She sighed. “I am sorry to disappoint you. His lordship was courteous and kind, but I cannot help but to feel he only danced with me and exchanged pleasantries out of some sense of duty. Perhaps an obligation to exert a kindness toward an unfortunate—”
“Do not,” Mama interrupted, “suggest you are cause for charity, because you most assuredly are not. You are the daughter of the Earl of Rayne, and you are beautiful.”
And she also had an errant half-brother who was the subject of scurrilous gossip and her limp, which could not be hidden, to say nothing of her advancing years. But she could not fault Alessandro for the latter, only the former. His letters had grown increasingly sparse, and she missed him dearly.
She scanned the dancers, searching for Searle’s tall, commanding form against her will. Irritation pricked at her, both for the manner in which she had so easily fallen prey to his charms and for the way she still looked for him even now. The way her eyes traveled through the throng of revelers, as if drawn to their home. All these years of hoping for a husband, and how easily she was felled by the silver tongue of one man.
Meanwhile, he was either amusing himself at her expense, or he had been lying to her when he had claimed he had not asked her to dance as the result of a wager. Tears of humiliation stung her eyes.
“But Iama cause for charity,” she told Mama. “I have no suitors, and I shall never have a husband of my own.”
How her heart ached when she said the last, for though it was a fear that had lived within her for the last few years, this was the first time she admitted it aloud. Doing so heightened the veracity of her trepidation.
Her failure was utter and complete. She would never have children, which she wanted with such desperation the desire had become a blazing, all-consuming force within her. For what man would want the burden of a wife who was the laughingstock of polite society?
“Hush now,” Mama scolded quietly, her frown immense. “I will hear nothing more.”
Leonora pressed her lips together, holding back the sobs that threatened to come. How foolish of her to be so affected by one dance with a gentleman she scarcely knew. What was it about the Marquess of Searle that pierced her flesh and went straight to her heart, to all the dark places she tried to pretend she did not possess?
“Excuse me, Mama,” she forced past the lump in her throat. Her face felt as if it were aflame, and her eyes watered and burned. Despair was a weight in her stomach. She needed to flee. To collect herself. “I require a moment to myself.”
“Leonora,” her mother protested.
But she did not care to hear more. Ignoring the ache in her leg as she stood, she fled from her mother’s side and from the ballroom with as much grace as she could muster. She made her painstaking way from the chamber, cursing her leg for the pain radiating through her.
In the several visits she had made to Freddy, they had always met within a cheerful salon, and Leonora made her way there now. The din of the ballroom faded farther away with each step, until at last she entered the privacy of the chamber she sought. Wall sconces were lit, bathing the room in a warm glow. She closed the door and then made her way to the beckoning comfort of a settee.
The door opened once more, the sounds of the ballroom infiltrating the chamber—the chatter of the guests, muted laughter, faraway strains of the orchestra striking up a cotillion. Leonora turned, expecting to see Freddy standing there in defiance of her hostess duties, and froze at the sight of the Marquess of Searle instead.
Her heart thundered, breath arresting in her lungs for a wild moment. His green eyes burned into hers, and she felt that gaze like a stolen caress. A smooth, buttery warmth slid through her, settling in her belly. The door closed once more at his back, deadening the sound.
They were alone.
Her mouth went dry. He seemed somehow taller and broader in this small room, his presence not just breathtaking but dominating. More handsome, too, the planes of his face rendered increasingly harsh and masculine, illuminated by the sconces in a way that made him almost feral. He looked as if he were starving.
But not for sustenance. Rather, forherspecifically. No gentleman had ever gazed upon her with such a dearth of concern for propriety. Or acted upon it.
“My lord,” she managed past her numbed lips. “What are you doing in this chamber?”
“What areyoudoing here, Lady Leonora?” he countered instead of answering, moving toward her slowly with the innate grace he exuded.
He was vicious strength and muscle wrapped in elegance. Despite her disappointment in him for the dances he had spent upon other ladies, she could not move away from him. Could not summon a speck of desire to retreat. Instead, she waited as he drew nearer, her heart thumping madly. He was dangerous, like a flame, and she was a foolish creature, for she wanted his heat. Longed for his burn.
“I came here to be alone,” she forced herself to say. It was partial truth.
“Your leg is paining you,” he said, concern in his deep voice. “I saw you grimace as you made your way from the ballroom.”
Had he been watching her then? Had he followed her here intentionally? Did he truly care? And if so, why?
Her reckless heart fluttered, and so did the butterflies winging their way through her stomach. “My limb is none of your concern, my lord.”
“Of course it is.” He stopped before her, close enough to touch. Close enough she could see the flecks of amber in his green eyes. “I asked you to dance, and now you are suffering because of me.”
Yes, she was suffering because of him, but in a different fashion altogether. A fresh wave of disappointment hit her. If he had followed her to this chamber out of a sense of obligation or pity…
“I am perfectly well, my lord.” She managed a bright smile for his benefit, as if she had not a care.
As if she were not a hopeless spinster with nary a chance of finding a husband and starting a family of her own. As if she had prospects that were greater than either throwing herself upon the mercy of her brother, Alessandro, or becoming a paid companion to a dowager and her dogs.
