“Oh?” Bess asked brightly, looking from Torrie to Monty, blithely oblivious. “What subject is that?”
“Falling in—” Monty began.
“Inventing oaths,” Torrie finished loudly.
So loudly that several curious heads turned in their direction. And damn it, that hadn’t been his intention either, to draw more attention to them. He’d already caused Bess enough headaches by beginning their union in such a scandalous way. It seemed as if every tongue in London was still wagging about how he had kidnapped his own bride. He had seen caricatures of himself spiriting Bess away, hauling her over his shoulder as if he were a villain absconding with the family silver.
Villainous Viscount kidnaps innocenthad been one illustration’s description.Lord T- takes a wife (in literal fashion)had read another.
Bess’s brow furrowed. “Inventing oaths?”
Thank Christ. Apparently, he had shouted over his friend sufficiently.
“Monty’s favorite is Beelzebub’s earbobs,” he added stupidly.
Bess laughed, and he found himself suddenly, ridiculously irritated that she found Monty’s dreadful curse amusing.
“And God’s fichu,” Monty added. “My dear Lady Torrington, it sounds as if another dance is striking up. Perhaps a waltz. Would you care to—”
“She’s dancing with me,” he interrupted.
Because he refused to stew like a wallflower whilst watching Bess dance with anyone else. It washisbloody turn, by God.
Bess smiled in his direction. “I do believe I was meant to dance with Lord Carlton.”
He was all too aware of Monty grinning at him. The fool had likely been trying to connive just such a response from him. And he’d fallen neatly into the trap.
“Carlton can go to the devil,” he said, keeping his stare trained on his beautiful viscountess instead of on his friend, who was now softly chortling in glee. “You’re my wife, and if anyone is going to waltz with you, it’s going to be me.”
Before she could offer further protest or Monty said anything else that made him long to throttle him, Torrie guided Bess to the dance floor as the familiar strains of a waltz began.
He didn’t love her.
Did he?
Bloody hell. What if Monty was right?
What if hehadfallen in love with his Bess?
* * *
Something wasdifferent about Torrie tonight. Elizabeth couldn’t quite determine what it was. There was an intensity in his green gaze that was more than the customary desire she saw reflected there. They danced well together, finding a rhythm with ease, whirling about amongst their fellow dancers with light, sure steps. She felt as if she were floating, giddy with the pleasure of being in his arms.
The ball thus far—despite his mother’s grudging attendance and the cold receptions she had faced from some of their guests—had been a resounding success. And she was grateful to Torrie for his steadfast support. More content than she had ever hoped to be in this new life which had suddenly and furiously transformed her world as she had known it.
But there was something, she thought, eating at her husband. Something causing the rigidity in his bearing and his jaw. She had to know what.
“Is something amiss?” she asked him when they executed another flawless turn.
“Of course not,” he said smoothly, guiding them through the next steps. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re quiet. And it seemed as if you and Montrose were having a fierce debate when I arrived.” She studied his handsome face, drinking in the slashing cheekbones, the strong jaw, his sensual lips that called for kissing. “I merely wondered at the reason. I cannot believe it was merely curses you were discussing.”
And hopedshewasn’t the reason. That she hadn’t somehow displeased him.
Being married was still quite new to her. She often felt as if she hadn’t an inkling of how to be a wife. After accepting the fact that she would never have a husband or family of her own, to suddenly be married to the man who had once been the source of all her girlish dreams was still something of a shock.
“It was also how irritating Monty is,” her husband offered.
