Chapter 24
Pen was restless.
She’d seen from the corner of her eyes how Alworth and Charlotte had danced, but they’d been at the other end of the line, and her partner had talked continuously. It was difficult to concentrate both on the jabbering of her partner, and on the pair at the other end of the line.
At first, she could barely believe her eyes. Charlotte knew Alworth? They not only knew each other, they talked and laughed as if they were best friends. It even looked like they flirted. Charlotte touched him at the arm and looked deeply into his eyes. And did she just bat her eyelashes? And Alworth smiled down at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the room.
An ugly snake slithered in the pit of her stomach. Nonsense. He looked like that at all women.
Except for her, of course.
Somehow, she’d have to leave the ballroom, sneak out into the garden, find the bag, transform herself to Pen, find Alworth, stutter forth an apology, then transform herself back into a girl.
That this was bound to be a disaster was assured. She hoped Charlotte would forgive her.
At the end of the dance, her partner brought her a glass of chilled lemonade, which she drank gratefully. The strains of a quadrille started, and a red-haired gentleman, she’d forgotten his name, bowed in front of her, claiming his dance. Pen placed her hand on his arm to be led to the floor, yet immediately hedged a plan on how she could get rid of him so she could sneak out into the garden.
The music broke off suddenly, and a hush fell over the room.
“By Jove,” her partner uttered.
What was going on? Why was everyone staring at the entrance? Her gaze flew to the door, and she gasped.
A tall man, with black unruly hair and green flashing eyes, surveyed the room. Beautiful, degenerate, and slightly drunk. Lucifer manifested.
The Duke of Rochford had arrived.
Pen stoodas immobile as Lot’s wife after she was transformed into a salt pillar.
Marcus. After years and years of yearning for him, when she expected to see him the least, there he suddenly stood.
He was so different from how she remembered him.
Her first impression was that he’d grown old. His temples were greyed, his face pasty and slightly bloated, his eyes bloodshot. He had a slight paunch but carried himself well in the dark evening attire.
“Don’t mind me.” He lifted a hand like a king, pulling his lips to a lop-sided smile. “Resume, my good people. Resume.” He strolled languidly down the stairs towards the card room.
“I wonder why he is here,” a lady behind her said shrilly. “He must be on the prowl again. Ladies, keep a close eye on your daughters. No one is safe, I say. No one!”
Pen turned, astonished at the effect Marcus had on the people.
Her first instinct was to run after him into the card room. Instead, the music resumed with an increased volume of gossip and chatter, and she allowed herself to be led into the next dance. Her movements were stiff as her thoughts tumbled through her mind.
It was clear why he was here.
He was here for her, of course.
Her debutante ball.
He was her sponsor. He hadn’t forgotten.
Hadn’t Charlotte said she was to avoid her sponsor at any cost? Piffle. She needed to talk to him.
“I am rather tired, and my feet hurt,” she said as she pulled her partner aside. “How about a game of cards, yes? Let’s go to the card room. Let’s play a round of picquet.” She dragged her partner, who was completely taken by surprise, toward the card room.
“But, Miss Reid, I have promised the next dance to Miss Venish….” he stuttered.
Pen ignored him and let her eyes roam the card room for Marcus. She opened her fan and fanned herself. Why was it so deucedly hot all of a sudden? And where was he? A feeling of vexation flushed through her. Why was he forevermore a step ahead of her, and she always running after him?
