Donata smiled at the arrival of her grandson, Sutton, bearing two cups of punch. She lifted her cheek for his kiss, inhaling the smell of cinnamon that always clung to him. “I believe his interest in Lady Tomlinson waned some time ago.”
A group of women to Donata's left openly admired Sutton, ogling him as if he were a great plate of sweets. They giggled behind their fans, one of them daring to inch closer.
Lifting one eyebrow in an imperious manner, Donata stamped her cane and glared at the group.Trollops.Her grandson's allure was legendary amongst the ladies of theton, but he was a married man now, a veryhappilymarried man.
The group of women quieted, one or two blushing at having been caught leering at the Marquess of Cambourne by his fearful grandmother.
Sutton, incredibly, was oblivious to being fawned over. Handing a glass of punch to Donata with a beautiful smile, he held his cup aloft in a toast and took a sip. His angelic features contorted immediately as if he'd bitten into a rotten apple. “Do you think Alex gave Cook the recipe for this?” He looked down at the punch in his cup. “It's quite awful.”
“There's no spirits in it.” Donata smiled. “It's for the young ladies.”
“A waste of punch then. Good Lord this is terrible.” He handed off his cup to a passing servant and took a glass of wine from the man in one smooth motion.
“Mmm.” Sutton took a large sip. “Much better.”
“Sutton? Who is she?” Donata lifted a gloved hand to point at the girl towed through the crowd by Lord Berton as Nick trailed the pair at a discreet distance.
“I don’t know her name, though she came with Lord Marsh. She's his niece I believe, grew up in the islands, though I can't seem to recall which one. You and Alex wrote the guest list, surely you recall?”
“Lord and Lady Marsh?” Donata bit her lip. “Ah, now I remember.” Nick had asked specifically that Alex invite the Earl of Marsh and his family, claiming to be involved in a business venture with Lord Marsh. “How interesting.”
“How so?” Sutton watched his friends stalking of Lord Berton over the top of his madeira.
“I believe something happened to Nick in Bermuda,” Donata murmured, nodding towards the girl. “Her.”
* * *
Jemma nodded automaticallyto Lord Berton, not truly listening to his incessant chatter as he led her off the dance floor. The man prattled endlessly since the moment he’d been introduced to her. Puffing out his chest, he regaled her with faintly humorous stories of his family and a vague military career. If Nick hadn’t been watching, she would never have spoken to the man, let alone danced with him. But Nickhadbeen watching, like some dark demon, his jealous gaze lingering on her as Lord Berton swung her about.
“How do you know the Marquess of Cambourne? Perhaps you are acquainted with his sister?" Lord Berton asked as he led her through the crowded ballroom.
Scanning the crowd for the tall form of the Duke of Dunbar, Jemma smiled and nodded, already planning how to excuse herself from Lord Berton. Where was Nick?
“Miss Grantly?” Lord Berton gave her a practiced toothy smile. His dark blond hair was slicked back from his face, artfully curling about his ears. Light blue eyes sneaked a glance down her bodice. “Would you care for a turn about the gardens?”
She finally spied Nick’s dark head a quarter of the way across the room. He frowned at her over Lord Berton’s left shoulder.
Good.
It was high time the Duke of Dunbar learned she was not to be lied to and ordered about. Rationally, she knew it was childish of her to torment Nick, but her long pent up anger overrode her caution. “I would love a turn about the gardens.” Jemma smiled brilliantly at Lord Berton.
Lord Berton gave her a wolfish look as they reached the far edge of the ballroom. “As you wish.” He opened one of the tall French doors overlooking the gardens. “Miss Grantly.” The brush of cool air wafted over her shoulders and she shivered.
“Lord Berton, I—” She could feel the press of Lord Berton’s hand at her back and nearly decided to turn back except she saw Nick make a beeline towards her. Lord Berton and she had only crossed the threshold into the waiting gardens when a dark shadow loomed over them both.
“Ah. There you are.” Nick appeared, his large form dwarfing Lord Berton. The mismatched eyes stood out starkly against taut lines of his face, giving him an air of menace.
Startled, Lord Berton jumped and released Jemma’s arm, dropping the limb abruptly. The color drained from his cheeks. “Your Grace, a pleasure to see you this evening,” he stammered.
Jemma pressed a hand to her chest, not from fear at Nick’s appearance but to still the sudden, unwanted stirring of her heart. The scent of citrus and cheroot reached her nostrils and unconsciously she leaned towards him.Damn him. He has much to answer for.She righted herself immediately.
“I believe, Lord Berton, that you are operating under a misconception.” The husky baritone addressed Lord Berton. “I wish to keep you from making an error of judgment through your own ignorance.”
Heat ran up Jemma’s cheeks at Nick’s words. How dare he?
Lord Berton turned to Jemma, curling his lip at the sight of her cheeks. Clearly distressed to have angered the Devil of Dunbar, he bowed low, “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. Had I known that the lady was spoken for—”
“But you do now,” Nick interrupted Lord Berton’s polite speech and waved him away as if Lord Berton were no more than a fly. “Good evening, Berton.”
