“Reginald, you never said your friend Lord Hartington was so handsome. You should have better prepared me!” Vivienne exclaimed with a pretty laugh. “It seems almost unfair that you should be so handsome when you are already a marquess!”
He sighed internally. He sympathized with Lady Bradshaw’s perilous situation, but he had met many women who coveted the position that being his wife would bring. It made it difficult to enjoy their company, never knowing what their true motives were.
“Thank you for the compliment, Lady Bradshaw, though I don’t think I’m much more handsome than most of the men in attendance.”
Undeterred by his lukewarm reception to her flirting, Vivienne just shook her head as though she couldn’t believe it and gave him a sweet smile.
“Has your previous companion abandoned you, My Lord? What a shame, for a woman to leave a man who dances as finely as you do, standing in the corner.” Her tone was teasing, and hereyes were light, but he felt the pointed nature of her comment, nonetheless. It irritated him.
“I had asked to be allowed to rest, as my head wasn’t feeling well. However, I do find my spirits improving, and I think I shall look to return to her side.” He shifted his weight as if to leave, and Vivienne laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“I think you will have to wait in line,” she said, nodding across the room to where Isolde seemed to be negotiating between dance offers from two gentlemen. “Such a pretty face, My Lord. You had better keep her close if you don’t want to lose her.”
Thaddeus followed her gaze, and then couldn’t help looking around the room, noticing that many of the men present seemed to be looking at his bride-to-be.
An unnerved feeling crept up his spine, and he rolled his shoulders to push it away. Why should he feel bad about Vivienne’s teasing? That was the whole plan, for him to lose Isolde to another man.
No, not lose, he reminded himself. Their engagement was a facade; she was not his to lose.
“We really must have dinner, the three of us,” Cassian was saying as he turned back to the pair. “Now that Vivienne is widowed, it’s perfectly respectable for her to join us for dinner sometime. I know the two of you would get on so well.”
“Of course,” Thaddeus replied, suddenly ready to agree to anything to get out of this conversation. He could not help thinking that he did not want to spend his dinner away from home when he could be enjoying Isolde’s company at Hartington. “As I was saying, I must get back to Miss Fairchild. Excuse me.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed off through the room.
In the brief moment they’d been talking, he’d lost track of her again. His eyes searched the dance floor, but he could not find her.
He wandered the room and finally spotted her, sitting at a table with several other women. He strode toward them but slowed as he got closer, realizing how happy Isolde looked.
She was smiling brightly and speaking with the other women animatedly. She looked exactly as he had wished he could make her look, back in the garden.
He stopped, far enough away that she wouldn’t notice. He was sure if he approached the table she would go with him – for another dance, or home for the night. But somehow he couldn’t bear to interrupt the moment, not when she looked so happy.
He found himself longing for another moment alone, for a chance to make her smile like that himself. And try as he might to banish that thought, it would not go.
Chapter 7
Isolde was back in the library the next morning, sitting in the window seat that was quickly becoming one of her favorite spots. She stared out the window and contemplated the events of the night before.
So much had happened in just one night! The confrontation with Lord Crowley, the walk in the garden afterward, dancing with Thaddeus and then so many other men, even making some new friends.
But it was the garden where her mind lingered, the moment when Thaddeus had pushed an errant curl behind her ear. She shivered now remembering the curve of his finger around the shell of her ear.
The sound of the door opening pushed that memory from her mind. She jumped, startled, but relaxed when she saw it was just Annora. Her cousin had stayed the night, and Isolde had left her to sleep in. Annora crept in, looking around the room in awe.
“What a house this is, Isolde!” she exclaimed. “I should rather like to live here myself, perhaps your marquess would not notice if we switched places?”
Isolde laughed.
“Unfortunately, dear, I believe he would. And he’s notmymarquess.” Annora ignored this last part and flopped down on the window seat beside her.
“Speaking of love ...” she began.
“We were not.” Isolde frowned.
“... I believe I met someone last night,” Annora carried on, her eyes taking on a dreamy look. Isolde couldn’t resist teasing her a little bit.
“Only one?” she asked. “It seemed to me that you danced every dance. Surely you met more than one person?”
“Isolde!” Annora scolded. “Don’t pretend not to understand me! You know very well I’m saying that there was a man at the ball who held my interest.”
