so near him. He began the steps of the waltz, in perfect time to the music still drifting into the room. One, two, three. One, two, three. They turned in a circle in the large space between the sideboard and the settee. She looked up into his dark eyes and smiled at him, one hand clasped in his, the other resting upon his strong, wide shoulder.

  And then she danced, just as her mother had taught her all those years ago. Just as she’d taught Molly. And for those few minutes as the waltz played, it was magical, and Maddie was actually a debutante dancing at a grand London ball, just as she’d always imagined. She closed her eyes and breathed in the moment's magic, knowing full well she would never have the opportunity again.