Chase exhaled softly.
Collette and Diana had walked with him from Farm Street to pick out the rings yesterday. In the past, he’d not minded such an assumption being made regarding the girls. The falsehood provided a logical explanation for personal matters he was unwilling to disclose. It wasn’t as though either of them could ever mingle amongst society. Allowing the misconception was harmless, wasn’t it?
And yet, overhearing the girls and Bethany discussed in such a disparaging light, he itched to set the record straight.
Impossible.
Stone had baited him on a few occasions after spying the three of them at Gunter’s—as had Westerley—but Chase had never heard anyone speak so… bluntly.
Unease pricked at his conscience.
He’d done nothing wrong and he didn’t want to hide them but perhaps more discretion was needed in the future.
“Are you saying that reformed rakes don’t make the best husbands?”
The others laughed. “Do any rakes ever really reform?”
This entire conversation was disquieting.
“Did you see Lady Hawthorne’s broach? Do you suppose it’s paste?”
Chase didn’t remain to hear anymore, nor did he approach the cardroom. Instead, he turned and wandered, deep in thought, back in the direction he’d come from.
Where was she?
Bethany no longer lingered with the dowagers, nor any of the wallflowers. Stupid relief swept through him at the sight of her stepping lively amongst the dancers performing the Sir Roger de Coverley.
Delicate fingertips lifted her skirt just enough to keep the hem from hindering her movements as she skipped around a line of gentlemen, forward and back and looping between the ladies. He couldn’t make out which gentleman had claimed the dance. Ah, no, the couples came back together in a line. Lord Hawthorne was partnering her, and she was laughing.
Laughing.
On a night they’d both expected they might be shunned from society forever.
Blackheart had been correct in insisting they attend.
Chase crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the wall. He’d wager his right hand she hadn’t expected to have fun tonight. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed, and a few curls had escaped to rest tantalizingly on the delicate skin between her shoulders and neck.
He’d been worried a few moments ago. The comments he’d overheard had been spiteful. Seeing her now, however, diminished his concerns. A few jealous ladies amongst all these guests was only to be expected.
Really, the evening was going swimmingly. Not a single dancer in the line gave her the cut. As far as he could make out, every lady and gentleman dancing took turns meeting her gaze.
“Here you are,” Mantis commented as he and Stone joined him. “Missed you at the tables. Blackheart took Greys for three hundred pounds.”
“I’m certain he took great enjoyment in doing so. Anything that encourages him works in our favor. Last thing we want is a reason for our duke to resign his butlery duties.”
“I’d rather not race through the park in my natural glory. Let me know if you sense Blackheart’s resolve waning. We might need to step in.”
“Far preferable for Westerley and Greys to have that honor.”
“God, yes,” Chase muttered, not taking his eyes off his wife.
My wife.
Although for now, in name only. Unexpected lust shot through him as he contemplated resolving that situation.
Mantis turned and joined him against the wall and the two of them fell silent as they watched the energetic guests on the dancefloor.
“So.” His friend exhaled. “Two have fallen in less than a month.”
