Montague smiled cruelly. “Oh, he will know about it, my dear. I’ll make sure of that.”
Juliet caught his arm and wrenched it from her face. “You had better act quickly before there is an heir and your chance at consequence is lost forever.”
“And you,” he said, allowing her to draw his hand away, “had better find a way to lure your Duke back to you before you lose him forever. A pretty game you tried to play in the theatre, and so publicly. If I know my cousin—and believe me, I do—he hasn’t just neglected you because of his wife.”
That had been a mistake, but she would never admit it to Montague. “Leave the Duke to me and you will not be disappointed.”
“You have many charms,” he said, his gaze raking her up and down. Later, she knew, he would visit her, and she would accept his advances, because the web they had woven was too tangled for her to risk rejecting him. “Play your cards well, and you will yet win him back. And you know how to do that?”
“How?” she asked, unable to help herself.
Montague placed his lips by her ear. “By pretending he doesn’t exist.” Smiling, he leant back and offered her his arm again. “There is nothing so guaranteed to drive a man wild with longing—we are all dogs with bones, and we protect what’s ours.”
“What will prevent him from protecting his wife?”
“Why, I will.” With a practised air, he smiled at yet another woman who passed. “I shall be taking little Theodosia to a masquerade tomorrow night, and we shall see what comes of it.”
Juliet raised a brow. “That little mouse at a masquerade? Does she know?”
“She will.” With that, he dropped her arm, offered her a sardonic bow, and left her standing alone in the middle of the path. Careful not to let a hint of displeasure escape onto her face, she tucked her hands back into her muff and tightened her numb fingers into a ball.
Theo successfully avoided Nathanial.
It had not been an easy feat; when she knew he was waiting for her downstairs, she slipped down the stairs and out of a side door, leaving a message with Jarvis that she was visiting her family. And when she returned home that afternoon, with a cold nose, it was to an invitation from Montague to a masked ball. He made no mention of Nathanial’s name, and she could not but feel it was an excuse to see her again.
An excuse she . . .
Well, frankly, she didn’t know if she relished it or not. It was flattering, to be sure, and Theo enjoyed the flattery, but she couldn’t deny the fact something had changed the moment Nathanial had kissed her.
Or rather, the moment she had kissed him back.
She bashed out some scales on the pianoforte in the drawing room, the notes hard and angry and often irregular. This was the first time since their marriage that she had bothered to sit down and practise, but the cold had dissuaded her from venturing outside, and she had no engagements.
Except this masked ball tonight.
With Montague, her every romantic ideal.
Or so she had thought until Nathanialhad kissed her.
She played a clashing chord and glared at the keys. If Nathanial hadn’t kissed her, she wouldn’t need to feel as though she owed him something—owed him, specifically, not to go with Sir Montague.
But this masked ball provided her with an excusenotto be with Nathanial, which was very tempting. If they spent any time together, they would have to discuss the kiss, and no amount of friendship could prepare one for that conversation. She had been thinking about it all day and still had no idea what to say.
“Theo?” Nathanial said from the doorway of the drawing room.
“I’m practising,” she informed him, in case the evidence before his eyes, and ears, was not enough. To ensure she drove the point home, she played another few runs of inaccurate chords.
“I thought perhaps you could spare a few moments for your husband,” he said, taking the seat directly behind her. “Or had you forgotten that in your attempts to ignore me?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“Oh? Then perhaps we could talk.”
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Her life was made up of perhaps—of maybes and coulds and shoulds. There were no certainties on which she could depend; the only certainty she had was that Nathanial was her husband. And although they had been married for almost two months now, the kiss had proved she knew so little about him. She did not know how his hands felt, or the way her name would sound if he whispered it to her.
She did not know what it would be like to be truly married to him.
But heavens, thinking aboutthathelped no one.
