With a few more polite words, he and his host parted ways, Trevor moving in the direction of his own wife. He hadn’t missed the possessive edge in his host’s words. The viscount’s sudden wedding had been something of a scandal as well. He’d married a governess after having spirited her away in his carriage by mistake, thinking he’d been carrying off his latest mistress. The flurry of resulting gossip had set London on its ear. But it would seem the viscount had developed atendrefor his new viscountess despite the scandalous circumstances which had precipitated their union.
He knew the feeling all too well.
Hell, he’d been half in love with Virtue from the moment he’d first set eyes on her. She’d descended from the carriage he’d sent to fetch her, carrying an armful of books. She’d been wearing a carmine pelisse trimmed with ermine and a matching hussar cap, and he’d known in that instant that her personality was as bold as her dress. Oh yes, he’d known that she would be trouble as he’d watched her descent from the vantage point of his study window.
Trouble of the most delicious sort.
Trouble who reached him now as the faint strains of a waltz began. He bowed to his sister and his wife.
“I do believe this dance is mine,” he told Virtue, wondering what had caused the pinched expression she now wore, and intending to find out with all haste.
He’d find the person responsible and verbally disembowel them.
“Yes, of course,” Virtue said, her voice almost wooden, lacking its usual fire.
Pamela cast him a glance that was laden with worry, which only served to tighten the knot of apprehension in his gut. “Enjoy your waltz. I do believe I’ll enjoy some ratafia and gossip with the dowagers.”
His sister wandered off in the direction of a gaggle of tittering widows in turbans, and Trevor offered his arm to Virtue. “She would have everyone think she is a shriveled husk, pining away as she has for Deering. He wasn’t worthy of her in life, and now that he’s gone, she may as well continue with hers.”
He was careful to keep his voice from carrying, more than aware of the curious stares upon them, the lords and ladies sidling nearer in the hopes of overhearing a newon dit.
“She loved her husband,” Virtue said quietly, a hint of reproach in her dulcet voice. “However, perhaps she is struggling between loyalty and duty and what she wants.”
“Hmm,” he said, considering Virtue’s words. To him, Pamela remained very much a mystery who buried her sorrows in endless trips to Bond Street and the like. “And what is it you think she wants?”
“I’m not certain she knows,” Virtue said softly.
They took up their position on the dance floor, offering each other a customary curtsy and bow, and then she was in his embrace, their hands linked, and he wondered if they were merely discussing Pamela or if his wife was talking about herself, as well.
“Are you speaking of yourself as well as my sister?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh.” She offered him a smile, but there was sadness in it. “Of course not. I already know what I want.”
The waltz was underway, and they began the steps, moving as fluidly together in the ballroom as they did in the bedroom. “And what is that?”
They spun about, and he admired the way the glow of the candles overhead brought out the burnished-gold flecks in her vivid eyes.
“You, of course,” she said, then paused, her smile fading. “For as long as you want me.”
What the devil was this?
“I want you forever,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife.”
She gave a soft sigh. “But you are accustomed to being a rake, having your choice of ladies. I can hardly compare to the beautiful women you’ve known.”
He nearly stumbled and tripped over his own feet, but recovered at the last moment, quite thankfully keeping both of them upright. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve known. The most beautiful woman I shall ever know, inside and out.”
Her physical loveliness aside, it was her fierce spirit and keen, intelligent mind that drew him to her most, along with her innate sensuality. How could she doubt her own magnificence? He wanted to kick himself in the arse for not praising her enough, for failing to show her just how incomparable she was.
“What of Lady Carr?” she asked, so quietly he almost failed to hear her above the din of the orchestra.
Adelina.Christ.He had known his former mistress was in attendance this evening; he’d seen her glaring daggers at him from across the ballroom and had promptly ignored her.
He tensed, wondering if the countess he had once parted ways with had somehow caused Virtue upset. “What of her?” he asked, twirling them effortlessly through the next set of steps.
“She demanded an introduction this evening,” Virtue said, confirming his suspicion. “She seemed convinced you would be returning to her soon, now that she has seen what a little mouse you have wed.”
A little mouse.
